I don't know why, but I seem to have fallen out of love with barbecues. In days past, I would fire up the barbie with the merest hint of sunshine, but nowadays its monthly, if at all. In days past, I would devour enough burnt meat to feed a monastery, but nowadays I'm happy with a sausage or two.
Are my tastebuds changing, I wonder? Is the thought of eating chunks of other animals one that is starting to repulse me? Or am I just getting lazier and I can't be bothered with the rigmarole of setting up, lighting coals, marinating meats, standing outside cooking and exercising self-control so I don't eat it all before it's ready? Is the smoke inhalation now more off-putting than the smoky taste alluring?
I used to get excited just at the thought of having a barbecue later in the day. That excitement would carry me through dark times at work and give me something to look forward to as I drudged my weary path through life. Now, though, an imminent barbecue feels like a chore that needs to be ticked off a list, rather than a festivity awaiting to be enjoyed.
Maybe it's an age thing.
RC 14-5-22
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