You Always Remember Your First

 

You always remember your first. Where you were. Who you were with. What song may have been playing.

In our case, it was back in the spring of 2003 in Hingham. Lowe’s on Route 3A to be exact. I knew I was ready and although a little nervous, felt confident I was up to the task.

It started as most trips to a big box home improvement store do. Navigating the parking lot through display racks of perennials and annuals. Trying to find a spot that’s not taken up by a metal shopping cart. Eyeing rows of fencing, imagining how good they’d look on your property with the surest confidence you could install the entire fence yourself if you just had the time, and the tools, and the knowledge, and the experience, and maybe the slightest bit of carpentry and measuring skills. 

We parked, I’m guessing, about a mile away — not by choice, but because it was the only place we could find a spot that wasn’t occupied by a stack of mulch, a row of sod, or a nondescript white work van straddling the line of two parking spaces — and finally entered the store with a Tim “The Tool Man” Taylor attitude of “let’s construct something,” even though I have none of the aforementioned things required to build anything, like a fence. At least I didn’t back then. So in those days, I’d settle on buying some paint, a few brushes, and maybe a nifty paint bucket with a handle that I didn’t really need. But I could paint, and buying something makes me feel constructive.

However, feeling constructive around the house was not the purpose of this day’s visit. It was time to get down to business and after what seemed like an eternity, but in reality, was probably no more than three to five minutes of unimportant small talk and sort-of-confident strides, we turned down the “Seasonal Home and Garden” aisle and my eyes locked on her. 

I was paralyzed for a minute, pausing to confirm this was the moment I’d been waiting for. But there was no denying it. She was right there in front of me, staring right back into my eyes, completely put together, as if to say, “Here I am. Take me. I’m yours.”

Indeed. She was.

“She” was a 2003 Weber Genesis Silver B 3-burner propane grill and whether or not you believe in fairy tales, I shit you not, it was love at first sight.

Shopping for your first grill can be intimidating. There are many options out there and while they all have the same similar stainless steel sheen at the store, the price difference on brands and grills is wider than the Grand Canyon. Go too cheap and you’ll be running through the same exercise within two years after the insides rust out. But you don’t need to blow your life’s savings at such a young age, unsure of where your life will even be within the next two years, to splurge on the Cadillac of grills either.

Like a Toyota or Honda, I knew Weber was a brand to trust. One that would last with plenty of low to mid-range grill options to get exactly what I needed for the foreseeable future.

I’m a fairly middle-of-the-road guy. So, a middle-of-the-road grill was going to work for me. And speaking of "middle-of-the-road," check out this little gem from 1971.

I was smitten with this Weber right out of the gate and knew then and there this relationship was going to last for a long time. Little did I know how long it would actually go.

In fact, it’s amazing to think our relationship has endured so much longer than some other famous couples that got hitched in 2003.

Dave Navarro and Carmen Electra tied the knot that year, only to split two years later when my Weber and I were just getting warmed up. So much for “til death do them apart.”

Gwyneth Paltrow and Chris Martin married in 2003 and divorced in 2016. They had a decent run by Hollywood standards but flamed out while my Weber and I have continued on in our para-para-paradise. Eight years and countless burgers since their split, my Weber and I still spend quiet nights in the backyard together.

Even with a one-year spot, my Weber and I outlasted the marriage of Britney Spears and Jason Alexander which fizzled out after a mere 55 hours in 2004, about the amount of time it’d take me to smoke four briskets on my Weber, one at a time.

In 2003, Apple launched the iTunes music store which significantly shifted how music fans bought and listened to music. I spent many years curating iTunes playlists on my iPod, piecing together amazing soundtracks for backyard BBQs where my Weber would play the starring role. While my grill was still enjoying a successful career with the rise of Spotify, iTunes’ flames were burning out, with no backup spare tank in sight. 

This trusty Weber first set up shop on the second-floor deck of 55 Moseley St in Dorchester. With its sweeping view of the on-ramp to the southbound expressway from Columbia Rd and the constant whirl of traffic whizzing by, this apartment never required a noise machine to help you fall asleep at night but it possessed the ultimate deck for a grill.

Nothing says “inexperienced, young adult” more than placing a flammable, combustible appliance on the second-floor deck of a wood-shingled multi-family home. However, I guess since I survived lighting a charcoal grill on the second-floor 4’ x 8’ balcony in my previous apartment under the shelter of a large maple tree in early fall, this scenario seemed relatively safe.

And it was. From day one, she kept a manageable flame, heated evenly, and cooked everything I threw her way.

Those first couple of years, we experienced some pretty intense highs and lows together. 

In our inaugural year, we watched Aaron “Bleeping” Boone wipe out the Red Sox’s chances at a World Series appearance when he hit an extra-inning home run off Tim Wakefield.

A year later, we watched the Sox reverse the Curse of the Bambino when they came back, three games to none against the Yankees, to win the ALCS and move onto what seemed like an almost-too-easy sweep of the Cardinals in the World Series.

As life moved on, weddings were celebrated, children were born, and Tom Brady began to rack up Super Bowl victories. All the while, the Weber and I enjoyed reliable go-to grilled dinners together and got a little frisky with some occasional experimentation.

After a few short years in Dorchester, we opted for a change of scenery and headed for quieter digs in Milton. 

The Weber thrived in suburban life and enjoyed becoming a year-round contributor to dinner. She didn’t even get jealous when I started flirting with a few various smokers on the side. In 2009, when I decided to hit the competition BBQ circuit with Fadeproof Sweetness, I have to admit I was a little nervous going away for the weekend with another grill. What would she think? 

But she welcomed me back with open flame. She’s a grill after all and understands that propane is against competition rules. We have an understanding. She was my first and while sometimes the situation calls for low and slow, she will always be my go-to when I need to cook a quick steak tip or chicken breast.

And speaking of firsts, there were quite a few firsts we shared together; ribs, spatchcock chicken, beer-soaked brats, and a lot of other experimental dishes I can picture in my head but whose names I just can’t recall. Some were sweet. Some were spicy. Some nights were just random one-offs after a couple of beers, never to be revisited again.

The memories with her in Milton are forever burned in my brain. Decades passed, another child was born, cats came and went, dogs were added to the family, and she was there for it all. I tried to reciprocate as best I could but always felt I wasn’t quite good enough. Prime steaks, proper oiling of the cooking surface...I wanted what was best for her.

I bought her nice things over the years; new flavorizer bars, stainless steel grates, and most recently a new propane tank hose to replace the one I found some bastard squirrel chewing through on a Saturday morning while I was having coffee, looking out the back window at some beautiful birds enjoying the new fruit and nut medley I set out in the feeder. Seriously. As if, going after my birdseed wasn’t bad enough? Now you eat through my grill’s hose? I should have let him suck out the propane and then fed the prick a match. Anyway, I fixed her up with a little TLC as I always have.

In the past couple of years, I knew we were getting towards the end. During Boston’s Snowmageddon winter of 2015, her fold-down shelf extension was broken under the weight of the snow. Two years ago, some rust got the best of her and she lost her drip tray.

However, like an old Corolla, my Weber may have started to look like shit with more than a couple of rust spots on the outside and a wheel or two that looked a little suspect, but she started the first time, every time, and continued to serve her purpose reliably. And like those old Toyotas you still see on the road, it amazes me to think about how contemporary and modern she looked on display, yet now, compared to newer models, she looks so boxy and out of place. I hate to even think of her that way. 

Such is life, all good things must come to an end. After countless pounds of steak tips, thousands of burgers, too many wing recipes to remember, and our fair share of grease fires (by the way, if you can’t remember the last time you cleaned your grill, it’s time to clean your grill) I have made the difficult decision to upgrade to a newer model Weber propane grill.

Continue to burn bright my 2003 Weber Genesis Silver B Grill. And I’m happy to say she will, albeit with someone else. She was quickly claimed the same day she was posted for free on the marketplace. A nearby pastor at a local church in search of a new grill has been blessed with one of the most reliable appliances I’ve ever owned in my adult life. I hope the baptism goes smoothly and he breaks much bread with that divine piece of cookery. In the legendary words of the great Jon Bon Jovi, “Never say goodbye.”