Not intimidated: Reflections from a fair-weather griller

Standing on my deck and surveying the surroundings, I see that we're the only family in the neighborhood with a charcoal grill. I've considered it a source of pride, a sign (however misconstrued) that we're made of tougher stuff than those who simply turn a knob and cook over a stream of propane.

So I was not intimidated when it came time to fire up our Weber and try Jamie Purviance's recipe for grilled ham.

As I reflect on the experience some hours later, I realize I was naive to think I could uncover the Weber and just start grilling like it was June. Most people who grill in the winter use their grills all year around and grill often.

Coming into this in February had it's challenges: snow had to be shoveled from the back door and the grill had to be moved from the protection of the eaves to the edge of the deck. Easier said than done. Icicles dripping from the gutter created an ice block that locked one of the wheels to the deck. A few pots of hot water poured over the wheels freed them soon enough, but not before drenching me as I slipped and fell on the snowy deck.

Those same icicles taunted me each time I walked through the back door, timing their drips just right to hit the back of my neck.

Grill finally in position and charcoal bag open, I realized my chimney starter was in a storage unit blocked by a snow drift. I proceeded without, twisting pages of Tuesday's Business section and piling hardwood charcoal on top. Match after match after match went to the paper, flared and fizzled. I was ready to kick the grill down the stairs and put the ham in the oven. I took another breath and remembered Jamie talking about grillers who embrace and work through these challenges.

I positioned the lid partially covering the grates to protect against the slight breeze, and that seemed to do the trick. It took a good hour but the coals turned ashen and white hot. Hah! I could get the better of Old Man Winter.

I set the ham down, adjusted the vents and replaced the lid. Wisps of smoke drifted out and with them mouthwatering aromas.

Jamie said I'd need to add more hot coals for the two-plus hours of cooking, so I shoveled a path to the shed and retrieved the chimney starter, only to realize I couldn't safely start it without removing the lid from the grill and losing all that precious heat.

So when it came time to glaze the ham an hour into cooking, I took the long tongs and carefully added a dozen or so fresh coals to the glowing pile. (Note to self: snow gloves are NOT oven mitts.) The oven thermometer hovered close to 400 degrees so I closed the vents a bit more to calm the coals and lower the temp.

Less than two hours later the thermometer beeped to alert me the ham had reached 160 degrees. (The person who invented the first remote thermometer must be a winter griller!)

The ham looked gorgeous, its hatch-marked skin well charred from the heat and sugary glaze. The salt-tinged smoky aroma teased my nose. I wanted to stare at this thing of beauty forever, but the urge to carve and devour proved too strong. It tasted it as good as it looked, maybe even better, if that's possible.

I brushed off the grates, emptied the ashes, put the cover back on and wheeled the trusty Weber back to its spot next to the house, slipping slightly as I passed the spot where the hot water flowed over the wheels. Sure, we had a good day and I learned a lot: I learned I'm not one of the obsessed members of the winter grilling cult.

Good night, Weber; I'll see you again in May.