Do you leave the barby with the last cook oils and flavours or clean within an inch of its life??
I do the scrape and push the leftovers down the hot plate drain. Not spotless but still pretty clean for the nest cook.
We BBQ a lot so curious what others reckon??

I know you're talking about public bbqs, so here's my take;
I'll leave it better than I found it if at all possible, but I will push bits down the plug hole.
If it's a steel plate it always gets a fresh coat of oil too.

Public bbqs? I'd rather byo. Bought ourselves a baby-q as a wedding anniversary pressie many years ago (when we still celebrated such things) and it's perfect for taking to the park.

Clean - basic scrape after, then a really good hot preheat (burn the germs off) & wipe over with paper towel after hot & you're good to go...

Public - I try and leave better than I found it... but I do not spend 20min cleaning it...(generally I've done that at the start )

At Home - scrape clean with the Bar-B-Mate and then wipe down with paper towels (leaving the bbq goodness for next time) - if the plate is a little dry I give it a light coat with spray olive oil. Once a year she gets stripped down and the full high pressure clean and wipe down... but we use it 2-3 times a week all year round.

I once went for a foreshore barbie with a mob of asians. The stainless plate was superb and the girls still said ewwww and put alfoil on it. Hard eating marinated wings burnt onto alfoil that's for sure. Weird people lol

If it doesn't smell rancid, its good to go.

bunnings sell silicon bbq matts . cook on hotplate on one of those then give to wife to wash with dishes ....................


........never clean a bbq again !

I know that you dont critisize other blokes cooking technique when the barbies at their house , but one year we all stood around watching a friend faff around with those silicon mats,.
1 for red meat 1 for kebabs then he cleans up and starts on fish.
we all stood there saying nothing , but wanting too ,
then his missus comes out looking for the cooked food, the red meat has gone cold and hes still faffing with the fish.
she lost the plot, pushed the fish off the mat onto the plate, told him to man up and cook , took a swig of his beer and stormed off.
moral is , just man up and cook the food , dont faff , its a barbie FFS
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. ahhhhhhhh that feels better

GPA said..

and another who got comfortable with the beers and let his Mrs run the BBQ. I had to step in to preserve the male domain and honour.

Sounds like he had it covered

sn said...

djt91184 said..Does Buddha and Deena Champion still work there. Wodgina.

Not sure - I was a Brandrill shotfirer there, now I'm out of the mining game and Hollywood paycheques

stephen

Yep

The Tongmaster....

Steve was at the barbecue and Jeff was at the barbecue and I was at the barbecue; three men standing around a barbecue, sipping beer, staring at sausages, rolling them backwards and forwards, never leaving them alone.
We didn't know why we were at the barbecue; we were just drawn there like moths to a flame. The barbecue was a powerful gravitational force, a man-magnet. J
eff said the thin ones could use a turn, I said, "yeah I reckon the thin ones could use a turn", Steve said, "yeah they really need a turn" - it was a unanimous turning decision.
Steve was the Tong-master, a true artist, he gave a couple of practice snaps of his long silver tongs, SNAP, SNAP, before moving in, prodding, teasing, and with an elegant flick of his wrist, rolling them onto their little backs. A lesser tong-man would've flicked too hard; the sausages would've gone full circle, back to where they started. Nice, I remarked. The others nodded. Kevin was passing us, he heard the siren song sizzle of the snags, the barbecue was calling, beckoning, Kevinmmm ...come. He stuck his head in and said, "any room?" We nodded and began the barbecue shuffle; Steve shuffled to the left, Jeff shuffled to the left, I shuffled to the left, Kevin slipped in beside me, we sipped our beer. Now there were four of us staring at sausages, and Steve gave me the nod, my cue. I was second-in-command, and I had to take the raw sausages out of the plastic bag and lay them on the barbecue; not too close together, not too far apart, curl them into each other's bodies like lovers -fat ones, thin ones, herbed and continental.
Gary came along, he said, "looking good, looking good" -the irresistible lure of the barbecue had pulled him in too. We nodded and did the BBQ shuffle, left, left, left, left, he slipped in beside Kevin, we sipped our beer. Five men, lots of sausages. Jeff was the Fork-pronger; he had the fork that pronged the tough hides of the Bavarian bratwursts and he showed lots of promise. Stabbing away eagerly, leaving perfect little vampire holes up and down the casing.
Gary was shaking his head, he said, "I reckon they cook better if you don't poke them". There was a long silence, you could have heard a chipolata drop; this newcomer was a rabble-rouser, bringing in his crazy ideas from outside. He didn't understand the hierarchy; first the Tong-master, then the sausage-layer, then the Fork-pronger -and everyone below was just a watcher. Maybe eventually they'll move up the ladder, but for now - don't rock the Weber.
Steve handed me his tongs. I looked at him and he nodded. I knew what was happening, I'd waited a long time for this moment - the abdication. The tongs weighed heavy in my hands, firm in my grip - was I ready for the responsibility? I snapped them twice, before moving in, prodding, teasing, and with an elegant flick of my wrist, rolling them back onto their little bellies. I was a natural, I was the TONG-MASTER ...
Until Steve got back from the toilet....

skid , that is magnificent !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Thanks ...............