My Big Green Egg is still in transit from the US, but I’ve been getting ready. It’s going on the front deck, in the space currently occupied by our sophisticated home defence unit, pictured below.
I’ve also been spiralling into the barbecue rabbit hole that Justin warned me about in a previous post. I thought I could resist. I thought I was strong enough. I even thought I was doing the right thing, skilling up to match my barbecue chops against the Egg.
I was wrong.
I have just spent more hours than science tells us are contained in single weekend listening to barbecue podcasts, watching Big Green Egg instructional videos, and googling up lengthy treatises on the difference between blue and white smoke. And all of this before I have smoked my first pork butt.
I have decided then to give up on being a writer. There is no time for that anymore.
I am now simply a barbecue tragic.
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