Sitting In The Sun and BBQ Wings
The sun is 93 million miles away. That’s what they say anyways. And only a small fraction of the light given off from it ever even reaches the earth. And a smaller piece of it yet, ever makes it to places like, Minnesota, where I am from. Even so, and despite it’s seemingly scant privilege, the light of a new day is cast no how, every day, often times sparkling over crusty fields of snow. It melts through piney tree tops, alive with darting Black Capped Chickadees. It glares over the frozen pond, all tracked-up now with little webbed footprints from the resident ducks. And the good light also spans the roof tops of the city, with their numerous chimney stacks, back-lit, and puffing into the crisp morning air. For not getting much sun light, what we do get we sure seem to notice. For example, some of that sunlight even slipped in through my bathroom window the other morning, and illuminated my toilet.
Ninety and three million miles away and it still lights up my can like it was all in the world it had to do. How about that. It’s the little things, people. And it is pleasurable event indeed, I cannot deny, to thus engage in your morning constitutional whilst positioned at the tail of a sunbeam. Sort of sets a man off right in his day, so-to-speak. I felt like the solar roulette wheel landed on my number for once, and graced me there on the bowl. Hey, it has been a long, cold, and exceedingly dark winter, so let a fellow bask when he can!
Anyways, onto lunch. It was simple affair of wings and spice. Nothing earth-tilting to report, but delicious even so. Now you all know how to grill a chicken wing, there’s nothing to it really. But here is how we did it, just in case.
Of the first order was to spice the wings up with one of our new favorite rubs from the kindly folks at Miners Mix. They call it Poultry Perfection, which does indeed live up to it’s billing. And we used it liberally. We put all the wings into a plastic bag, dumped in a good pile of this spice rub, and did the old “shake & bake” maneuver. Well in this case, “shake & grill“, which, off-hand, is about 93 million times more fun.
The generously coated wings were then placed opposite a hot bed of coals – indirect as we like to say in the smokey arts. Why? One reason comes to mind foremost. So they don’t morph into blackened charcoal-like substrates better utilized below your grate than above. In other words, so they don’t burn. Indirect heat is markedly gentler, and gets the job done just the same, and often times with a juicer, more evenly cooked end game. But best of all, by cooking indirect, you nary need worry then about whether or not your dear plunder will be sacrificed to the grilling gods in a column of black smoke. It’ll be just fine. Which frees up the pit jockey for equally as important pursuits, such as filling up his favorite mug with something lovely to slurp. Or watching the puffy clouds idle slowly overhead whilst loitering amid the earthy aroma of tomato plants. And if the day will have it, just maybe, to find someplace quiet to sit in the sun. Which when you think about it, at 93 million miles away, is about as indirect as it comes. Especially so on the privy! Amen.
Indirect, lightly smoked chicken wings, seasoned in Poultry Perfection, touched up with Sweet Baby Ray’s Sweet n Spicy. Yum!