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There’s just something about cooking over an open flame that screams — SUMMER!

Well it would, if said open flame didn’t occur on my stove. Relax, the Austin Fire Department wasn’t called or anything. Mostly it was just a quick flash when a drop of olive oil dripped on a live burner, but also because I know a lot of them, I am not entirely sure they wouldn’t keep bringing it up for years to come.

Now that I got your attention, I do really like cooking over a live flame. Charcoal, I should say because I personally like the charred taste charcoal provides, but also because I’m not entirely sure I wouldn’t blow up the backyard using propane.

Propane makes me nervous, plain and simple. I just don’t trust that everything will come out okay or that I will even have eyebrows. Back in the day, when I was just a scamp of 10 or 11 or maybe 25, me and my friends nearly started a small grove on fire in my home town.

That might be an exaggeration given we were at least smart enough to start the fire in the old rusted barrel we found on a bare patch of ground. Of course that didn’t mean much considering the holes on the bottoms and the nearby leaves starting to smolder.

I’m not even sure why we thought it was a good idea to light the fire or the reasons behind it — or for that matter where we got the fire implementation tools. However, if it proved anything it was the fact we were a resourceful lot if not entirely in the presence of common sense.

Emboldened by the movie “First Blood,” me and my common sense-challenged group of miscreants thought it would be a good idea to pretend we were Rambos and tied glass shards to the ends of sticks, choosing to lose them on undeserving trees at least rather than each other.

I guess we had some sort of standards when it came to life preservation.

Where was I? Right, cooking over an open flame.

Seriously, I really do wonder why the 63 of you bother reading this column.

In one of the more schizophrenic moments of this spring, you know the week where it was 40 one day, 75 the next day and then snow the following day, I broke out the grill for the first time.

This past weekend I did it two more times and it was heavenly. There’s just something about the smell of lighter fluid, the lighting of the coals and the realization your shirt’s on fire that really gets you in the mood for some really good food.

Hey, look! I’m a poet and I didn’t even know it. Who says I can’t add a bit of sophistication to this drivel.

On Saturday, I made barbecue chicken thighs and that was followed by chicken thigh kabobs with peppers, onions and reasonably good mushrooms that haven’t made me sick yet.

Granted, the second straight night of chicken wasn’t planned, but I realized that we didn’t have the shrimp I thought we had and let’s lay all of our cards on the table — I was too lazy to go back out after grocery shopping earlier that morning.

Plus, I also made a fresh batch of mead Sunday after discovering an extra packet of wine yeast in the fridge, which was a bonus on the day, especially after discovering the suspiciously fuzzy grapes that accidentally got shoved toward the back.

Both meals also gave me the chance to try out some new rubs from a large book of rubs and marinades the class of our house got me for Christmas. She’s either going to celebrate that gift idea or rue it as the summer goes on. I can be terribly inconsistent when it comes to cooking.

Both nights were just fantastic though. A little chilly, but the feeling was right as the meat and vegetables gathered up that luxurious smoke from the coals and wrapped that flavor within the spices of the rub.

And as the weather continues to warm up — I think — I’m looking forward to throwing more stuff on the grill, some of which I intend to experiment with knowing there are equal chances of it being delightful or requiring the services of AFD.

I think I’ve adequately explained why I don’t want the latter.

At any rate, I hope you’ve enjoyed the opportunity to get out and fire up the grill or the smoker, or heck, even the stove provided it’s just one drop of oil.

Let’s not see what two gets us.