Two Men, Two Pits and a Blog

Grilled Chicken Thighs, Little Old Ladies, and The Theory of Mass Convergence

*Rummaging about in the digital vault lately, we happened upon an article of old that never made the light of day. Not sure why. We’ll file it under the “Lost Patron Essays“, those wayward tomes which never took root in the cyber soils, left for dead and forgotten by the publishers that be. So it is our pleasure to kick the dust off this old one, now, which you might hazard, has been aging nicely in the digital wine cellar of PotP. Enjoy at your leisure. Or cast aside for further aging. We understand.

So one day you’re driving down a country road, kicking up gravel dust behind you, blue skies over head, and panoramic fields of long country road1green grass swaying in the breeze. Your shadow looks good as it flies along beside you in the ditch, fluttering over the picket fences and such. Cold beverage in the cup holder, windows down, your favorite tunes on the radio. Life is good. And for a solid hour straight you have had the road to yourself now, nay the whole wide world to yourself. Up ahead you finally see a tractor idling slowly down the road.

So you slow down some, then just as you begin to make your move around him, you note an old pickup truck parked alongside the road, precisely where you and the tractor will meet. How does this happen! Not only that, now is also the time when you meet your first oncoming automobile in the last hour. And all of you, every single one of you, somehow through the mysterious forces of the working universe, your paths all manage to come together at this one geographic spot on the globe, and do so at this exact moment in time. If the timing were just a few seconds off, if you would have finished that whole cup of coffee, you’d all miss each other. Instead, you all converge in space and time.

Welcome to the Theory of Mass Convergence, and I don’t get it.

IMG_0442I was thinking about this phenomenon whilst lighting up the grill the other day. I was in my patio chair, doing my best not to do anything, save to sip a lovely beverage, and admire my Cottonwood tree, and how pretty it looked against a pale blue sky. A lovely evening to be sure. The smoke off the charcoal chimney swirled  about, and the tweety birds sang sweetly in the waning light. Then I noticed the moon was out, tho not quite full, but hanging just over the budding crown of my tree. How nice I thunk. Then with a squint of the eye, I noticed something else, a jet plane, or the contrail of anyways, and who knows how far away it was, but it was heading straight for the moon. And for a moment in the vast time continuum: the plane, the moon, the Cottonwood tree and my patio chair all lined up as if it were their high calling all along. That is a weak example of the convergence theory, but none the less it is there.

The Theory of Mass Convergence, just to be clear is my own theory. And I admit to still be tweaking the math on this one. It’s just that the observations of this matter are so plentiful that I cannot disregard it’s inherent validity. I see it all the time. Anyhow.

I scratched my head at these simple wonders and rather than continued efforts in vain at divining the intricacies of universe, I did something rather IMG_6105more productive, and plopped a few chicken thighs on the barbie! Now this I understand. Man put meat to flame. Flame cook meat. Meat make man happy! Also on the pit, we did up a batch of tinfoil potatoes. Those were easy too, and maybe our very favorite side to make on pit. Just dice the spuds up into uniform chunks, season with what ever strikes your fancy, add a few pats of butter and wrap it all up in a sheet of tin foil. Place over direct heat for 25 minutes or so, flipping once at your pit master instinct. If you wanna get fancy with your tin foil potatoes, try adding any matter of vegetables that move you at the moment, from: onions, to corn, to peas, to carrots, shucks, it’s all tasty done up on the grill this way.

Now back to those thighs. The thighs were seasoned with some Bone Suckin’ Seasoning, which has been our go to bottle as of late. Fairly good stuff of which I humbly admit being  wooed by its odd, but catchy nomenclature. They were thus liberally seasoned and seared a bit over direct heat. Such was the skin crisped up a might there before escorting back to the cool side of the grill, opposite the hot coals. And there they would stay the rest of the cook, slowly pampered in mesquite smoke.


With the lid in place and damper tweaked, the draft thus engaged, sending heady plumes of mesquite curling forth. I settled back into the patio man chair, positioned left leg over right, cold beverage in hand, and further mused over the intricacies of the universe at hand. Still thinking about that convergence thing. In point of fact, the very thighs which roast over these coals now, were wrought from mysteries of convergence.

We’ve all been there. Walking slowly down the grocery aisles, pushing that slightly squeaky cart to and fro, the one that always wants turn to the left, and will at the most inappropriate times. Well anyways, I was making my way there, rounding the corner to the meat section. I see a little old lady coming my way, her head just peaking up over her enormous purse residing in the infant seat of the grocery cart. She plods along, tipping her nose up for to gander through her bifocals at various things attractive to little old ladies. She has a slow, but steady strafe going on, very efficient I must say, as she sweeps along the meat aisle. Now like any red blooded man with a pulse, I just want to get to the poultry section, of course, grab my thighs, and make haste for home. The sooner done with shopping, the better. But as I approach the target area, and as if right on queue, our little old lady stalls out right smack in front of the chicken thighs, whereupon she gazes over them for some time, whilst rifling through a hand full of coupons. I yield for little old ladies. And chicken thighs too, I guess.

The theory of convergence strikes again. Some times I wonder if the Good Lord brings people together like that on purpose, cause it sure happens more than I can tell you. Here is yet another classic.

Also in the grocer, and don’t deny you this hasn’t happened to you, but you find yourself alone, say in the frozen foods aisle, and for a while now you have been battling a growing gas pain deep within your wretched being. You cast a glance hither and yon, as well you should, and the coast is irrefutably clear. Then, as if prompted by your carnal instinct, you bequeath an air biscuit of suitable proportion to your misery. Relief floods your body. A smile curls across your face. And then it happens. It always happens. The most beautiful specimen of a super model struts around the corner, long locks of blonde hair flowing in the florescent light, heels clacking over the hard white floor, and they make way straight for you. Classic convergence. And there isn’t a darn thing you can do about it. Anyways.

After a suitable fashion and the juices ran clear on the chicken, we varnished it over with some of that Orange Ginger Sauce we’ve been playing with as of late. Man that stuff is good. It has sugar in it tho, so be mindful not to burn your spoils too close to the fire. Blessed be the adept tong that which orchestrates your smokey symphony to a better end game. We plated up the mesquite scented thighs along with those tin foil potatoes, and sidled in through the patio door. One more convergence yet to go today. Namely this here succulent protein with my hungry belly down below. May it make the acquaintanceship post haste. Amen.


Mesquite Tinted Grilled Chicken Thighs with a Ginger Orange sauce, sided with tin foil potatoes. Prepared with love, and patron to the pit.

18 responses

  1. Three thoughts: 1. To avoid the embarrassing flatulence problem it is always wise to shop at outdoor markets.

    2. I am also a sucker for those catchy names sauce makers come up with. I once spent over an hour in a shop in Myrtle Beach that sold only hot sauces. I enjoyed reading all of the names almost as much as I did sampling the goods. And…

    3. Mary and I are sure glad that the theory of mass convergence worked to make our paths cross with yours.

    Thanks again for a fun post!

    February 9, 2016 at 3:09 pm

    • Aw shucks, now that was a good response! Thanks John and Mary. I shall have to frequent the open air markets of my local hamlets when ever possible then, if for but any other reason than the olfactory freedoms that reside there. Yes, I shall tarry by the cabbage stand, hold one head aloft to fake a keen muse there, whilst at the same time covertly let one fly from thy nether regions. This, a silent salute to the acknowledged expert down way of Ecuador!

      Thanks for the advice!

      February 9, 2016 at 3:19 pm

  2. Me + tractor + on coming truck = harvest or planting time in Indiana.

    One fatal flaw to the “air biscuit.” Your supposed to vacate the area IMMEDIATELY afterwards, so the next guy gets the blame.

    February 9, 2016 at 3:37 pm

    • Yes I suppose you’re right there, but I was alone in the aisle, and one often gets lulled into a false sense of isolation I guess. Your words ring with wisdom, Mr Dodd.

      February 9, 2016 at 4:05 pm

  3. Thank you oh gentlemen of the pit. I agree with Mr. Dodd. Always make haste to your next destination after the “launch”. Hopefully you will not draft it the next stop. 🙂

    February 9, 2016 at 3:46 pm

    • Mr Dodd is savvy like that. The man must fart prolifically in his private life. Likewise with you I wager, deducing so from your reference to the “draft”. Most folk do not consider the draft in their day to days, lessen they are an old, Jedi Fart Master of the highest degree.

      Any any rate, very good to hear from you, TJ. Blessings to you and yours.

      February 9, 2016 at 4:11 pm

  4. Oh, and here I thought you meant that your “little old lady” had sneaked a cheeky, you know us old farts! 😀 I thought that I read somewhere that it’s officially okey-dokey for ME to do that… Oops! 😉 HA! The Q looks great though! A hui hou…

    February 9, 2016 at 5:51 pm

    • Well I wouldn’t put it past the little old ladies of this world to be the ones perpetrating such antics in the grocery stores. No one can get mad at little old ladies, after all. They kinda just get to do whatever they want, and the captive audience must abide, because they’re cute!

      February 9, 2016 at 6:03 pm

      • Thank you, I think I’m cute too 😉

        February 10, 2016 at 4:04 pm

  5. Oooh, I like this one. Yes, yes. Thank you for naming the phenomenon I have experienced time and time again. Those delightful (or terrible) alignments of people, places, and things. I really need to try those tin foil taters. I often do onions that way (with oil instead of butter), but I keep forgetting to use potatoes. I’m certain they would be delicious. Thanks and cheers.

    February 10, 2016 at 9:15 pm

    • Thanks Todd. It is well to hear other blokes have experienced the phenomenon too, and isn’t just me. Other wise that would be a most unfair roll of the life dice for thee. Yeah, if you like potatoes, you’ll love them done in the foil with onions. I’ve never done just onions before, go figure. That sounds very good. Maybe I’ll need to try your way. I heart onions.

      February 11, 2016 at 1:57 pm

      • I usually make the onions as a component of a taco or fajita feast. Enjoy.

        February 11, 2016 at 8:38 pm

  6. Another good read my smokie Brutha. 🙂
    I once had a rather embarrassing moment myself involving an empty elevator I walked into, unaware of a hanging green cloud … the most FOUL intestinal purge, that made my eyes water and my throat lock instantly. As my uncanny luck would have it … the elevator stopped at the next floor and THREE, GORGEOUS, Victoria Secret-esk, examples of the fairer sex walked into my misery. 😦
    All I could manage to say was … THAT WASN’T ME …
    I don’t think any of them believed me … *sigh*
    Stay hungry friend … 🙂

    February 17, 2016 at 5:48 pm

    • Hahaha, yeah now that is a classic story of convergence if I ever heard one. You pour schmuck! What can a feller do….

      Good to hear from you. T minus a few more weeks till motorcycle weather! Seems like we lament this every late winter around this time.

      February 17, 2016 at 9:15 pm

  7. So true … hoping THIS summer will be one where I can actually ENJOY my bike again. I lost the entire season last year, recovering from my lumbar spinal fusion surgery in late April … spent all summer in re-hab. Only JUST back to work two weeks ago full time … *sigh*

    February 18, 2016 at 7:43 am

    • Wow, that’s quite the epic lay-up. Yuck. You have not my envy, good sir. Hope it healed up proper like and a full summer good motorbiking is in store for our smoky brother to the north..

      February 18, 2016 at 9:13 am

  8. Hells yes!
    Now, your favourite dry rub for beef. And…. Go!

    February 26, 2016 at 3:35 am

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