Throughout this long summer the sweet acrid smell of charcoal and cooking meat has hung heavy in the air over London - and also the synthetic stink of gas burners, the sterile smell of factory-made marinades and batteryreared meat. It permeates the whole of south-west London as I drive back along the A3, and I suspect it's very much the same on all the arterial roads approaching the capital on a Sunday evening. The smell is a reminder of what a useless nation of outdoor chefs we are.
We normally drive back from the West Country having spent an entire weekend barbecuing. Our little house in Dorset is too small to accommodate many guests around the table inside, so we cook in the garden and, as a result, I have become an expert, perhaps even a bore, on the subject of the perfect barbecue.
Years ago I built a brick barbie and it has proved just the ticket. There is an iron tray where the hot ashes live and a grill above it where food is cooked - it is perfect and will easily cater for ten people.
There is nothing synthetic about it - no gas, and I don't use firelighters. I gather twigs and branches from the nearby woods and then use British-produced charcoal; I have even used house coal to cook over, although this is frowned upon by my wife Rose, an accomplished cook and food writer but, unlike me, not a particularly good barbecuist. If at all possible, I like to pack her off, out of the way of the barbecue, to make salads or peel potatoes, but this very much depends on what side of the bed she has got out of.
You'll tell me now, of course, that gas barbecues are more eco-friendly. But what is the point of cooking on a gas barbecue;
why not simply cook in the kitchen and take the food outside? The answer for the environmentalist chef is British charcoal, which is produced from renewable coppiced woodland, and actually good for the environment.
We have a neighbour in Dorset, Anthony Cazalet, a famous barbecuist who makes much fanfare about his cooking skills. His barbecues are generally raucous affairs peopled with pretty girls, local nobs and assorted relations, all of whom drink a lot. All very jolly, and he certainly knows how to throw a party, but there's one crucial problem - barbecuing is not his forte. The really sad thing is that he thinks it is. He talks constantly in rhyming slang: 'Come over for a Claus' (as in Barbie, the French war criminal), he'll say, and we do, but more for the pleasure of his company than his culinary skills.
Being slothful, the task of cooking in the open does not come naturally to him. He has the type of barbecue you might purchase at your local DIY shop or camping centre, and his big mistake is that the thing has a lid.
As soon as he's got the charcoal glowing he slams it shut; terrified that flames will flare up and lick around his burgers, sausages and chicken, he starves the flames of oxygen.
Perhaps you do this too? Lots of people seem to think it's a good idea, because it ensures that the meat doesn't burn black around the edges, and the cook can then wander off and drink beer without staring obsessively at his sausages. The problem is that the lid-down barbecue boils in its own juices and everything becomes soggy.
Anthony Cazalet's beefburgers, infused with chopped gherkins, plead for mercy, the lid is opened, the flames roar up again and he douses them with water, adding a steamed effect to the burgers, chicken and even buns that are placed on it to warm through. To cheer him up, though, one barbecue essential that our neighbour is brilliant at is mustard. He makes it using the powdered variety, Tabasco sauce, Lea & Perrins and a dash of olive oil - using water to make mustard is for sissies. If he bottled it and sold it, he'd make a fortune, but as I've just given the recipe away perhaps not.
Anyway, keep it simple. The best barbecues are started with rolled-up pages from a newspaper, twigs, branches and charcoal.
The best branches this year have been scavenged from a fallen oak tree; they burn for ever, and long after the charcoal has burnt out the oak will be quietly smouldering beneath it. It is essential that food only be cooked once the charcoal has turned to a white glowing ember; done this way the beast will not flare up and burn the food.
Fish is a problem, as it tends to fall apart and will taint other foods if cooked first.
But we have just the thing in our barbecuing frying pan. It is a tin implement with holes in the pan itself (so the smoke from the fire infuses the food) and a long handle. We bought it in a market in France;
originally intended to roast chestnuts, it is the best gadget a serious barbecue junkie can have. It cooks brilliantly and nothing sticks to it. You heat it up and then put the food in without any need for oiling the pan. Sardines, which stick to anything, will not stick to this French beauty. I have never seen one since our fortuitous purchase, but I do know that if an industrious individual imported them into the UK, he'd be able to retire on the proceeds.
It is perfectly possible to barbecue an entire chicken or leg of lamb, particularly if it has been butchered correctly and split through the middle. A simple marinade using olive oil, rosemary, salt and lemon will help with the flavour, but do avoid the alarmingly red marinades so loved by supermarkets. Most are a mixture of sweet and sour (sugar and vinegar) diluted with water, thickened with starch, then flavoured synthetically. One flavouring, 'smoke', is a favourite with manufacturers. Why bother to barbecue at all when you can 'paint' smoke straight on to a piece of chicken?
A particular favourite of mine is barbecued roe deer. The deer is an animal that was designed to be barbecued. The meat has very little fat content; roast it and eat it immediately as it cools quickly. But, advantageously, if you barbecue it, you are without the constant drip of fat on to the charcoal below which leads to the flames roaring up, burning the outside and leaving the inside raw. A piece of venison will cook gently over the embers and become toasted on the outside and pink on the in.
It is cheap and plentiful and comes highly recommended.
Copyright 2006 Spectator, The London
