This story must be told—I was laughingly given permission, so I’m taking that and running with it. My hunny and I just bought our first house—a townhome in Daphne. We fell in love with the wood floors, Jacuzzi tub and private back deck. The trees arch over the porch, stretching toward the upstairs, master bedroom windows. Stairs zigzag down the hillside to a small creek that runs behind the house. Our first night in our new home was May 4th and we’ve spent many evenings since enjoying conversation there, watching the birds chase each other through the trees and seeing squirrels scamper from branch to branch. One such evening found me slipping through the sliding glass doors to find him leaning against the rail, looking down toward meandering vines as they crept up the trellis below. The words seemed to fall from my lips, “Feels like we’re on vacation.” He smiled.

I’m sure once we’ve made the first mortgage payment, that feeling might go away, but for now, I keep thinking we’ll have to turn the keys in. Like the back deck is our mountain escape—all the convenience of Highway 98 with all the peace of the forest.

Upon our first tour of the house, Randall discovered a once gas, turned charcoal grill in the storage space under the stairs. He’d commented how he hoped it came with the house—and it did. The living room closet was even complete with a bag of Kinsford charcoal briquettes.

The weekend after we moved in, we did some grocery shopping at Greer’s after Mother’s Day lunch. We stumbled upon a pork tenderloin and he offered to grill it when we got home. Yes! I’d handle a side dish and he could cook the meat.

Once we got home and carried the groceries in, he pulled the grill up the stairs and cleaned it off. I found the tongs and charcoal, then started marinating the pork tenderloin. I decided to also make hamburger patties with some ground beef I’d left to thaw in the fridge.

After I finished making the patties, I stepped out the back door for a hug and a kiss…and a progress check. He stood dripping with sweat and explained how we forgot to buy lighter fluid. He said this was his last attempt to light the charcoal and I formed a half-hearted grin as I thought about cooking all that meat in the oven. A sad ending to my dreams of grill-flavored goodies.

He ripped and folded pieces of cardboard from our recently emptied boxes, and placed them under, around and above the mound of charcoal. He lit the cardboard. He leaned into the grill and gently blew on the small flames until they roared.

We looked at each other in amazement as the flames reflected in the glass doors. The charcoal caught and the fire bellowed from the pit, singeing some overhanging vines and tempting an on-looking beetle so, that after a few fly-bys and fly-throughs, he plunged into the flames to his untimely death.

Randall laughed as he noted the look of concern growing in my eyes.

“Go ahead, you can take pictures,” he chuckled.

Ash landed on his shoulders and I reached to brush it off.

Apparently confused that I hadn’t yet dashed for the camera, he offered further explanation.

“I know this is going to end up in your Smoky Kitchen stories. You can take pictures—I don’t care.”

I smiled, but avoided the kind offer and opted to go in and pour some wine.

As I filled the glasses with Pinot Noir, he slid the doors apart about two feet, popped his head in and said, “’Lighter Fluid Not Included’—that’s the title.”

He shook with laughter and slid the doors closed.

As I returned to the porch, I giggled and congratulated him on his use of inconspicuous rhyme. We cheersed to the new house, the new grill and the still smoky “kitchen.”

I cut some potatoes to make French Fries and shoved them into the oven.

After the coals were ready, we added the tenderloin and burgers to the heat and stood looking out into the night.

When Randall went in for more wine, he saved my French fries from a Smoky Kitchen story within a Smoky Kitchen story, and refilled my glass in the meantime.

When the meat came off the grill, we headed inside for a sampling.

He pulled at a corner of a hamburger patty, took a bite, and smiled as he moved his eyes from the meat, over to me.

“How did you season these?” he begged while concealing his mouthful. “They taste just like Whataburger (his favorite)!”

I explained that I couldn’t find any of my typical burger marinades, and had scrounged up some soy sauce, Yuengling, onion, egg and Greek seasoning.

“Mmmmm! Porch-A-Burger!”

I chimed in, “Just like you like it!”

Porch-A-Burger

1 ½ lb. ground beef

1 egg

½ small onion, diced

3 tbs. soy sauce

3 tbs. Yuengling beer

Greek seasoning

Mix first five ingredients in a bowl, then form patties with hands. Remember to make them a little larger than you’d like the finished product, as it will shrink on the grill. Lightly sprinkle patties with Greek seasoning. Grill on sheet of aluminum foil and enjoy!