Barbecue (spelt BBQ by most), comes from neither the Texans nor the Australians but from the French barbe a queue, meaning 'chin to tail'. It referred to the practice of spitting a whole animal; skewering it from chin to tail with a stick; and roasting it over coals. Not a delectable idea for even a semi-vegetarian. I love barbequeues, though and have developed a number of recipes to suit my eating preferences. Just a quick note, however, the barbie must be made from wood or, at worst, charcoal. A gas barbecue loses one of the greatest things about this cooking method; the smoky flavour imparted to the food.
Adams makes his barbecues with scavenged wood in the drum of an old washing machine. This has plenty of little holes in the surface to let the fire breath. He's mounted it on a little trolley so he can wheel it around, easily removing it from the centre of attention once the food is cooked or moving a little closer to this or that guest who is feeling a chill. He has an old cake rack for a flame grill, which I cook skewers on, the fire leaping up to scorch the food; and a flat grill made from the blade of a plough which I cook fish cakes or marinated tofu on. He wraps vegetables and fish in foil and puts them amongst the coals once the fire dies down a little.
Adams' place has a big open area under the house, and just as well, too since a light drizzle set in about 5pm and people were texting me to see if we were going to cancel. I'd spent my previous two lunch breaks shopping and my evenings preparing food. On Tuesday night, I made the babaganoush, the Love Bite cocktail, mixed the cake batter and baked some bread in Lulu's bread maker. I baked the cake and some muffins with the left over mix. Ish and I went jogging on Wednesday morning and I invited him in for coffee. Little did he know, he was eating some of his birthday cake with his morning coffee.
On Wednesday, I bought fish for the fish cakes and put it in the fridge at work. I got all the way to the bus stop before I realised I'd left it there and had to go back for it in the pouring rain. I finally got home at about 6, iced the cake and made the fish cake mix. My neighbours came over and we gathered all the food and plates and things we needed and borrowed Lulu's car to drive over to Adams'.
My mood was nervous excitement – perfect for cooking since I had so many things to think about. Its always better to be a bit scattered and open to the unexpected in the kitchen, otherwise you have to be aware of too many things at once. Food gives off cues to the senses that have an uncanny ability to trigger the right thoughts at the right moment. A smell that wafts into the consciousness suddenly reminds me that the octopus have boiled are ready to be drained, or the remains of the eggplant on the chopping board remind me to put out some crackers for the babaganoush.
Adams cooked some chicken and pork in a big pot on the stove (which I'm told was delicious, and, in fact had people coming back for seconds and thirds later in the night). He also made a noodle dish and a delicious punch with vodka and papaya (yum). People started to arrive and sip at their Love Bite and punch and other drinks and there were about 15 there before Ish arrived. Alvaro called me just before they arrived and I passed out some party poppers to everyone. Ish walked in, happy but blissfully unaware. I greeted him at the door and walked in behind him waving frantically to everyone to set off their poppers and let mine rip right behind him. Everyone cheered him and shook his stunned hand and kissed his bewildered cheek.
Pavel had got some of us around to paint a big canvas for the blank walls of Ish's apartment and it was hanging in plain view. We directed him to it and let him admire our handiwork. I ran around making sure everyone had drinks and then turned back to the food. A few extra hands made quick work of the skewers while Adams wheeled the now blazing brazier in under the awning.
The coolness brought by the rain mixed with the latin rhythms on the stereo and the smell of wood smoke and the general joyous atmosphere all worked to bring smiles to faces and a sway to hips. The food was consumed as fast as I could cook it and I worried that we'd under catered but it turned out to be just right for the twenty or so people crowded into that space.
The cake was cut and Happy Birthday was sung in no less than four languages – English, Spanish, German and Japanese (who, it turns out, sing Happy Birthday in English). We jumped up and down and sang and ate and played pool well into the night but eventually this got too much for the neighbours and the people who lived upstairs. So, with the drink dwindling and a party mood still saturating every limb, we headed out into the night...
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