Kebabs for dinner last night, very tasty. My Darling B marinated pork in some tangy sauce, then cubed it and skewered it on bamboo slivers with bits of onion, peppers, little tomatoes the size of grapes, and … and … peppers. Yeah. Two kinds of peppers.

I had the task of cooking the kebabs on the barbecue, which wasn’t so bad now that the temperatures have dropped below ninety. It was almost pleasant to stand in the back yard again, tending the grill, until I had a hot bed of coals breathing hellfire in my face. Then it was like I’d traveled back in time to the middle of last week.

But the kebabs had to be cooked, so I kept reaching into the smoldering cauldron of red-hot coals to turn the kebabs until they were done as near to perfectly as I could get them without injuring myself. Actually, I burned my thumb a bit. Now I’ll whine about it just a little: Waaah-waaah. Now you feel at least a little pity for me. Now the story goes on.

The combination of grilled pork and fresh veggies was uber-delicious, especially the teeny little cherry tomatoes. That surprised the hell out of me. I’m a little leery of grilling tomatoes, but these were born to be grilled. B selected a fine screw-top wine that completed the ensemble of food (the label said it was “good with food”) and we all wolfed down way too much, waddling away from the table afterward making satisfied groaning animal noises.