A few years ago, I was briefly enamored with a grilling device which promised perfectly smoked meats. Upon closer inspection, I realized it was basically a convection oven which used charcoal as its heat source, and its "grilling" process involved little more than inserting the food and then leaving said food alone until done. I immediately lost interest, as the entire purpose of grilling is to fiddle with the foods, constantly adjusting heat, position of foodstuffs on the grate, finding the magic point when perfect char has been obtained but just before burning occurs, so on and so forth.
Accordingly, the most trying time for me on Thanksgiving Day comes after wrapping the turkey in foil and adding hardwood. Lifting the lid will only cause heat and smoke to escape, and perhaps lead to an underdone bird. I must wait patiently for three hours, keeping my hands and barbecue tools to myself.
I've learned to occupy myself with hanging Christmas lights from the roof and a bottle or two of Sam Adams Octoberfest (I carefully reserve a six-pack or so for Thanksgiving; this tradition dates back to when I was buying beer past its sell-by dates at a local distributor's dock sale, said business now sadly closed). Not much of a sop to my obsessive tendencies, but it's the best I can do.
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