When the smoke from the cheap grills hangs over the park, when the haze moves into the apartment from the neighboring balcony, it’s that time again: grilling season in the big city. Or also: the time of culinary amateurism. Because what ends up on the neighbor’s grill often causes me stress: packaged pork from stables drenched in marinade, crumbly baguette to bake that chars on the disposable grill. The ready-made salads from the supermarket, drowned in mayonnaise and flavored with additives, cause me similar pain.
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