At an American cookout, only one man is allowed to touch the meat. Nobody says this. There's no sign. But there is a radius around the grill, maybe four feet, and men enter it and stand and talk and hold beers and not one of them reaches for the tongs. The tongs belong to somebody. At this one it was a guy named Terry. Terry does something with HVAC. Terry's apron said KISS THE COOK and was clearly a gift he did not choose. Other men came and stood near him. They gave advice. That's the part I didn't understand at first. They aren't helping. They're advising. Four men stood there and told Terry things about heat and about flipping and about a mistake somebody made in 2018, and Terry said mm-hm to all of it and did exactly what he was already doing. I asked one of them why he doesn't just take a turn. He said, that's Terry's grill. It was not Terry's grill. It was the host's grill. The host was inside. I have now watched this at four cookouts and the guy is never the host. The host is inside dealing with something. The grill man is somebody else entirely, appointed by nobody, and everybody knows who it is before they arrive. There's a rate for this too. The grill guy eats last and everybody knows it and nobody lets him. Somebody makes him a plate. It shows up at his elbow while he's still working, usually carried by a woman who says nothing and doesn't wait for thanks. I asked Terry if he liked doing it. He said, somebody's gotta. Then, after a bit, he said, I'd do it anyway. He said the second part quieter, like it was a confession, and then immediately flipped something that did not need flipping. Who's the grill guy in your family. And has anyone ever taken the tongs from him.