I was working outside this evening when I found myself suddenly examining my barbeque grill.  That little grill/smoker has really been through it.  It's approaching it's 10th birthday.  Ten years of brisket, ribs, Windthorst sausage, burgers, hot dogs, hot links and chicken.  I've cooked just about everything that's edible on that grill.  And as I stood there, reminiscing about the countless cookouts and even family dinners that have been prepped there, I realize that this just might be the last domain we men can claim as our very own.  Women have, and, for the most part, rightfully so, proven that they can do just about anything a man can in just about every career field you can imagine.  And yes, I know there are some great female chef's out there.  But the outdoor grill is a man's domain.  Think about it.  When your dad or granddad cooked out for the family, was there ever a bad meal?  Not likely.  Mom's, God bless them, usually shine in the kitchen.  Give me roast and an oven and I'll probably screw it up.  But give me that same roast and some hot coals or mesquite and my grill, and I'll give you a work of art.  Paula Dean ain't got anything on me where the grill is concerned.  I've been through no less than four of five of those giant grill spatulas in the last ten or fifteen years.  That's the mark of craftsman-wearing 'em out!  My grill is nothing fancy.  No propane!  I'm a traditionalist.  It looks like it's been 'round the barnyard a while.  But the succulent beef and pork and chicken that has emerged from that steel box has, again and again, pleased the palates of friends and family alike.  I don't like to brag, not much.  But I'm I pretty good cook, so long as I've got my grill.  Sorry ladies.  It's a guy thing.