I WITNESS: Memorial Day — Time for chillin’ and grillin’

Dedicated to Steve Wichman, who is the wurst person on earth.

Today I am giving myself and the weekly readers of this column a break from my usual hair-on-fire screeds. In honor of the first holiday weekend of the year when one can hope to stand outside without first layering on the long johns, winter boots, down parkas, and mittens, I will reflect on the deep satisfaction of grilling meat over hot coals in the backyard.

I grew up in Milwaukee, Wis., where folks know a thing or two about bleak, frigid winters and the balm of summer barbecues. As a child, I lived for the moment on Memorial Day when my mother fired up the potbellied Weber grill and slapped on a full rack of baby back ribs.

The aroma of sizzling pork permeated the neighborhood and drew every child and adult within a three-block radius to our doorstep, forks and hand wipes at the ready. Those ribs were good eats.

While most of the artifacts of my prehistoric childhood have vanished into the mists of time—no more rotary phones, no more hi-fi record players with multi-platter spindles, no more coffee percolators—the Weber grill has not. In the modern age, others may have opted for high-tech outdoor kitchens complete with fancy smokers and thermostat-controlled gas grills, but I still cherish my baby Weber and schlep it out of the basement several times each summer to grill up some meat.

Vegetarian kebabs? No thanks. Ersatz plant-based faux “burgers”? Ugh. I want real pork, and plenty of it.

If you are contemplating grilling ribs for the first time, you may feel somewhat intimidated. Don’t be—it’s not that hard. If you are as old-fashioned as I am and attracted to the idea of a standard charcoal-fired grill, there are several inexpensive models from which to choose. You can pick one up at your local hardware store. The mini-Weber that I own costs all of $50.

Fill the bottom of the grill with plain old charcoal briquettes and soak them in a liberal dose of lighter fluid. To those of you who fear that such things are unhealthy, I encourage you to get over it. We’re all aware that meats charred over coals are not the healthiest foods to consume. That’s why God made winter: to give your digestive tract time to recover and prepare for the next summer’s onslaught.

While my mother always preferred baby backs, which are very tasty, I am more partial to St. Louis-style ribs because they are larger and meatier. Depending on the length and width of your grill surface, you might need to cut them in half or make other adjustments so that the meat fits the grill. Such is the case with my mini-Weber: a full rack hangs over the sides, so a little surgery is always necessary.

My go-to recipe always starts in the oven and ends on the grill. Here it is:

1. Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Sprinkle barbecue rub all over the meat, front and back (there are a million commercially prepared rubs at the grocery store. Take your pick).
2. Wrap the ribs in foil. Bake for one and a half hours or so.
3. Thirty minutes before you take the ribs out of the oven, light the fuel-soaked charcoal in the grill and let it ash over. You want the flame to die out and the charcoal to be ashy and hot. Put the grill rack in place over the coals.
4. Remove the ribs from the oven. Discard the foil. Brush barbecue sauce all over the ribs, front and back. Place on the grill, cover, and cook for 15 to 30 minutes, brushing with additional sauce every 5 to 10 minutes, turning once.
5. Remove ribs from grill, place on a cutting board, and carve into single pieces. Et voila!

Put additional warm sauce in a pitcher so that it can be passed to those whose voracity compels them to wear the evidence of their gluttony on their faces and shirts. Bibs are optional, but strongly advised, and the wise host will place a roll of paper towels on the table, since those sauce stains are never coming out of your cloth napkins. I have learned this bitter lesson through unfortunate previous experience.

I like to serve ribs with a good vinegar-based coleslaw and/or three-bean salad and corn-on-the-cob. Some folks like to serve cornbread, too.

But wait—there’s more. Ribs are actually not my preferred meat to grill, although they are delicious. The quickest way to earn my affection is to grill up some bratwursts. Brats combine two of my favorite things: cured roasted pork and bread. For me, there are few things that can compare to a perfectly cooked brat on a bun topped with raw onion and yellow mustard. Brats are even easier to grill than ribs, completely foolproof.

Here is how every Milwaukeean I know cooks bratwurst:

1. Buy a package of good quality raw brats. My favorite are Johnsonville. In Wisconsin, where the making of wurst is a sacred tradition, there are probably 10 brands of raw bratwurst from which to choose. In the Berkshires, where people bring the same level of passion and industry to tapping maple trees, there are fewer bratwurst aficionados and, therefore, fewer choices. Stick with Johnsonville raw brats—trust me.
2. Fire up the barbie just as you did for grilling ribs.
3. Boil the brats for about five minutes in a good dark, sweet beer. My favorite is Negro Modello. DO NOT SKIP THIS STEP.
4. Take the boiled brats out of the pot and transfer them to the grill, turning them from time to time to achieve a lovely golden color.
5. Serve the brats on small buns (bun-to-brat ratio is very important: Treat the bun as a brat delivery system and not as a star with top billing). Large buns overwhelm the brats and should be avoided. Although I prefer only raw onion and yellow mustard as condiments, other folks may want to opt for the following:

Sauerkraut, sweet or dill pickle relish, brown mustard, hot peppers.

Anyone who puts ketchup or mayonnaise on a bratwurst should be arrested for an affront to gastronomy and required to go to a Wiener Reeducation Camp in Sheboygan, Wis.

Sides might include potato salad (my personal favorite), coleslaw, and baked beans.

With that I say, happy grilling to all of the barbecue warriors of summer. Pace yourself. And as my mother would admonish, a little green salad once in a while won’t kill you.