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We did it again, faithful readers. We rolled up into a vineyard and cooked a bad-assed meal.  At Adelsheim Vineyards in Oregon wine country Chef and I cooked up a 5 course plated dinner for some lucky people.  They had hor de oeuvres at the winery while we set up our food and the service staff set up the table.  Nestled between rows of grape vines sat our al fresco kitchen, which was equipped with two low propane burners (the kind used for outdoor turkey frying,)  a large charcoal grill, and ample plating space.  The guests were enjoying Gazpacho shots, arugula pesto prawns, and hamachi tartare while I drank beer and spit cusses at the grill.  I had one hell of a time getting that thing lit.  It took a side towel soaked in lighter fluid, but I got that fire rolling.  The guests strolled up in the waning evening light as the charcoal sputtered and spat to life.  Spring Lamb Chops marinated.  Chef seared scallops as the girls plated the first course.  I scurried about, feeding chef clean pans and regulating fires and helping plate.  The servers bussed and poured and ran the plates when each course came up.  When it was time for the duck tits, the sheet pan flat top was again created, and the sizzling fat filled the air with a delicious smell.  They were sliced and hit the plate with a scrumptous plop.  The fading light mingled with the gasps of gastronomic pleasure, the breeze wafted sweet smelling smoke and aounds of merriment across the vineyard.  The lamb chops hit the grill with a satisfying sound, that fucker was hot.  Chef kicked me off grill duty as I blackened some of the chops.  Fucking pastry chefs trying to grill, shit…