“Cooking is like love. It should be entered into with abandon or not at all.”

- Harriet Van Horne

Today is the day, my friends. Today I am celebrating my manhood.

Granted, I was born with all the accessories that made me a male; odd to think of my parts as accessories but whatever works, right?

I have found that to become a man it would take something outside of myself. That missing piece in the puzzle of my official manliness came in the form of forged steel and flames. It was so simple I should have figured it out years ago.

Let me start from the beginning. There I was, standing in the home appliance aisle of a department store blankly staring at a set of Corning dishes, when I heard the call of the wild.

I waited a moment thinking it just might be the Muzak playing in the background, but no, it was destiny calling. Not wanting to lose the moment, the wheels of my cart began to turn. I moved swiftly around desperate housewives ogling blenders and microwaves.

I dodged a bullet with a grandmother trying to figure out what type of dishes she should buy and almost ran into another shopper eyeing a vacuum that never loses suction, but I never lost my footing.

I was now on a quest.

And there before me it stood: the seasonal department! They stood at attention like black and chromed sentries welcoming me into the new world. The world men know as - barbecuing.

My usual way of flipping a burger before involved a hibachi, but that's like thinking your actually cooking when using an Easy Bake oven.

This was the real deal, a propane grill. You can keep your Rachael Rays, your marble countertops, your delicate pots and pans. My cooking “space” involves nothing other than my patio and a view of the backyard. My utensils aren't the fancy kind, either. They seem more like weapons from the dark ages. I don't have tongs; tongs are light and easy to grasp with one hand while gently picking up lettuce for a salad.

No, I have two-foot long clamps of steel ready to do my bidding on any innocent hot dog or hamburger that happens to cross my path. And don't get me started about the “fork” that came with it. This device looks as though it should come with its own seven-day waiting period.

The best part of all is that it doesn't just have a starter, no that would be too quaint and that will not do for this outdoor kitchen. Instead it has an “ignition” switch, just like a rocket. With a press of that little red button I unleash the gates of hell and fire is formed. (Who knew I could turn grilling wieners into an epic drama?) I'm also finding that there is a sub-culture amongst men when it comes to their grilling.

It's one of the few times two men can openly share recipes.

So now I'm off to the backyard to test the limits of the term “flambe.”

Auburn native Bradley Molloy#'s column appears here,

each Sunday, in The Citizen.

He can be reached at lovonian@hotmail.com