Beer Can Chicken and Other Crimes
The Last BBQ of Summer
Dear BBQ: He Won’t Let Me Touch His Smoker
Advice, served medium-rare, with zero sugar-coating
The Letter
Dear Barbie Q,
My husband guards his smoker like Fort Knox. He wipes it down more than his truck and flinches when I lift the lid. I’m proud of him, but I’d like to learn too. How do I join the fun without causing a standoff?
— Smoked Out in St. Louis
The Flame
Sweetheart, you’re not asking for permission, you’re asking for partnership. A smoker to a man is sacred ground, but the secret is: they don’t protect the metal, they protect their identity.
The Smoke
Approach it like courtship. Don’t ask, teach me. Say, show me your process. When you hand a man expertise, he hands back pride. Watch how he trims, how he sets the vents, how he talks to the temperature like it’s alive. Then one morning, light it before he’s awake.
He’ll wander out bleary-eyed, smell the oak, and realize you didn’t steal his ritual, you honored it.
The Plate-Up
Next time he boasts about his “signature bark,” wink and say, “I learned from the best.” He’ll beam, and you’ll know you just claimed dual citizenship in the Land of Smoke.
Stay patient, stay spicy — Barbie Q
Ask Barbie Q
Got BBQ drama, smoke disasters, or life questions that need some flame-kissed honesty?