As mom pulled the car into the driveway, I stepped out and heard the sizzle of the barbecue. I walked towards the backyard and s
melled the delicious scent of grilled chicken. The sun was getting ready for its nightly rest in the moon was prepared to take its place. The picnic table felt as hot as a frying pan, but I sat down anyway. I looked around the yard and realize that the grass was freshly mowed. Poised next to the barbecue pit, dad looked more Jeremy than Tom Cruise. Soon, dad carried to The Table Mountain of food stacked a mile high. Not caring what anyone thought, I picked out on chicken, hot dogs, and hamburgers. I savored the sweet, sour, and salty flavors as they danced on my taste buds. Dad is the best BBQ Chef in the entire world. Whats the metaphor??????
