Let's start this with a very general statement;
I can grill. By which I mean, I can maybe cook you a steak and serve up some veggie kebabs. As long as you have absolutely no preference in your meat temperature and enjoy peppers and onions brushed with olive oil.

My grill and I have a somewhat sordid past. The day after I received the grill as a gift from my parents, I attempted to cook marinated tequila-lime chicken from the North Andover institution known as Butcher Boy. I got as far as opening the bag with a butcher knife when I slipped, cut open my left index finger, and was rushed to the ER by my roommate. I didn't even make it as far as pre-heating the damn grill. Grill - 1. Allie - 0.

So let's just say, I'm not the most skilled with the clunky propane beast that sits outside my apartment, but I have come a bit further since that first attempt. Last weekend, I busted out plum tomatoes, halved and skewered, stuffed with artichoke hearts, parmesan, and goat cheese. The idea may or may not have been borrowed from a Rachael Ray mag, but the execution was there. (And damn, were they tasty.)

But regardless, I remain a novice at cooking in general, and my overall fear of hurting myself/acknowledgment of my clumsiness doesn't ease my mind around a grill.

So this past weekend, as Boyfriend sat in a cold-induced Dayquil coma playing games on his iPod Touch, I decided to go to to the grocery store and tackle something I never had before: Beer Can Chicken.