It’s a cliche because it’s true: men like grilling things. Women like grilling things too, of course, but at this point in history, grilling, like crying about sports and and being a Fortune 500 CEO, is firmly located in the domain of Dude.
Naturally, some oversensitive harpies were on their periods, and they raised a fuss, and ruined all the fun. Now the intro reads:
It’s a cliche because it’s true: men like grilling things. Women like grilling things too, of course, but at this point in history, grilling, like crying about sports and [inadvertently sexist attempt at humor deleted], is firmly located in the domain of Dude.
Nice try, but how about just saying "unfunny sexist bullshit deleted" instead?
An editor’s note at the top of the piece now reads:
Editor's Note: We're aware that some readers did not like our attempt to be tongue-in-cheek here. We apologize. We in no way meant to imply that women aren't just as masterful at the grill. In fact, we'd like to take this opportunity to draw your attention to some of the stories we've run about women who grill: Elizabeth Karmel's 10 Commandments of Grilling; Mom Gets Her Grill On; La Buena Vida from Our New 'Grilling Book'; and (just today!) How go Grill Maitake Mushrooms.
Oh, Bon Appetit. Not only are you truly skilled in the art of the non-apology, you've taken it next level with your defensive inclusion of all the mushroom grilling articles. That was a true "How can I be racist? Look at all my black friends!" moment, right there.
Men and grilling go together like men and penises, and how would you even begin to marinade a steak without the almighty dong? Deep thoughts, my friends. Ones you probably wouldn't understand if you had the heartbreaking misfortune of being dealt the short end of the dick stick (a clitoris). Maybe this explains why I'm vegan?
Except that it really doesn't, because I know plenty of ladies who are about grilling up thick slabs of bloody meat, and I know more than a few dudes who enjoy baking vegan cupcakes. This tired gendered bullshit is just that — it's a bad joke my grandpa used to make over Christmas ham. And even he — a grizzled WWII vet who never met a dead animal he didn't like to cover in BBQ sauce — eventually learned how to pronounce vegan correctly. Oh, and he never had any problem with my grandma bringing home the literal and figurative bacon.
I believe in you, Bon Appetit. You can evolve just like grandpa did. It's time.