Death of a Colony

The Grill. Man's (occasionally woman's) domain. The Grill sits on the patio or porch or deck outside, waiting. It calls to the very soul of a man. This man.

I have a Weber Genesis with a two parallel pipe burner setup, with ignition flow, one push start, heavy iron glazed grate, flavor enhancing super V drip distributors, a grease trap and and a drip bin. It's not the classic brushed stainless steel, but it's a black beast and has no cold spots. I've had it for 4 years and it looks brand new.

I had a Charbroil once. Once. That piece of crap did it's job but rusted through. The Weber is THE Grill. And I have the third smallest of the brand.

So, imagine this. Mrs. Dr. Murk wants burgers and dogs. We always open the season with burgers and dogs. I brush off the grate, heat the bad boy up, and then use the first run of burgers and dogs to re-season the Grill. Much like a good Wok, a Grill should never be extensively cleaned on the inside, just brushed up a bit. Sure, you clean the grease trap and catch pans, but animal fat acts like a polish (protecting from rust) and a thin, non stick barrier for cooking. When heated, animal fat is detoxified. Much like cooking oil and olive oil, it really doesn't rot or go bad. If heated, it's cleaned.

So, I go out to the Grill (way too late in the season, I admit, but still 5 months left) and open it. A quick brushing, clean the traps, ignite and let it self clean by closing the top. After two minutes, temp is up a but. I'm curious and so I open for a look.

I see the nests. Three Paper Wasp nests, now on full alert and scrambling fighters for action.

Oh no, you just fucked up, I though. No, not me. Them. I closed the lid and cranked and got her up to 450 degrees. Two escaped. Both stung me. Mother-fuckers. I back away. The escapees (remember, wasps can sting and sting and sting and not die) keep banging into the Grill trying to save their kin. Try little bastards! TRY!

Smoke and the smell of rendering animal juices floods the air. It's that smell when a neighbor is grilling a feast, and you have your windows open and you BEG for an invite. Oh... and my two enemies still try relentlessly to save their friends while I listen to a few small but satisfying pops and wasps drop into the fire.

Five minutes passes.

I open the lid. I knock the golf ball shaped nests into the flames as the wasp twins look on, baffled. The pheromones say attack. The smoke says run. The instinct says HOME IS BURNING.

I let them live.

I have Koi and Frogs aplenty in my little pond behind the Grill. The Koi are fed nothing. Sometimes, a piece of meat or some steak juices. As I hear the Frogs call out to me tonight, I know the other two wasps will be found and eaten. No home to go to. Patient frogs. Descendants of the Great Wasp Killer Uncle Freddy, who devoured an entire nest while I watched during my first night on that deck.

Life is fragile, and sweet.