[chat] The Tong-Master

[Craige McWhirter <Craige.McWhirter@xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx>]

The origins of the Tong Master:

----- Forwarded message from -----

>  The Tong-Master
>
>    Griff was at the barbecue and Joel was at the barbecue and I was at
> the barbecue; three men standing around a barbecue, sipping beer, staring
> at sausages, rolling them backwards and forwards, never leaving them
> alone. We didn't know why we were at the barbecue; we were just drawn
> there like moths to a flame. The barbecue was a powerful
> gravitational force, a man-magnet.
>
>    Joel said the thin ones could use a turn, I said yeah I reckon the
> thin ones could use a turn, Griff said yeah they really need a turn it was
> a unanimous turning decision. Griff was the Tong-Master, a true artist, he
> gave a couple of practice snaps of his long silver tongs, SNAP SNAP,
> before moving in, prodding, teasing, and with an elegant flick of his
> wrist, rolling them onto their little backs. A lesser tong-man would've
> flicked too hard; the sausages would've gone full circle, back to where
> they started. Nice, I said. The others went yeah.
>
>    Kevin was passing us, he heard the siren-song- sizzle of the snags,
> the barbecue was calling, beckoning, Kevinnnnn ...come. He stuck his head
> in and said any room? We said yeah and began the barbecue shuffle; Griff
> shuffled to the left, Joel shuffled to the left, I shuffled to the left,
> Kevin slipped in beside me, we sipped our beer. Now there were four of us
> staring at sausages, and Griff gave me the nod, my cue.
>
>    I was second-in-command, and I had to take the raw sausages out of
> the plastic bag and lay them on the barbecue; not too close together, not
> too far apart, curl them into each other's bodies like lovers -fat ones,
> thin ones, herbed and continental. The chipolatas were tiny, they could
> easily slip down between the grill, falling into the molten
> hot-bead-netherworld below. Carefully I laid them sideways ACROSS the
> grill, clever thinking. Griff snapped his tongs with approval; there was
> no greater barbecue honour.
>
>    P.J. came along, he said looking good, looking good -the
> irresistible lure of the barbecue had pulled him in too. We said yeah and
> did the shuffle, left, left, left, left, he slipped in beside Kevin, we
> sipped our beer. Five men, lots of sausages. Joel was the Fork-pronger; he
> had the fork that pronged the tough hides of the Bavarian bratwursts and
> he showed a lot of promise. Stabbing away eagerly, leaving perfect little
> vampire holes up and down the casing. P.J. was shaking his head, he said I
> reckon they cook better if you don't poke them. There was a long silence,
> you could have heard a chipolata drop, and this newcomer was a
> rabble-rouser, bringing in his crazy ideas from outside. He didn't
> understand the hierarchy; first the Tong-master, then the Sausage-layer,
> then the Fork-pronger -and everyone below was just a watcher.Maybe
> eventually they'll move up the ladder, but for now - don't rock the Weber.
>
>
>    Dianne popped her head in; hmmm, smells good, she said. She was
> trying to jostle into the circle; we closed ranks, pulling our heads down
> and our shoulders in, mumbling yeah yeah yeah, but making no room for her.
> She was keen, going round to the far side of the barbecue, heading for the
> only available space . . . the gap in the circle where all the smoke and
> ashes blew. Nobody could survive  the gap; Dianne was going to try. She
> stood there stubbornly, smoke blinding her eyes, ashes filling her
> nostrils, sausage fat spattering all over her arms and face. Until she
> couldn't take it anymore, she gave up and backed off.
>
> Kevin waited till she was gone and sipped his beer. We sipped our beer,
> yeah. Griff handed me his tongs. I looked at him and he nodded. I knew
> what was happening, I'd waited a long time for this moment - the
> abdication. The tongs weighed heavy in my hands, firm in my grip - was I
> ready for the responsibility? Yes, I was. I held them up high and they
> glinted in the sun. Don't forget to turn the thin ones Griff said as he
> walked away from the barbecue, disappearing toward the house. Yeah I
> called back, I will, I will. I snapped them twice, SNAP SNAP, before
> moving in, prodding, teasing, and with an elegant flick of my wrist,
> rolling them back onto their little bellies.
>
> I was a natural, I was the TONG-MASTER. But only until Griff got back from
> the toilet.
>
>

----- End forwarded message -----

-- 

Cheers,
      Craige.

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