Ice Ice Baby: Snowbeque 2017

A few weeks ago, a random cold front blasted northern Virginia, resulting in the only real snowfall for the season. Hence, a snowbeque.

Though I had been joking about having a snowbeque since the start of winter last year, I was initially reluctant to actually go out and grill because it was cold and, and much to my chagrin, frozen. Last year’s snowbeque was warm enough for Dean to wear a Hawaiian shirt and for there to be actual snow. Those two things are not mutually exclusive, apparently. The recent snowbeque was really more of an icebeque (which is what I like to imagine Ice Cube calls all of his grilling).

Snow-covered grill.
Preparing for climate-change-beques.

The ultimate decision was made at like 6 p.m. at the behest of Dean and Laura, literally as the sun was setting. (The weird bluish tint is the evening light reflecting off the snow.) The impromptu nature of this barbecue led to some shortcuts that I normally wouldn’t take otherwise. For instance, I really put no thought or effort into the cut of meat I got — it turned out to be some really odd cut of pork that, as I found out later, had the bone-in. We also purchased various other cuts of pork and bacon as well as some sort of sirloin steak.

Meat on the grill for snowbeque.
I bet the Chinese invented this snow to make my barbecuing non-competitive.

There also wasn’t any real technique involved. The strategy for when it’s cold outside is to just make the biggest damn fire to cook everything really fast so that you can go back inside again. That also helps with limiting the amount of time you spend sliding around the grill, which subsequently lowers the chances that you’ll face-plant into your coals.

Me poking at the meat.
Bringing back coal jobs, one [char]coal at a time.
I won’t speak much about the final results, since it was mostly a hot (cold?) mess. The bones likely caused some of the meat to cook unevenly. Dean also likes his meat extra salty. I tried one of his pork chops and subsequently spent the night preventing death by dehydration. I basically reenacted the scene in Last Crusade when the German dude drinks from the wrong cup. 

In any case, there was enough edible food to go around, so I’d call this snowbeque a resounding success.

Me wearing my gas mask.
The clear alternative to EPA funding.

In other news, I plan on expanding my writing capabilities to include Buzzfeed-style lists. (Isn’t that what every writer aspires to?) So I apologize in advance.


  1. My steak you grilled that evening was delicious – probably the best steak you’ve ever grilled for me. Thank you!

  2. I, for one, would like to welcome our new Snowbeque tradition. From the glorious heights of Hawaiian shirts to the deplorable depths of having to wear a jacket, I have thoroughly enjoyed these experiences.

    Moreover, I would like to applaud whatever genius inventing wrapping meat in other meats, for I derived great pleasure in copying their model of tactical success. I’d also posit that the holster-style koozies enabled simultaneous hand-warmth and perfectly chilled alcohol sips. Simply put, I move that Snowbeques be made an official annual (or monthly, if we start taking vaca-beques to Canada) occurrence.

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