I’m afraid of my grill.

New and shiny, it mocks me from the backyard: You’ve hardly touched me, and it’s nearly August. You’re failing at food. You are failing at summer itself.

Well, maybe. I did have big dreams of backyard barbecues this year. They haven’t happened.

There was a lone incident involving marinated chicken, a hot grill, a flare-up and slightly singed eyebrows, but I shouldn’t let that deter me. Such mild hazards the brave home cook faces daily.

A few months back, I chopped off a fingertip while cutting kale, and as my toddler danced around singing “Oooh, Mama, blood!” I slumped woozy and white-faced against the kitchen cabinets with my hand in a towel. Eventually, I stood, reached for the phone and called a neighbor for help. No big deal.

So why am I being a silly girl about the grill? It’s simply unfamiliar, stressful territory. The stakes seem higher. What if I screw up a costly cut of meat? How rare can a steak be before it’s dangerous? I love feeding people – it’s how I make friends – but do friends you’ve invited for dinner remain friendly if you give them a charred hunk of meat? Or worse, food poisoning?

But a few weeks ago, I decided to conquer my fear of grilling. I would research, read and practice. I would be brave and succeed at summer.

First, I read a Forbes article titled “Grill-Friend Tips” on ladies’ grilling secrets. They included, “Avoid ruining your manicure by wearing extra-long grill mitts,” and “Tie up your long hair, long flowing sleeves, long necklaces and charm bracelets.”

Not the useful tutorial I was seeking. Why the distinction of lady grilling tips? Can’t we all just grill along? Most importantly, who wears charm bracelets anymore?

The more I read, the message was clear: Women cook, and men grill. Both Forbes and The Smithsonian Magazine have reported in the past six years about the American “barbecuing boys’ club,” attempting to explain why grilling seems like male territory. Their experts offered reasons ranging from how our cave-person ancestors divided labor after discovering fire, to America’s 1950s suburbanization, when men supposedly first claimed big backyards and barbecues as their territory.

Or maybe they’re just inherently better at grilling food – who knows. Do you care who’s cooking, so long as the food is tasty? I was looking to learn, not make a sweeping claim about gender stereotypes.

So I requested a grilling lesson from the most skilled outdoor cook I know. Roger Bell, my friend Angie’s husband, is the only griller I know well enough to invite over to my home, hand a stack of steaks and put to work. Plus, his barbecue is fantastic. We share a love for meat, and great mentorships have been built on less, I’ll bet.

He only rolled his eyes a little when I asked him how he honed his craft. “What do you want to hear, that my barbecue skills have been passed down from father to son for 14 generations?” he asked. “Whatever. I’m a dude, and I like to eat meat, so I learned how to grill.”

I watched, asked questions and took notes. Roger pulled together a glorious grilled dinner with ease: Ribeye and New York strip steaks, asparagus, sweet corn. The major win of the evening was our grilled donut dessert, a recipe Angie learned from her grandpa. We topped them with grilled Palisade peaches and vanilla ice cream and declared after the first bite that we should start a food truck.

At the evening’s end, I was overstuffed and understood a bit more about how my grill works. Progress.

Finally, I sat down with my most faithful kitchen companions: my cookbooks. I read from Cooks Illustrated and Weber’s Way to Grill and savored Alice Waters’ opening essay on grilling over charcoal in The Art of Simple Food. Some of the best beginner advice came from “A Summertime Grilling Guide” from the Splendid Table e-book. Who needs Bobby Flay when you’ve got Lynne Rossetto Kasper and Sally Swift?

As I read, I could hear Rossetto Kasper’s warm, throaty voice in my head. “Summertime eating should be about retiring anything complicated or demanding and bringing out all the simplicity you can muster,” she wrote. Now there are some grilling guidelines I’m perfectly pleased to follow.

With that in mind, I’ve had a busy week playing with fire. I marinated chicken in a lemon garlic sauce and cringed when my son yelled, “There’s fire, mommy! I see fire!” as I placed it on the grill. It was just the marinade dripping and causing a flare-up, though I imagine he scared the neighbors a little. I’ve also tackled buffalo burgers and skewered some shrimp.

It’s probably time to take a break and eat salads for a few days, but plenty of grilling exploration remains: rubs and brines, cedar planks and grill baskets, even pizza. Summer’s far from over, and my love for feeding people may be greater than my fear of failure or singed eyebrows. There’s hope for a big backyard barbecue yet.

Have a great grill recipe to share, or an idea for a local food story? Email Durango Herald food writer Bobbi Maiers at [email protected].