The aroma of carbon and ash begins as the material charres, creating to some a disagreeable but very necessary initial reaction. But this smell is not disagreeable to me, for it is the smell of the presence of friends who come and gather in the yard at my humble abode.
The smell speaks of temporary moments of younger days activities, current days hopes, laughing, drinking, smoking all while awaiting the large barbecue grill to heat the unheralded brittle, lightweight, black wood briquettes.
We grill steaks and we roast potatoes, we eat with our hands as if on safari and watch as the coals glow on. Mature conversation was the one dessert purposely unplanned for our summer evenings.
We drank bad wine and fine beer while watching the heat consume itself.
It died at last; we had time to burn.