Having once lived in the US, I have had my fair share of good barbecue. Back in the Netherlands, there is a phenomenon that goes by the same name, but works a little differently. You see, over here it's something you do at a moment's notice - like between two rain showers.
Let's say you see a little sunshine. At this point you'll see a whirlwind of action occur: First the grill must be located. It will be located either in the garden shed, next to the Christmas tree stand, or possibly in the trailer that you took on vacation and haven't cleaned out. (When I say "trailer" I mean a small-ish towed vehicle that can pit a family of 4 against each other within a day. Think: twice the size of a VW camper van - but I digress.
Now that the grill is located it must be cleaned - any grill being purchased will acquire copious amounts of rust as soon as it's carried across the store threshold. For this you need tools that need to be rented at a rentals place, or it will take all day - at which point it'll be raining again. Must hurry.
As you may understand, many people will get involved in these activities, as everyone has noticed the sunshine. It is absolutely crucial to delegate. While one family member is abusing the grill with an angle grinder, another is sent on a mission of getting charcoal and lighter fluid. Then there is the task of procuring meat. For this you need a supermarket or a butcher, and since neither are prepared for the sudden volume of customers, you need to be quick.
In the Netherlands they don't do steak (in reasonable sizes), but instead they put things like slices of bacon - marinated and roughly the size of a dollar bill and about 1/4" thick, or chicken breast, or something called "spekfakkels" (which are sort of phallic meat projectiles over the flames.
Since the fire (more about that later) will be hot, smoky, and more like the pits of hell rather than anything resembling glowing embers, average cooking time will be measurable in microseconds. This results in meat that's black, and hard enough to scratch your name into the table with. To remedy this will require the purchase of at least a half gallon of sauce. Over here that's usually garlic sauce, maybe barbecue sauce, or anything mayonnaise-based. You can mask ANY flavor that way. ("honey, have you seen the hamster?")
At this point the fire must be made according to the following process: Put coals inside grill. Squirt an entire can of lighter fluid on them. Go inside, get the meat. Back outside you forgot about the lighter fluid, which is now an invisible and highly flammable cloud that hangs over the grill. You strike a special extra-long barbecue match and wait for the coals to catch fire. This is when your wife says that "really, you don't look too ridiculous without eyebrows". You do. Plus - you are wearing a scorched apron that says BBQ PRO.
One can of lighter fluid down the road you have a fire, so now you must quickly put the meat on the grill, and watch it turn black - so open the sauce. Paper plates in hand, you start doling out cremated spekfakkels (try saying "How do you like my spekfakkels?" to a 'murrican - you'll get smacked). At this moment something unexpected happens as a sudden thunderclap announces the start of pouring rain. This is when you wished you had kept that take-out menu from "Sauce Of Sum Yung Gye". But you didn't.
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