"barbecue grill" news and stories

A 1970s Atlanta invention likened to the culinary equivalent of a Swiss Army Knife expands its fan base, as 'Eggheads' flock to classes to learn how to grill, smoke and make enchiladas on the Big Green Egg.

First came the Egg, then the chicken, and now it's escargot.

The Big Green Egg barbecue grill has attracted legions of devoted fans since its debut at an Atlanta strip mall in the early 1970s, with the company reporting double-digit spikes in sales almost every year. Aficionados -- the proper term is "eggheads" -- are infatuated with the ceramic grill's capacity to quickly attain temperatures that approximate Venusian weather (think 800-degree heat) and its knack for being easy to clean.

Indeed, ease and simplicity define the Egg experience: Company spokeswoman Donna Myers says some buyers use their Eggs to stage full-scale dinner parties the very day they buy them.

"It doesn't take very much skill at all," Myers says.

Unlike most grills, the Egg apparently doesn't require backyard cooks to precisely arrange charcoal briquettes, scatter grapefruit peels beneath its grate or utter any spells to produce delicious results. To compensate for the lack of inherent challenge, Eggheads have sought to prove their prowess by adapting every known recipe for their beloved cookers. Having mastered chicken and steak during the Carter administration, veteran Big Green Egg owners have lately moved on to escargot, moose and baked brie.

"It's very competitive," Myers says. "We see lots of unbelievably creative folks."

While the Big Green Egg in its current trademarked form is a relatively recent innovation, inventor Ed Fisher drew inspiration from Asia's kamado cookers, which many U.S. servicemen first discovered while stationed on the Pacific front. The Big Green Egg's direct antecedent -- Japan's mushikamado, a close cousin to India's tandoor -- likely evolved from a clay pot cooking method pioneered in China more than 3,000 years ago.

Like the mushikamado, the Big Green Egg is controlled through vents, which Myers says accounts for the cooker's tremendous versatility. The Big Green Egg, a culinary version of a Swiss army knife, can grill, smoke or bake. Eggheads -- who spend between $259.95 for a mini Egg to $999.95 for the XL model -- are doing all of the above.

"There used to be a joke that you could cook anything on an Egg but ice cream," says chef Bobby Cresap, who helms the Big Green Egg Academy. "Well, I cooked a baked Alaska."

According to Cresap, the Egghead community is periodically seized by fads that dominate cookers' imaginations and online forum discussions. This summer, the object of Egghead obsession is enchiladas, a multi-part preparation that brilliantly exploits the Egg's various functions.

The most ambitious enchilada makers are conscripting their Eggs to serve as tortilla ovens, baking fresh corn tortillas in which to wrap their Egg-smoked pork. "Then they're putting it all in a lasagna pan and throwing it back on," Cresap explains. "It's just always something new."

Enchiladas will likely make an appearance at Eggtoberfest, the biggest and most well-known of the regional extravaganzas on the Egghead calendar. Many dishes have been struck from the Holy Grail list at the annual celebration in Atlanta, including dog biscuits and Philly cheesesteaks. A team of Alaskan Eggheads one year showed off their whole salmon recipe, while another size-minded team whipped up a 10-pound hamburger.

"These people live, eat and breathe Big Green Egg," Myers says. "They would give you their first-born, dog and truck before they'd give you their Egg."

For the Egg-curious who haven't yet been fully indoctrinated in Egghead culture, the Big Green Egg this fall plans to roll out its first-ever national schedule of company-sponsored classes. While classes have long been offered at the Atlanta campus, Cresap called the initiative "a new opportunity."

"Basically, what happens is a lot of people are running classes," he continues. "But they do one or two and then they're out of ideas."

Cresap has formulated the curriculum for the two-hour classes, which include Big Green Egg 101, in which students are taught how to load charcoal, light the Egg and cook a chicken, and Big Green Egg 102, which delves into pizza and ribs.

"Some people want to be spoon fed the information," says Cresap, who uses his Egg when competing on the professional barbecue circuit.

Cresap says the classes' big draw isn't necessarily his material, which is parroted on the DVD included with every Egg sold, but his samples.

"They start smelling charcoal, and, before you know it, everyone's having a good time," he says. "Literally, everyone who leaves here wants to come back."

Buy a Big Green Egg at Amazon.

Now, I've never been a huge sports fan, so maybe it shouldn't be a surprise that I just learned about cheese racing today. If you don't think that what you see here looks like a sport, well, I'm right there with you. As explained on the official Cheese Racing Association (CRASS) website, this game of British origin basically consists of throwing individually wrapped slices of cheese on a moderately hot barbecue grill and seeing which one inflates fastest. Full inflation means that all for corners of the plastic sleeve are off the grill. According to CRASS, the bags don't melt, they just puff up like balloons. I never knew that, and I don't feel the least bit bad about it. As can be expected, alcohol is definitely a factor.

I'm sure it's exciting, but for outdoor drinking fun that skirts the line between game and sport, I think I'll just stick to bocce.
 
Oh, and lets not confuse this with cheese rolling.