The first in our summer grillmaster series

Warm weather finally upon New England, I fired up the grill yesterday. But first I sought advice from the grillmaster under whom I apprenticed (you might know him as "Anonymous," which is the name he uses when he comments).

I suggested that he give me a pep talk, like what Bear Bryant might have told the Alabama football team before the start of the season.

The answer was equal parts measured and sage: "Win one for the griller."

I would be remiss if I did not give a shoutout to Bean Stringfellow, Mrs. Stringfellow, Some Guy, and some other guy who doesn't have a N-B handle. Their largess brought me my new grill, and they are always welcome for some or all of the cuts of meat below.

Funk on the grill, I bid you adieu

Sometimes people ask "What are the benefits of getting married?" When the question was posed at the NaturalBachelor Party, the only thoughtful answer came from my married friend who said "It makes my daughter legitimate."

What we didn't mention is all the great stuff people give you off your registry, no matter how ridiculous. A $17 ice cream scoop, with antifreeze? Sure. Cheese dome? Damn straight.

In the upper echelon of these gifts is the Cadillac of grills: The Weber Performer carbine action grill with a sight and a compass in the stock with a sundial.

I think it has more moving parts than the space shuttle, due in no small part to its status as a double-threat: It's charcoal, but has propane that ignites the charcoal. This way I can still claim to be a grilling purist, while no longer secretly relying on the crutch of lighter fluid.

Of course, the victim in all of this is our old grill -- the 22" Charbroil that has been a brave soldier for four years but seems like a kids' toy when it stands beside my new bohemoth.

It's taken countless nights to get the funk on this grill at the right level, and it's a shame to have to start over. I'll miss you funk on the grill, but not you're ever-present threat of e-coli.