Recently, my company had its annual picnic. It's probably about like any other company picnic, really: A couple guys bring their grills, a couple others bring food, and the vast majority of people donate $5 so they don't need to think about it and can just eat.
Well, this year, only two grills showed up. And this is using the term 'grill' pretty loosely. Each was a tiny little propane-powered vertical vertical heater. Now, I don't have a problem with propane. My grill is propane-fired. But in this case, I realized that other people do have a problem with propane: One of the tanks was empty.
With charcoal, you can tell how much you have. You can't run out without noticing. But with propane... Well, the tank stays the same shape and size no matter how full it is. So if you don't really notice that it doesn't slosh when you pick it up, you might still think it's full.
So back to the story: There's one small grill roaring away, and one that has a tiny little flickering flame in one corner. The two chefs decide to use the grill that has fuel for cooking, and the grill with the pathetic little candle-flame for keeping food warm until it is claimed.
Then the CEO shows up and claims the dead grill.
Don't get me wrong, I really like our CEO. He's an amazingly nice, honest, and straight-to-the-point guy. Plus, he's the new replacement for the bad-tempered owner of the company who used to be the CEO. Think Steve Jobs from Pirates of Silicon Valley, but not so successful and without the great ideas to back up the temper.
So what does this mean? Well, at first it means that he stands there in his apron and laughs about the tiny flame. He flips the burgers that are on the grill a few times, and all is well. Then those burgers get claimed. And he throws a fresh, barely-thawed patty on.
What do you think would happen at this point? If I was cooking, the lid would go down for at least five minutes, then I'd open it and see if any cooking happened at all. Does the CEO do that? Nope. He watches the burger like a hawk for about thirty seconds, and then he mashes it with the spatula, hoping for the sizzle that you get when you squeeze a mostly-done burger on a hot grill. Instead, the patty spreads out a bit and just sits there, silently.
So he waits a bit longer, and mashes it again! It's still raw, there's no juice available to squeeze! The patty takes the abuse silently, spreads out a bit more, and starts to sink though the grate.
You'd think that at this point he'd stop mashing it and let it be. A couple of guys in line for food even mention this, pointing out how it is starting to fall through the grate. In response, he laughs and mashes it yet again!
The poor patty has completely lost its chance of ever being edible at this point, and there's nothing else on this dying grill, so the three guys in line (myself included) move to the line at the other grill, hoping to never see such burger torture ever again.
But unfortunately, the two "chefs" at this grill don't know a thing about cooking either. There is one done burger and three almost-done burgers, along with about six raw patties, two kielbasy, and some chicken breasts. One spatula-jockey just stares at everything, looking confused, while the other mashes the three mostly- or completely-done burgers mercilessly, and occasionally flips one over.
I don't know how many of you out there know how to cook a burger, but unless you're at a fast-food joint where the goal is to serve a tasteless puck of meat, you do not, under any circumstances, mash the burger. Not during cooking, not during formation, NEVER! It may make a cool sound when you squeeze all of the juices and flavor out of it on a hot grill, but that's exactly what you're doing: You're turning what had the potential to be a flavorful, juicy burger into a bland, tough, puck of meat.
So finally the guy in front of me points to the burger that's obviously done and conveys this concept of doneness to the guy manning the grill. The burger is immediately served to him, and he walks away. I continue to stare at the next burger, which by this point is completely done, as the anti-chef flips it over and over, as if expecting it to yell out, "I'm DONE!" when it is ready.
So I say, "That one's done," get my burger, and walk away.
Next year I'm bringing my grill, with the stipulation that I will be the chef on it. And I will spatula-block anybody who tries to squeeze my burgers!
