While most people were babysitting their sourdough starters, my husband spent his idle time during the pandemic smoking meats—pork butts way too big for two people, whole chickens, chicken wings, racks of pork ribs, beef ribs, picanha, pork belly, and brisket.
When Dominick wasn’t watching Malcom Reed’s videos on YouTube or shopping for new cuts of meat, I was being subjected to his latest timeshare-esque pitch on why he needed another grill or smoker. I wrote that last part in the past tense, but I am still being subjected to those pitches— despite the electric smoker, offset smoker, and kettle grill currently sitting in our backyard.
My husband threw everything into this new hobby, but despite the growing expense, I have reaped so many tasty rewards from it.
Recently, after settling into our Airbnb on James Island, a suburb of Charleston, we made our way to Gillie’s Seafood, a recommendation from my play cousin and fellow GBH contributor Jamaal Lemon. We pulled into the parking lot and immediately noticed the smoke perfuming the air with sweet burning wood. Dominick confirmed the smell was indeed the telltale sign of a grillmaster working hard over a smoldering fire.
When your spouse takes on a hobby, by association, it becomes yours too. You help stoke the fires of that passion, giving it oxygen, feeding it the best way you can—even if that means forking over money for one more grill.
