Smokin'

Sometimes, Matt comes home with other people's castoffs. The items are often related to food, and just a little bit broken (a cafeteria-sized stockpot with a tear in the bottom, a wine barrel with one busted stave). They could be used, Matt will say, because they can be fixed.

Matt is really good at fixing things, which I am grateful for. He fixes the important equipment in my life, like my truck and my wheelbarrow, as well as other niceties, like the toilet, the kitchen sink, and the water heater. So I know what he says is true: the miscellaneous kitchen implements could be used, because they can be fixed. Still, I am wary.

Matt's most recent acquisition was The Big Chief. It's a lightweight metal box, about two feet high and eighteen inches wide. It appeared in the entryway under the front porch, its identifying features partially obscured by a mess of other things. I eyed it dubiously. I decided what it was. I was so wrong that now I can't even remember what I decided. I passed it often, in a hurry, and furrowed my brow at it, in a disapproving sort of way. What are you, and are you broken?

At some point I learned that The Big Chief is an electric smoker, for smoking food. This did not elevate its reputation. I was brought up to believe that electric appliances should not smoke. And since it had not yet smoked any food, its state of repair or disrepair was undetermined. Think about it - an electric appliance that, when working properly, is supposed to smoke? If it's broken, the only possible outcome is that it will burst into flames and take the house with it.

I shifted my furrowed eyebrows from The Big Chief, to Matt, to The Big Chief, in order to convey my skepticism. Matt explained that any activity involving The Big Chief would be conducted outdoors, and under strict supervision.

Matt fired up The Big Chief, by flicking a switch and inserting a small pan of water-soaked cherry kindling. He smoked our jalapenos to perfection, along with some green tomatoes for omelets. Good old Matt.