BBQs Galore--Frisco Style Part I

Whenever you move into a new neighborhood, there is always that sense of curiosity mixed with anxious energy because you really don't know what you are getting yourselves into. At first glance, you can stroll down the lovely tree-lined streets and see kids riding their training-wheel enriched bikes with Moms and Dads cheering them on. You can listen to the high-pitched whistling of the crap creating flying rats that seem to inundate all towns throughout the world (any Audubon society members out there, please don't take offense, but birds should be entirely outlawed in at least 41 states). The abundant flower beds busting at the seams, silhouetting the elegant brick or stucco homes. It always seems remarkably idyllic, but you never see the dark side teeming beneath the surface of these suburban minefields.

After a few weeks in a new house, the routine of the neighborhood begins to take shape. You know who are the "regular folks" and you also realize whose yard you need to make sure your kids don't accidentally allow their Frisbees to escape in. There are also those houses where you never see anybody except for the obligatory wave as they pull out of the driveway on their way to their anonymous job, just as certainly as you can pretty much guess which house is never going to move that 1974 blue-gray Pinto hatchback from the side of the yard.

Over the years in our ventures, we have encountered a wide variety of neighbor. Sometimes this can be construed as a great thing (our first house in Anthem) and other times it can be precariously uncomfortable (our second house in Anthem). Here in beautiful and soggy North Texas, we have a veritable bouillabaisse of neighbors to choose from, and the incredible combination of all of them makes life extraordinarily interesting. We have the really annoying neighbors on one side, who always feel the need to bitch and moan about their lives without regard to any body's actual interest level. Fortunately, that house is a rental and eventually, their house will be built and they will actually move away, though after six months of promises, I am getting further and further away from believing they will ever freaking leave. We have the downright rude neighbors on the other side who refuse to make eye contact with anybody for fear that they might turn to stone. Lord knows the consequences when their five year old actually smiles and waves at somebody. Their 13 year old daughter dutifully stares straight down at the sidewalk as she passes the houses on her way from the bus stop to the front door. Very pleasant and sociable.

Truth be told, these are the exception to our neighborhood, not the rule. Aside from those two miscreant households, we have an incredible wealth of fantastic neighbors to choose from. It has been a while since I posted anything, and I am pretty sure I introduced the world to some of these people at some point, but we have three sets of truly amazing friends across the street from us in the forms of Brad and Stacy, Alex and Christine, and Chris and Gillian. Pretty much every night after the kids have been put to bed, any combination of them comes over to sit on our front porch, sip a glass or two of wine (better yet, a couple of glasses of scotch), and recount the highlights of the day. No matter how challenging the day might have been, I can almost always count on finishing on a high note and fighting the urge to stay up another hour chatting with our friends. I wouldn't trade this part of my day for anything, and it doesn't matter if it is all eight of us sitting out there (or up to ten of us when Shari or Meemaw and Poppy Joe come to town) or just three of us, I know that my day ends on a high note. I guess at some point in our lives, the simplest things have the broadest appeal to us, and sipping scotch with friends on my front porch is among my favorite things these days.

Last Thursday, as we were sitting there, somebody came up with an idea that we really go and blow the doors off this 4th of July thing and expand upon the greatness that is the Granddaddy of all patriotic holidays. Instead of cramming a BBQ into one afternoon, why couldn't we break it up a little bit and have multiple dinners throughout the weekend and into the holiday on the 4th? I mean, if one day of cooking out with the family is pretty good, wouldn't five days of a culinary extravaganza with all the neighbors be absolutely incredible? We batted around a few ideas, and eventually came up with the following itinerary for Independence Week 2007:

Friday Night--Pizza night location TBD (Brad & Stacy weren't there for the conversation, but were insistent that they would take care of the Pizza Night)

Saturday Night--Hot Dog Blowout at our house

Sunday--Burger Battle at Alex and Christine's house

Monday--Nothing

Tuesday--Italian Festival at Chris and Gillian's house

Wednesday--BBQ Royale in the street (eventually relocated to another neighbor Bill's house)

We prattled on about who was going to be responsible for what meals, what each of us could bring, what time we would be undertaking each of these events and had a pretty good skeleton for the week. Kim, Christine and Gillian sat there and smiled and nodded without offering much to the conversation. Chris, Alex and I on the other hand kept trying to one-up one another and before we went to bed on Thursday, we were geared up for an onslaught of neighborly dining. This certainly wasn't the first time that we had enjoyed having everybody come over for dinner. In reality, we probably have a get together once every couple of weeks at somebody's house, but we had never gone to this length in such a short time period. I was pretty pumped up about it. Kim--not so much. We came in from outside and in my scotch-soaked thought process, I couldn't have been more excited.

"This is going to be awesome, don't you think?"
"Awesome?"
"We are going to have so much fun. We've got the whole week planned!"
"That's an awful lot of neighbors."
"What do you mean. I thought you liked everybody."
"I do. I love every one of them, but that is a lot of time to spend with anybody."

She gave me that look that makes me realize I am a complete idiot. I thought about it for a second and she was almost certainly right. Maybe everybody else would come to the same conclusion and we would end up paring it down to maybe pizza night on Friday and a BBQ on the 4th. That would be plenty of time with the neighbors and we wouldn't end up killing each other's children by the end of the week--not exactly the way you want to remember Independence Day. . .
"Hunter what are you doing for the 4th this year?"

"Oh, I dunno. Probably the same as every year, going to go and visit Mom and Dad in the Klink. What about you guys?"

I figured on Friday morning, everybody's wife would have talked some sense into them and we would end up simplifying the week's agenda signifiantly. At work the next day, however, I checked my hotmail account and saw about 20 messages back and forth from all of the concerned parties about how much they were looking forward to all these meals this week. Stacy and Brad had volunteered to handle the Pizza that night and all of the chatter looked like everybody was pretty damn excited. Before anything could be remedied, we were being swept up in a wave of enthusiasm that would not be contained. The week's festivities were on.

Friday Night, June 29th aka Pizza Night

While we were thrilled that Brad and Stacy had volunteered to host Friday's prelude to the week that lay ahead, it was far and away the simplest of any of the evenings. Brad picked up three pizzas from Market Street (very good pizza for a grocery store by the way) and we had a few beers, ate some pizza and relaxed. It couldn't have been any easier. We often get together on Friday night for pizza as a group, so this really wasn't anything different. After dinner, the guys went upstairs to Brad's media room and watched Borat and laughed hysterically. The ladies walked across the street to our house to do lord knows what and the kids ran around in every direction like recently uncaged monkeys. Things were moving along swimmingly until we got through about half of Borat and Brad suddenly started complaining about stomach pain. He had just eaten a bunch of pizza and had jalapenos with his lunch, so we didn't really think too much of it. We were wrapped up in our movie and didn't even notice he had left the room and was lying downstairs on the couch for the last 45 minutes.
We ended up taking off and told Stacy that he seemed to be in a lot of pain on the couch. Gillian and Chris brought over some high powered gas relief. Kim mentioned that she thought it might be his appendix because the pain was about six inches above his bellybutton. Alex and I poured ourselves a 12 year old Balvenie Doublewood and relaxed in our patio chairs as the circus of activity regarding Brad's stomach went on around us. The kids went to bed and Stacy never returned as she nursed Brad back to health with his upset tummy--wimp.
We retired for the evening at about 11:30 and I quickly fell asleep until we were awoken at 1:45 with the phone ringing. It was Stacy and she was bringing Brad to the hospital. Kim made her way across the street to watch the boys and sleep on their couch. I went back to sleep and woke up the next morning taking care of the four hulking labs that we suddenly found ourselves parenting (if that sounds like two more than you remembered from the last time I wrote, don't worry, we'll get to that story line another time--too much ground to cover right now). By 9:00, we had heard from Stacy again. Brad indeed had appendicitis and they were getting set to remove the little bastard from his belly. All right, so maybe it wasn't the jalapenos, but he is still a wimp. Tyler and Connor woke up on Saturday morning to find Kim on their couch and wanted to know where their parents were. When they were told, Connor was pissed off because he was supposed to get a hermit crab that morning and now he might have to wait a whole day. Tyler was less put out by these developments, but every bit as concerned about Brad's health. He was more like "Oh. . . Can we go play at your house now Mrs. Kim?"
The level of compassion for the Dads out there is always immense. Stacy came home from the hospital around 3:00 and the only thing she mentioned was that she was so upset she would be missing hot dog night. Pathetic!

Saturday Night, June 30 aka Hot Dog Blowout

I wasn't about to let our night to shine slip away without giving forth full effort. While I realize that hot dog night might not sound like much on the surface, I was determined to create the finest evening of frankfurter delight that the world has ever known. I put some thoughts together about what would comprise a perfect hot dog for me, and then thought of all the ingredients that might be viable accompaniments to others' enjoyment of the All-American favorite.

We weren't going to grab a couple of Ball Park Franks off the rack at Kroger, throw some yellow mustard and ketchup out there and let people fend for themselves on stale hot dog buns. That is not what the 2007 Hot Dog Blowout was about, at least not in my mind. We had to provide more--we had to draw a line in the sand and create a standard, nay a benchmark from which all Hot Dog Blowouts that might follow by future generations would dream of achieving. But how? How indeed.

The vitality of each component could not be understated. We needed to provide variety that might appeal to a broad range. The goal was to create a sense that all guests would want to try several varieties and combinations. Variety couldn't just be about the dog itself--it had to be about the buns, the condiments, the preparation of the condiments, the accouterments, etc. We (and when I say we, I do so because Kim was involved in the shopping trip, but stayed as far away from me as humanly possible because she was confident that I was completely insane throughout the process. I take full responsibility for any insane idea, premise and outcome) picked up the groceries from Market Street and went home to start preparations for what would ultimately become a legendary night of hot dog nirvana.

As I am starting to become increasingly aware, this like so many postings in the past is starting to become somewhat lengthy. Though I am certain that each of you reading this are overwrought with anticipation of knowing the details of this meal, I might need to skip to the chase and just describe the finished product.

We ended up with grilled Johnsonville Brauts, Hebrew National and Boars Head hot dogs, three kinds of toasted buns, homemade chili, sauerkraut, grilled onions, grilled red peppers, diced onions, sweet relish, homemade dill relish, pickles, yellow mustard, dijon mustard, spicy mustard, horseradish cream, mayonnaise (don't know why, but some freak might have wanted it), ketchup, BBQ sauce, sliced jalapenos, and grated cheese. We also had baked potato salad, bbq baked beans, cole slaw, and 4 varieties of chips. Our counter could barely contain the bounty. I watched as one neighbor after another sauntered up to the counter to take another stab at the perfect creation. Alex and Chris continued to amaze me with their creativity and appetite. Alex ended up with a bowl of chili for an appetizer, a braut, and two absolutely over the top creations with at least 8 ingredients on each one. It was magical, and it was only later in the festivities that I realized I could have done the entire event without any brauts--the hotdogs were being gobbled up at an 8 to 1 ratio.
As far as my creation went, I had a Boars Head frank with chili, mustard, ketchup, diced onion, grilled onion, homemade dill relish and diced cheddar/jack cheese. It may have been the most magical hot dog of my life. I actually wept.

Part II tomorrow