Faking the Flame

Due to unreasonably strict fire codes in Atlanta*, I am not allowed to have a grill on my balcony. Not gas, not charcoal--no grill of any kind. As a former Floridian, this is particularly distressing, as one of the only things I looked forward to during the stifling summer heat of my childhood was the smell of the grill. I've thought about experimenting with liquid smoke, but I'm just not convinced that it could pull a fast one on my palate. (Any thoughts, readers?)

So, I have to resort to faking it indoors with a grill pan. My recently acquired Calphalon grill pan is a thing of beauty, an Anodized aluminum heavyweight that can handle more than enough chicken or fish for two, with room to a-spare-agus. (ha See what I did there?)

I haven't had much time yet to play around with my new toy, but I can assure you that there will be grill recipes aplenty once the haze of the caramel apples has been completely lifted.

*Side bar- Is this some sort of irrational fear caused by the burning of the city during the Civil War? If so, that's one hell of an untreated case of PTSD the city council is harboring.