The smell is the memory

It's no secret to you that I love barbecue.  While it is my favorite style of food to eat, there is a lot more to it.  I love the ritual of it.  A few days before, I start preparing.  I go pick out the cut of meat.  I brine it.  I season it.  I wrap it up and let the seasoning do it's work.  There have been a number of times, I've woke up before the sun came up to get the smoker going.  There is a lot of preparation that goes into it.  I rarely ever smoke something for just the four of us.  Christa isn't actually that big of a fan of bbq.  I try not to force it on her.  When I smoke meat, it normally means that at some point later in the day, people will be coming to my house.  I enjoy feeding them.  I enjoy the idea that for that one meal, whoever is there, doesn't have to worry about feeding themselves or their kids.  I enjoy that they're at my house and chatting and hanging out.  I think the real reason why I love bbq, has very little to do with the meat itself.  I have actually eaten less of it, now that I make it all the time.  I want my boys to remember that I put the time in for them, to cook them something that takes a long time to cook.  I want my friends to remember that I enjoyed spending time with them.  I want to my wife to know the effort that I put i to go against my nature and opening up our house to any number of people and not sit in the corner alone.  I want my sons to be reminded of me when they smell meat being smoked.  The memories we are creating will be accessed through the sense of smell.  I remember what my Granny's house smelled like when she was making fried pies.  I remember what my Grandma's house smelled like when she was making the dressing.  I remember what the air smelled  like when my Dad and Grandpa and I were at the river fishing.  I remember what our front yard smelled like when I was chasing my brother down to give him a wet willy.  I remember what our house smelled like when it was taco Tuesday.  I remember what our house smelled like when my Dad would grill steaks.  I remember what it smelled like when my parents would throw a friend's reunion out at the Otis gym.  I remember what it smelled like when Doyle fell through the innertube at Avalon and we though he had drowned.  (He didn't).  I remember all of it.  We get caught up in the daily grind.  All the greatest memories I have in my life, happened with other people.  I remember what it smelled like in Show Low at Torreon on October 16 2010 when Christa made me her husband.  I remember what the hospital rooms smelled like when our babies were born.  I want my boys to know that they're important.  So one way I know that I can do that, is to create an environment where there are a lot of people around that love their parents, and that love them.  That's why I barbecue.