A few years ago, I asked to take my family’s BBQ grill. Sitting in my parents’ garage, I knew that my parents rarely used it (having opt to use the grill at a swimming pool club because it didn’t require our maintenance or cleanup). Not having the space in my San Francisco apartment, I left it at Chris’ apartment where he had a backyard. Where one summer, BBQ was the only word that escaped from my lips as the evening approached.
During those years when I dreamed of BBQing, anything that was given to me…I naturally brainstormed a way to BBQ it. At work, one day, my coworker brought bags of figs, lamenting about how they kept dropping like bombs in his backyard. Fragrant sticky juicy bombs.
“Fantastic,” I said. “I’ll think of a way to BBQ it.”