The Fire Still Burns

First BBQ of the year yesterday at the suggestion of our Dear Leader, and an excellent suggestion it was too.

The leg of lamb I was to roast was instead butterflied and cooked over the charcoal, having spent a couple of hours in a garlic and garlic marinade. Not a complex recipe, you crush six cloves of garlic and rub them over the non-fatty bits then leave for as long as is prudent. With the meat varying in thickness between say three inches and half that there was something for everyone in there. Everyone who doesn't like lamb horribly overdone.

The meal fitted the health kick we're on at present. I didn't use any oil in cooking the lamb, nor a parcel of prawns steamed in their own juices and given an edge with lemon-grass, chilli and cumin. Patatas Bravas (nothing if not eclectic this) or Braves if you are Catalan had a few drops of the chilli-infused stuff that packs a massive punch, and the skewers of mushrooms and peppers needed none either.

In fact cooking over charcoal is a good way to remove fat from meat, so is healthy. Yet you'll see a regular summer story run in the papers that eating BBQ food is akin to signing your own death warrant. Only if you burn stuff badly, or underdo pork or chicken. But why spoil a good scare with conditions?

A barbie in March. Salad from the garden in there too, or the green house to be accurate. March.

Small son and I have lost half a stone and more each with what we have now officially dubbed the alternative eating programme. It basically has involved avoidance of frying, keeping oil and butter to a sensible minimum, no sweet stuff except at the weekend, and going for good carbs, lean meats, and loads of raw or steamed veg.

I can see my feet again when standing upright. We feel better generally, and felt wonderful in the sunshine of semi-tropical Fulwood yesterday, glass of Rioja in hand, the scent of meat (and, well, garlic) wafting across from the BBQ, and the knowledge that our Dear Leader had made another brilliant call.