An organization I belong to is gathering at my house next week. In preparation for the potluck that is part of the meeting, one of the members casually asked me if I’d have my grill going.

I gulped and thought about the small, rusty hibachi I have stowed somewhere in the back of the shed. Would I even dare pull that out? Could I let people in on my terrible secret? I chickened out and muttered something about keeping the potluck simple with room-temperature dishes.

I didn’t want to admit the truth, because it is so shocking, so un-Californian, so downright un-American, that I thought it might bring Homeland Security knocking on my door. But I know I can trust you with my secret.

Other than that rusty hibachi, I don’t actually own a grill. And what’s worse, I don’t know how to barbecue.

“How can this be?” you’re probably asking yourself. “Has she never lit a charcoal fire? Camped out? Made S’mores?”

Well of course I have. I was a Girl Scout. I’ve successfully cooked hot dogs and hamburgers on that little hibachi and its many predecessors. And I can melt a marshmallow with the best of them.

But in case you haven’t noticed, barbecuing has gotten a lot more complicated than that. Check it out next time you’re in a bookstore. There are shelves of big, fat instruction manuals, with new ones coming out all the time. Dry rubs, wet rubs, marinades, heat control, fire management, wood selection, specialized tools and utensils — “having a cookout,” as we quaintly called it back in the day, is kid stuff. True barbecuing apparently requires a graduate-level education.

And then there’s the equipment.

When I renovated my house, I planned to put in an outdoor kitchen. But here it is, four years later and it’s not installed yet. Why? The patio is paved, the gas, water, and electrical connections are all in place. It would be simplicity itself to finish the job.

The problem is, I can’t pick a grill.

Have you seen the options? Forget about basics like charcoal vs. gas. Beyond that there are a hundred more decisions. Size. Thickness of the steel. Controls. Burners. BTUs. Shelves. Racks. Drawers. Smoke boxes. Thermostats. And have you seen how much they can cost?

Every time I step into a showroom, go online, or pull out a catalog, I suffer a panic attack. How do I choose? What if I get it wrong? Do I really want to spend that much just so I can stand outside with smoke in my face to cook a burger?

So the tile patio sits there, grill-less and empty. (Except for Eddie Haskell, who likes to lounge there. Won’t someone please adopt that cat?)

I think the problem is, I’m starting from the wrong end. Shopping for a grill is like trying out a Steinway when I only know how to play chopsticks. I don’t need a baby grand, but rather the equivalent of an electric keyboard — equipment to practice my scales on. A training grill.

If I can just get started, and practice a bit, I know I’ll be playing Chopin in no time. You can add all the bells and whistles you want, but when push comes to shove, barbecuing is just cooking over a fire — something I do every day indoors.

So forget about the outdoor kitchen for now. I’ll deal with that next summer, when I’m a virtuoso. What I need right now is a simple little Weber.

If only I could decide between gas and charcoal …

Maria’s Sassy

BBQ Sauce

To help me get started in my grilling adventures, my friend Maria Binchet generously offered up her (formerly) secret barbecue sauce. It’s yummy, and great on chicken, though I think it will be even better on slow-cooked pork (I’ll let you know, as soon as I master that!) It’s more sour than sweet, with a nice kick — its nearest relative is a North Carolina-style vinegar sauce, but with a bit of Texas and a little Latin thrown in (plus a lot of butter, reflecting her culinary training). Just having a jar of it in on hand is boosting my confidence.

1 medium onion

3 cloves garlic

1 1/2 cups ketchup

1/2 cup white vinegar

1 cup water

12 Tbsp. (1 1/2 sticks) butter

3 Tbsp. dark brown sugar

1 tsp. chili powder

1 tsp. pimentón (smoked Spanish paprika)*

1 Tbsp. Worcestershire sauce

A dash of Tabasco

Salt and pepper to taste

Peel and quarter the onion and throw it and the garlic into a food processor. Pulse until finely chopped and throwing off some liquid. Put the onions and garlic into a saucepan, along with the remaining ingredients. Bring to a boil, and then simmer, uncovered, for about 30 minutes. Check the seasonings and add salt and pepper to taste.

Cool and store until ready to use. This is best if you make it in advance and let it sit refrigerated for 2 to 3 days to allow it to mellow. Because of the high acid, it will keep almost indefinitely if you store it tightly sealed in the refrigerator. Maria says it even freezes.

Makes about 3 1/2 cups.

* Pimentón, also called smoked paprika, is a must-have new pantry basic. I’m not sure if it has hit the grocery chains yet, but it’s available in specialty stores and is well worth tracking down. It comes in both sweet and hot versions. For extra kick in this dish, I used the hot kind.

Betty Teller tries not to take food too seriously. To give her barbecuing hints or adopt a cat, reach her at amuse-bouche@sbcglobal.net.