“Honest to Pete, I have this special marinade,” Henry says. He takes a swig of beer. “Just some secret ingredients, I’d say. Would you mind turning the steaks for me? Here’s the flipper.” He hands Kevin a metal spatula.
“Sure.”
Kevin opens the barbecue cover, a thick roll of smoke curling out from underneath. He brushes his hand to fan away the smoke, his eyes starting to water. He thought the odor was sweet before, almost like a caramel smell, and now he detects a thick fragrance of mesquite.