THE GRILL OF MY DREAMS

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It was beautiful.

The yellow and orange flames danced around in a seductive and mesmerizing routine. It was as if they were calling me, even talking to me. "Take me to the neighbor’s house," they said.

No, kidding of course. I wasn’t having a pyromaniacal moment. The flames I was so captivated by were safely contained in my gas grill, standing as a symbol of my home improvement success.

It all started a few months ago when I decided to sear some animal flesh for the delight of all present. OK, so my wife and I were cooking some burgers, but you get the drift. I fired up my trusty grill as I do often. (And, before you grilling purists begin dismissing me for using a gas grill rather than your precious charcoal, answer me this: who has to scrub their hands for near days to get all of that black gook off their hands after barbecuing? Thought so. So there.)

Unlike previous times, I noticed that, rather than the smooth, oval of fire that usually lines the interior of my grill, there was a big sun-spot size flair-up on one side. I figured that something must be wrong because, let’s face it, most grills are not designed to shoot 12-foot flames in the air. I think.

So I came up with a solution. I only turned the right burner on, which seemed to -- sort of -- solve the problem. However, it created a different dilemma. All of the heat was now concentrated in a small area, making it a stretch to cook more than two burgers, much less the entire pig I’m still hoping for.

I struggled along with my limited fire capacity until I could stand it no more. I decided it was time to become Home Repair Man, Very Good Friend to Plumbers and Contractors Across Town.

My first step was to take the grill apart, because what better way to really break something beyond repair than to disassemble it, possibly misplacing important parts, such as the propane tank.

Once my grill was in several thousand pieces, I found the problem. The grill’s burner had endured the test of time as well as it could, and a piece had rusted out of the side. Basically, rather than small pin-holes to let the flames get out, I had a rusty hole the size of a baseball. Perhaps that explains the strange taste in food.

I went to a home improvement store to find a replacement. Much to my chagrin, I had chagrin. Much to my surprise, there were more kinds of grill parts than there are residents of Tokyo. I stood there with a helpless look on my face for a few minutes until a store employee came to me and said, "Sir, no loitering."

Realizing that, rather than a vagrant, I was a customer, he asked if he could help me find what I was looking for, and it occurred to me -- I had no idea what the correct terms were for any of the stuff I was looking for. "Yeah, I, uh, need one of those flat things...where the flames come out...fits into the...uh...grill."

"You need a burner replacement," he said, reaching for an item that was parked directly in front of me. He told me that this should work, as it was a "universal."

Apparently, "universal" is code for "He’ll be back; no way that will fit his grill." Indeed it didn’t fit my grill, unless I were planning on pounding the sides of my grill out about a foot on either side, which I wasn’t.

I went to a different store to see if they had the size I needed. This time, however, I was smart -- I dragged the nasty old rusty burner up to the store to comparison shop. I was already covered in grill funk from trying to free the old burner, so I think some people thought I was a homeless person. I considered standing in the middle of the aisle, looking at the old burner and saying, "Murray, do you see your mother?"

Finally, I found what I was looking for. When I got home, it was only a matter of minutes before I had my old grill back in perfect running order. (Only a matter of 250 or so minutes.) I won’t bore you with the specifics of the installation, but let’s just say I won this round. (Editor’s note: It was a 12th round decision. It could have gone either way. The grill wants a rematch.)

I am excited about the prospect of once again filling up my grill with all sorts of delicious fare. And, as a bonus, my neighborhood doesn’t have to be referred to as "That place where the fireball came from." Now, if I can just find that propane tank.