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I
f you are what you eat, I’m
now a ‘dirty’ steak basted
in a Simon & Garfunkel
lyric of parsley, rosemary
and thyme nestled on a
bed of coals with a few
whisky-smoked wood chips and looking
forward to a dry rub.
I am in the back garden of a cottage hid-
den amid the bucolic bustle of a mid-Devon
hamlet. But this is no ordinary garden. The
wardrobe in Marcus Bawdon’s house takes
you not to Narnia but to barbecue nirvana.
This is my first day at UK BBQ School;
actually it’s my only day and I have signed up
to the beginner’s course. Rather late in life I
have decided to attempt to wrest the tongs
from my Australian wife, Kelly, who won’t let
a Pom near anything that combines fire and
food al fresco.
It is safe to assume the first barbecue
was lit back when cavemen rubbed sticks
together, unaware their ‘can’t start a fire
without a spark’ Neanderthal mumble
would be used by Bruce Springsteen a mil-
lion or so years later.
But when the history of this most primi-
tive form of cooking is written, the last
few years will earn a chapter of their own
clumsily titled: ‘When the British stopped
moaning about the weather and setting off
the fire alarm and started eating outdoors at
every opportunity’.
ALPHA-MALE STATUS
My childhood memories convinced me bar-
becues were only for summer holidays and
most of mine took place in Devon. The patio
area of the cottage above the Yealm estu-
ary was home to a filthy old grill on rusty
legs with spiders the size of Plymouth in
residence. The only meat was sausages,
and dads, swilling red wine in homage to
Keith Floyd but without the culinary skills to
match, fought for alpha-male status around
the excuse for a flame. However, the smoke
billowed out over the water, the hired row-
ing boat bobbed and all was right with the
world – if not the sausages. Knock up a
potato salad, shelter from the wind and rain
and that was your annual barbecue.
How times have changed, with ever-more
sophisticated outdoor cooking appliances to
grill, fry, smoke and roast.
So on arrival at CountryWoodSmoke,
Bawdon’s backyard barbecue business, I
assumed I’d simply have to learn how to
control the knob on some gas or electric-
fired monster, which in this age of smart
technology would probably talk to me and
set the temperature and timer, allowing me
to draw the cork on a Malbec and wait for
the ping to signal lunch was ready. Now