The Life, Death, and Life of the O-Grill

A portable BBQ grill I really like.

_images_ogrill_open.jpgThe Iroda O-Grill.

Back in May 2010, the first season I drove my “mobile mansion” north for my summer job, I stopped along the way to pick up a portable gas grill. I stopped at the Camping World in Junction City, OR — now apparently closed — for the night and shopped before they closed for the day. I wound up with an Iroda O-Grill: a small clamshell style grill with 225 square inches of grilling space that used a propane cylinder for fuel.

I soon grew to love the grill. It was easy to set up and store, easy to clean, easy to use, and easy to find fuel for. I’d fire it up, let it run on highest temperature for 5 minutes, and clean it with a wire brush. Then I’d turn it down to its lowest setting and grill whatever I liked: steak, fish, vegetables — even tofu. You had to cook on its lowest setting; the darn thing put out so much heat with the lid closed that anything higher than that would cook much too quickly.

I used it all that summer and the next. When I brought the RV back to Arizona for the winter of 2010/11, I even brought the grill home to my house. It was a hell of a lot easier to use than the big Jennaire grill my wasband had bought for the patio — a grill I never seemed to be able to light properly. The darn thing always started on the first button push. Always.

The summer of 2013 was summer #4 for the grill. Although it was just starting to show its age — mostly from the time spent outdoors at the Quincy golf course RV park where it was sprinkled on every night by the irrigation system — but was running perfectly well. That is until it caught fire while grilling up some brats.

The fire was hot and fierce. Water from my poor man’s hot tub nearby extinguished it. With a few twists, the gas can was removed and the danger was over.

Burned Grill   Burned Table
Death of the O-Grill (and the table it sat on).

But my O-Gill had so obviously grilled its last brat. The back of the grill surface was melted off and one of the legs was melted sideways so it didn’t even sit level anymore. Even the folding table it had been sitting on was pretty much destroyed.

I immediately looked for a replacement. Yeah, I know it had caught fire, but it had given me four solid seasons of grilling before that. I liked it. It was worth replacing.

A search online brought up more than just shopping results. It brought up the recall notice. From the notice:

Hazard: The regulator on the grill can leak gas which can ignite, posing a fire and burn hazard to consumers.
Incidents/Injuries: Uni-O has received 10 reports of grills catching fire. No injuries or property damage have been reported.
Description: This recall involves Iroda O-Grill models 1000 and 3000 produced before 2010. Some were also sold under the Tailgate Gear brand. Both models are lightweight, portable, clamshell-type propane grills with steel bodies, cast iron cooking surfaces, retractable legs and a handle. They can be used with either 1-pound propane cylinders or 20-pound propane tanks. The grills come in orange, red, green, blue, silver and black and have the words “O-Grill” stamped on the metal grill cover. Recalled O-Grills do not have ventilation slots in the regulator cover where the propane bottle screws in. Grills with ventilation slots in the regulator cover are not subject to the recall.

Oops.

The notice was more than 18 months old, but I figured that a replacement would be a heck of a lot cheaper than a new grill (which was now selling for $40 more). So I made the necessary phone calls. Eventually, I spoke with a very nice man who asked me some questions about the grill and promised to send me a new one. He even asked what color I wanted. (I picked red.) All he asked is that I send back the old grill in the new grill’s shipping box.

Done and done.

My New O-GrillMy new O-Grill looks a lot like my old one, but it’s red instead of orange.

The new grill, which arrived just yesterday, looks a lot like the old one, although there is a difference in the grill design. This one has a sort of barrier between the grill and the area behind it, near the cover hinge. It works pretty much the same, although I have to admit it doesn’t fire up on the first button push every time. (Not yet, anyway.)

I do recommend this grill. It’s great for camping or tailgating. Very portable and very easy to use. It makes a good complement to my Traeger by providing a quick and efficient way to sear the BBQ sauce on the ribs I’m always smoking.

Adventures in Cheese-Making

There’s a whole world to explore.

I started making homemade cheese in September 2013 and have been blogging about it periodically. If you’re interested in reading the other posts in this series, follow the Adventures in Cheese-Making tag. Keep in mind that the most recent posts always appear first on this blog.

I love cheese. I mean, who doesn’t?

I love just about any kind of cheese, but I especially love the soft mellow kind like bries. I like cheese that has a secret flavor you can taste only when you let it rise to room temperature before eating and eat it either alone or with a plain cracker. The hint of nuts or earthiness that lingers on your tongue after the cheese has been swallowed.

CheesemongerThere’s an excellent cheese shop not far from where I live: The Cheesemonger in Leavenworth. It — and the smoked meat house called Cured — is the only reason I go to that tourist town. I go early in the day, before the crowds arrive. I prefer taking my motorcycle, since there’s always motorcycle parking right outside Cured. I descend into the basement shop, make my way past the milling tourists nibbling on samples of cheddar and swiss, and find one of the many helpful counter people. Then I place my order, rattling off the names of the cheeses I like best: triple cream brie, morbier, butter cheese, and whatever blue-veined cheese behind the glass catches my eye. I whisper the secret password to get my local discount on checkout, leave a tip, and climb back out into the sunlight while the same milling tourists stand uncertain on how to proceed. In and out in a flash.

If you’re in the area and like cheese — again, who doesn’t? — I highly recommend a visit to this shop.

Anyway, my love of cheese got me interested in making cheese. This interest was fed by my attendance at a cheese-making class I took in early August. Yes, special ingredients and equipment was needed, but it wasn’t difficult to do. And it might be interesting. And heck — the end product was cheese.

It’s not as if this was brand new to me, either. Last autumn, I made yogurt. I’d had a great deal of success with that — so much, in fact, that I made all my own yogurt while I was living in my Arizona house. cheese-making was similar and certainly should be within my capabilities.

Yesterday, I made my first batch of “basic cheese.” Although I won’t be able to taste it for about a month, I also made ricotta cheese from the whey and got to taste that right away.

I realized that my cheese-making adventures were blog-worthy — certainly enough to document for future reference. So if you’re interested at all in making cheese, follow along with me as I take you though my learning process. I’ll write posts in this series as I find time and would certainly love to get comments from other folks exploring home cheese-making.

A Full Fourth

Probably the busiest Fourth of July I’ve ever had.

These days, I’ve been challenging myself to keep busy. Downtime between jobs has been damaging in the past, causing depression, frustration, and weight gain. I began fighting back last summer and remain determined not to spend time sitting on my ass when there are better, more interesting things to do. And let’s face it — almost anything is better than sitting around on your ass, letting the days of your life just tick away like a clock with an aging battery that can’t be replaced.

I try to sketch out a rough plan for each day of my life. Sometimes I tweet what I’m tentatively planning. Sometimes I don’t. Having a rough idea of what I plan to do helps keep me focused. Stating it publicly makes me responsible for doing — or trying to do — it. But I always let things take their course when I can. After all, no plan is set in stone. Spontaneity is what makes live truly interesting.

Yesterday, July 4, I set a busy schedule for myself. But I did even more than I planned. (And boy, am I feeling it today!)

Ross Rounds

As the time on that tweet hints, I wake up very early nearly every morning. Although its great to get an early start on the day, there’s a limit to what you can do that early when stores are still closed and friends are still asleep.

So while I sipped my morning coffee, I assembled my Ross Rounds.

Ross Rounds
Completed Ross Rounds. Photo from the Ross Rounds website.

Ross Rounds are a comb honey system that makes it possible for bees to produce packaged honey comb. You set up the special frames with plastic rings and pure beeswax foundation and insert the frames in their custom hive box. You then put the box on top of a honey-producing hive of bees. Eventually, the bees move into the Ross box and begin building and filling honeycomb in the special frames. When the rings are completely full of honeycomb and honey, you remove them, cover them, label them, and either sell them or present them as gifts to friends.

Ross Rounds Frame
Here’s a fully assembled Ross Rounds frame.

Assembling the frames took some doing. I had to split each frame, lay in the ring halves and snap them into place, lay in a sheet of wax foundation, and snap the frame closed. The ring halves only go in a certain way, so much of the time was spent lining them up properly. But once I got the hang of it, the process went quickly. I got all 8 frames, with 4 pairs of rings each, done in about an hour.

I’m not sure when I’ll be able to use the Ross Rounds system. I’ve been told that because I started my bees so late in the season I probably won’t be able to take any honey from them. They’ll need all that they create now for winter. But I’ll do a hive inspection on my first hive — probably today — and see how much of their top hive box is full. If it’s more than 80% full, I’ll add a queen excluder and the Ross Rounds frame and see how far I get by the end of the season.

Motorcycle Ride

Meanwhile, I was texting back and forth with another early riser, my friend Brian, who lives in Wenatchee. He’d seen my plan for the day on Facebook and was wondering if I wanted company for my motorcycle ride. After some texting back and forth and a call to my friend in Chelan — who I woke at 8 AM! — we decided to ride up to Silver Falls together and do a hike before going our separate ways for the day.

Penny on my Motorcycle
Here’s Penny in her dog kennel on the back of my motorcycle. (Yes, she fits fine in there and can move around freely.)

Penny the Tiny Dog and I were at Brian’s apartment at 9 AM. Penny rides with me on the motorcycle. I bungee-netted her hard-sided dog carrier to my motorcycle’s little luggage rack. It’s rock solid there. She rides in the dog carrier behind me. I don’t think she actually likes the ride, but I do know that she likes coming with me wherever I go. So when I lift her up onto the motorcycle’s luggage, she scrambles into her carrier without protest.

What’s weird is when we stop at a traffic light and she barks at other dogs she sees.

Brian rides a cruiser — my Seca II is more of a sport bike — and he led the way, keeping a good pace. We made the turnoff at the Entiat River about 15 minutes after leaving his place. We both thought Silver Falls was about 12 miles up the river, but a sign about a mile up the road said that it was 30 miles. I saw Brian look at his watch as we rode past the sign. He had a BBQ to go to that began in early afternoon; I had other plans, too. But we kept going. We’d make it a short hike.

I really enjoy riding my motorcycle in Washington State. This road, which wound along the banks of a rushing river, reminded me of the riding I’d done in New York State years before: mountains, farmland, trees, and cool, fresh air. I think one of the reasons I stopped riding motorcycles when I moved to Arizona is because it was simply not pleasant. Too much straight and flat and hot and dry. The road up to Silver Falls is full of curves and gentle hills, with orchards and hay fields forests along the way. Every twist in the road brings a new vista in the granite-studded canyon. Every mile brings a different sensation for the senses that are switched off inside a car: the feel of temperature and humidity changes, the smell of fresh-cut hay or horse manure or pine. This is part of what makes motorcycling special.

We arrived at the parking area, which had only one car. It was just after 10 AM. I got Penny out of her box and on her leash. We stripped off our riding gear and started the hike.

Silver Falls

This was my second trip to Silver Falls. My first was back in 2011, not long after I had my motorcycle shipped from Arizona to Washington. I blogged about that trip here. And, if you’re interested, you can read more about Silver Falls on the Washington Trails Association website.

Brian at the Creek
Here’s Brian alongside the creek. Penny refused to pose with him.

Penny and Maria on Bridge
Brian shot this photo of Penny and me on the bridge near the top of the falls.

The three of us — Brian, Penny, and I — headed up the trail together, stopping now and then to take photos. The stream was rushing wildly, with crystal clear water cascading over rocks and logs in the stream bed. We followed the same path I’d followed on my first trip there, taking the trail on the right up to the top of the falls and coming back the other side. The temperature was perfect — a bit cool in the shade but nice and warm on the wide switchbacks in the sun. Brian led at a fast pace and I did okay keeping up. I remembered my first trip there when I was still a fatty and how long the hike up to the top had taken. What a difference 45 pounds makes!

We ran into some other hikers on their way up the other side as we headed down. Because of time constraints, we only spent about an hour and a quarter there. It was 11:15 AM when we geared up and headed out.

Because we were going our separate ways and I was running late to meet my friends in Chelan, Brian let me lead the way with the understanding that I’d go at my own pace. I let it rip and covered the 30 miles in 30 minutes.

Blueberry Hills

It was 11:45 when I reached the junction of Entiat Road and Route 97A. I had a choice: continue with my plan to visit friends in Chelan or head back to Wenatchee Heights and take it easy for a while before heading out to the BBQ that afternoon.

I turned left toward Chelan.

There were a lot of cars on the road, but they kept at a good speed just over the speed limit. I fell into place behind them. It was a lot warmer back on the main road, but not too warm for my denim jacket. The road left the river, passed through a tunnel, and climbed into the mountains. It crested and started down, with beautiful Lake Chelan spread out before me: blue water surrounded by green orchards and vineyards capped by a perfectly clear blue sky.

I pulled over in town to get my friend Jim on the phone. He and his wife Teresa agreed to meet me at Blueberry Hills, a you-pick blueberry place and restaurant in Manson. Penny and I stopped for gas along the way. We wound up behind Jim and Teresa’s car as they pulled into the Blueberry Hills parking lot.

They had their dog, Zeus, a red heeler puppy with them. Penny and Zeus became friends months ago when we were in California on a frost contract with the helicopter. Zeus was much smaller then. He’s getting close to full grown now and is a lot bigger than Penny. They looked genuinely glad to see each other.

We climbed the stairs to the outside patio overlooking the blueberry fields. Jim and I went in to order lunch. I bought the dogs a pair of frozen beef bones, which the restaurant sells for their four-legged customers. Penny and Zeus got right down to business. When our food came, so did we. Blueberry Hills makes excellent food.

We talked about all kinds of things while waiting for our food and then eating. Teresa had just come back from a visit to their daughter’s family in Anchorage. Jim, like me, was just recovering from a hectic week of cherry drying. We had stories to swap and insights to share. It was a pleasant lunch — one I wish I could have lingered over, perhaps with a piece of pie. But it was getting late and I was supposed to be at a friend’s house in Wenatchee at 3:30. So we headed out, stopping to pick up two pounds of blueberries along the way.

I took the road on the east side of the river on the way back to avoid the traffic in Chelan, Entiat, and Wenatchee. It was a quick 50-mile ride to the south bridges between East Wenatchee and Wenatchee. Two more traffic lights and I was winding my way up Squilchuck Canyon, back to my temporary home in Wenatchee Heights.

The Teachers’ BBQ

By the time I got into the Mobile Mansion, it was 3:26 PM. I texted Kriss, who I was supposed to meet in 4 minutes to let her know I’d need at least an hour. That was fine; we weren’t due at the BBQ until 5 PM anyway.

I cleaned up, dressed, and threw the blueberries into a cooler bag. I still needed to get the other ingredients for what I planned to bring to the BBQ: strawberries, whipped cream, and cake. But when I got down to Safeway, there wasn’t a single strawberry in the store. I wound up with a single package — the last one! — of raspberries. And frozen whipped topping. I did get a good deal on a July 4 themed serving plate, which I’d leave behind with my hostess.

At Kriss and Jim’s house, I assembled my fruit and cream and put it in the serving dish. Kriss gave me some red sprinkles to dress it up. I was disappointed at myself for not bringing something better. (I’m really looking forward to having a full kitchen again.)

I met Kriss and Jim’s daughter and husband. I gave Jim the nuc box and frame holder I’d gotten as a little gift for him. (I met them through beekeeping; Jim has four hives and has been going out catching swarms lately. My first bee hive is in their backyard until I close on my Malaga property later this summer.) I watched at their three kittens, two of which are just staying with them temporarily. I unwound from the frantic pace I’d been keeping all morning.

We all headed out to a friend’s home about a mile away. It was an annual July 4 BBQ where Kriss’s fellow teachers — some still teaching, others retired — gathered for burgers, grilled salmon, excellent sides, and dessert. I met a lot of new people and answered a lot of questions about my cherry drying and other flying work.

The BBQ wound up after 7:30 PM. I said my thanks and goodbyes and climbed back into my truck. I was exhausted from my day out and stuffed from a good meal. I wanted to go see the fireworks but had no desire to deal with the traffic. A nice evening back home might be a good end to the day…

The Spoons Party

But I passed right by another friend’s house on my way home. Shawn and his wife were hosting the BBQ that Brian had gone to. I’d been invited but had turned it down to attend the other BBQ with Kriss and Jim. Was the party still going on?

I drove past and discovered that it was. I parked and walked around back to see what was going on. My rafting friends — as I’d begun to think of them — were playing a card came I’d heard about on my last rafting trip with them. It involved collecting four of a kind and grabbing a spoon off the table. There were five players and four spoons. The person who didn’t get a spoon lost.

A silly game, but nonetheless, I pulled up a chair and another spoon was added to the table. I didn’t play very well at first, but got slightly better. The vodka may have helped.

This party had kids — four of them — and later had fireworks out on the street. The whole area, in fact, was full of fireworks. Fireworks are legal in Washington — at least this part of Washington — and were readily available all over the place. Shawn and Brian had bought a bunch. When it got dark enough to enjoy them, they put on a show out in the street. Family fun.

When they broke up and headed back to the backyard, I took my leave. It was about 10 PM and I’d had enough for one day.

The Goat Cherries

Because who can turn down fresh-picked organic cherries?

I went into Quincy today to pick up some mail that had been delivered to my last address. I figured that while I was there, I’d have an early lunch with Ron, the other pilot who works with me on cherry drying contracts, and pick up a few things in storage.

I knew that one of my clients was picking cherries and decided to swing by and see how the picking was going. Last week’s rain had absolutely ruined many crops and although none of my clients had complained, I wanted to see what the situation was without actually asking.

At the orchard, my father and son clients were busy working machinery to move around cherry bins. The dad was using a forklift to stack bins and move them into the shade before loading them into a waiting truck. They run a small operation with just 12 acres of organic bing, lapin, and rainier cherries. The pickers were deep inside the orchard, hard at work while the temperature rose steadily.

The dad took a quick break to let me know that he was happy with the way the crop had turned out. Yes, they’d lost some cherries to splits, but not as many as they could have. A bigger problem was soft cherries. He explained that when they plumped up and then shrank — due to temperature changes, I guess — the cherries sometimes get soft. This had impacted their bings. The packing house didn’t like what they sent the day before so today they told the pickers not to pick any cherries that were soft.

He then offered me some cherries. “Some of the pickers started early this morning before we could tell them not to pick the ones that were soft,” he said. “They’re in a bin over there.” He pointed to a bin of cherries sitting in the shade at the edge of the orchard. “We’re not sending them to the packing house. I was going to give them to my goats, but you can have as many as you want.”

Goat cherries. He was offering me cherries he planned to feed to his goats. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that, but it was worth a look. How bad could they be? After all, pickers had thought they were worth picking.

I fetched a plastic ammo can I’d gotten as a freebie from Hooked on Toys out of my truck and went to check out the cherries. I agreed that some of them were a tiny bit soft — but none of them were what I would call mushy. Otherwise, they looked very good, with few splits and nice color. I half-filled the container while they got back to work.

Goat Cherries
Goat cherries. Better than anything you can get in a supermarket.

I admit that I worried a little about the cherries sitting in a black container in a hot truck for the three hours it took me to do my errands in Quincy and get back to Wenatchee. Sure enough, the inside of the container was a bit warm when I opened it back up at home. But I filled the sink with the coldest water I could get out of the tap, dumped the cherries in, and topped them off with a lot of ice. I swirled them around and around, washing them in the (literally) ice cold water while they chilled. I picked out the very bad ones and a bunch of leaves. Then I strained them and put them in a big bowl. They looked — and tasted — delicious.

Me and My Traeger

I enjoy my first rack of ribs, smoked to perfection on my new grill.

Grilling has been a part of my life for the past 30 or so years. I had a grill in Queens (New York), New Jersey, and Arizona. Even when I lived just three months in Yarnell, AZ back in 1995, I bought a little hibachi and used it almost every evening to grill up some meat and vegetables over charcoals for dinner. My old RV had a built-in gas grill and when I got my new RV, the “mobile mansion” back in 2010, I bought a small gas grill to satisfy my craving for grilled food.

I grill year-round, several times a week.

About 10 years ago, I attended a cookout at Prescott’s Love Field airport. My host was cooking on a Traeger Grill. The benefit of the grill was clear: it was fed wood pellets — not gas or charcoal — and it automatically maintained any temperature you set it at. The fact that it was also capable of smoking meat made it something I wanted. Badly.

Time passed. I wasn’t in charge of procuring grills for my home. Someone else was. And he liked gas.

Whatever.

I did have a smoker for a while. I got it from a friend about eight to ten years ago, right before she moved to Colorado. I traded an old bird perch — she has a parrot, too — for it. It was a good-sized traditional smoker with an external firebox and smokestack. It worked well — on the few instances I took the time to use it. Smoking, you see, was all about time — time preparing the wood, time starting the fire, time getting it up to temperature, time checking the temperature, time adding the wood, time checking the temperature, time adding the wood, time checking the temperature — well, you get the idea. When I smoked something, I had to hang around and tend to the smoker. Getting a remote thermometer helped — at least I could monitor the temperature without going outside. But it was still a pain in the butt.

I gave away the smoker. I traded it for a new heating element installed on my hot tub. (Ironically, I gave away the hot tub, too. I traded it for some help moving furniture out of my house last month.)

I’m living in my RV again this summer, prepping to build a custom home on 10 acres of view property in Malaga, WA. That home is going to need a new grill. And this time, I’m in charge.

My Traeger GrillSo I bought the grill I’ve been wanting for the past 10 years. A Traeger.

I bought the “Junior.” It’s the second smallest model and it now comes with the same digital LED thermostat previously available only on the larger, more costly models. Not that the grill was cheap — it wasn’t. But the $50 rebate did help convince me to buy now.

After all, why the hell not?

I bought it at Stan’s Merry Mart in Wenatchee. (I love that store. It’s so funky-weird. Hell, just look at its sign.) Just the day before, a young sales guy had almost talked me into it. I left, thought about it some more, and came back to buy it. They loaded it into the back of my truck with a big bag of mesquite pellets and I drove it back to the Mobile Mansion.

The next day, I assembled it. (If you watch the time-lapse video here, see if you can see the mistake I made and fixed.) But I couldn’t use it that day — I was going to Wenatchee to meet someone new and watch him play softball. Over dinner, I told my new friend about my new grill. I invited him over for the christening celebration: two racks of ribs, smoked. We’d go for a helicopter ride while we waited for the ribs to finish cooking.

And that’s what we did.

Before he came, I prepped the meat by covering it with a mesquite rub. I prepped the Traeger by doing its initial start and seasoning the porcelain grill. Then I turned the thermostat to 250, which brought the cooking chamber up to around 225 — the recommended temperature. I put the ribs on the grill, closed the lid, and went about my business without having to check the temperature or add fuel even once.

Amazing RibsWhen we got back from our flight, the ribs were nearly done. They looked amazing. I made us some salad and corn on the cob, then brushed the smaller of the two racks with BBQ sauce and threw it on my old grill, set to high, to caramelize the sauce onto them.

The finished product was perfect.

What’s next? I’ve been thinking about salmon…