Grilling for the birds
Warning: this blog contains a graphic recreation that may shock, revolt, repulse or even nauseate the weak of stomach. Proceed with caution and keep in mind that I do not make this stuff up. I write about real life experiences. Each spring, summer and fall throughout my years as the wife of a die-hard-boat-driving fishing, hunting and camping fanatic, I spent a lot of time cooking on camp stoves, charcoal grills and other instruments meant to give food caveman appeal while driving women nuts. Our camping generally started around Easter, giving our kids the thrill of adorning long-underwear and earmuffs to hunt Easter eggs in the snow. The camping season ended near Halloween most years, but I do recall at least one Thanksgiving turkey sizzling away in our Weber Smoker as we sat around a campfire holding cups of coffee more to capture the hand-warming heat from the hot cup than for the caffeine. In the early years of ...