There are a few things we have at the house that we didn't have at the apartment. A laundry room, a dishwasher, freedom from our neighbor's music, a possum that shows up every night around 10 to nibble from our orange and tangerine trees. But most importantly, a grill.
So far we've grilled more nights than not by about a 4:1 ratio. Two taco fests, steaks, whole fish, chicken, pork, kebabs, corn...I'm doing some serious scorching out there and I'm displaying a complete mastery of the medium. The time per side for nine different things is already instinctual to me. "Branzino? Mmm...I'd say seven minutes per side. You know what, though? Let's wrap them up with some twine to hold the leeks in first. You do that and I'll go get a third beer."
I think I'm going to start seriously challenging myself with some non-traditional, radical grill selections. Like...pasta. I think I could parboil it to soften it up a bit, then finish it off over the flames. Thick rigatonis could handle it, I bet. Or maybe some grilled beer. I'll freeze it into a block, place it on a rack above the burners, then have a basin underneath to catch the defrosting drippings. Get some nice smoky flavor into a hefeweizen and basically explode your head with the flavors.
Once I've nailed that down, I'm going totally off the reservation and grilling abstract concepts. Like...that feeling of dread you get when you see somebody you hate waiting for the same elevator you want. The Germans have a 17-letter word for that feeling, I'm sure. Grilled lifterzschweinmal, man!