“JOHNSONVILLE BRATS, JOHNSONVILLE BRATS!”

I recently found myself standing over a bubbling tray of Cheddar-wurst Johnsonville brats, cheddar oozing out like molten lava, edges crisped just shy of burnt, and I couldn’t help but time travel straight back to the old-school Johnsonville commercial from the '80s.

You know it. Charlie Murphy, manning his grill by the lake. Probably just trying to enjoy his one peaceful afternoon off from analyzing taxes at his crummy 9 to 5. He’s got the brats going, they’re sizzling, life is good.
But because Uncle Charlie clearly didn’t want to share his stash with his bratty niece and was trying to save them for his friends, she outed him. Loudly. To the entire neighborhood.
She belts it across the lake:
“Charlie Murphy’s cooking Johnsonville Brats… Johnsonville Brats!”

And that was it. Word was out. People heard it from across the lake like it was some kind of neighborhood dinner bell. Boats started turning in. Neighbors started showing up. A crowd formed out of nowhere, magnetically pulled by the scent of sizzling cheddar and that unmistakable shout.

Now, I’m sure Charlie’s a generous guy. But did anybody think to ask before they invited themselves over? Did one person swing by with a bag of chips or maybe a six-pack? A folding chair? A single bag of charcoal?
Charlie probably ended up slicing buns like he was hosting a Midwest pop-up restaurant out of a lawn chair.

At this rate, Charlie might be responsible for feeding half of Wisconsin.

The whole memory hit me, and made me realize—summer is the only time we remember they exist. There’s just something about them.
The snap & sizzle of the casing, the cheddar bubbling out, the smell hitting your brain like a summer anthem.
And even though you know it’s too hot, there you are, taking a bite straight off the grill like you don’t value the roof of your mouth.
Day three of vacation? Still healing.

There’s something about summer that also makes it the only time of year you have a corndog.
Maybe it's at the fair. Maybe someone grabs one at a parade. But try making one at home?
Nope. Sad. Spongey disappointment.
Corndogs are seasonal magic. Just leave them where they belong—under a carnival canopy, on a paper tray, surrounded by bees.

Let’s Talk Brat Toppings

Are you a ketchup-and-mustard classic type?
Or more of a full-on condiment artist—relish, onions, sauerkraut, banana peppers, whatever's nearby?
And buns: are we sticking with the old-school white bread variety, or trying to health-hack a brat with a whole wheat option?

If you’re already grilling up a meat tube packed with preservatives and sodium, why stop there?

Might as well let the condiments be equally bold.

No Cookout Is Complete Without the S’more Finale

How do you like your mallow toasted?
Are you a barely-kissed-by-the-fire type because you’re not a risk taker?
Or a burn-it-until-it’s-unrecognizable-then-watch-it-drop-into-the-fire person who goes through ten mallows just to get the right char?
Are you the one with the perfectly rotating stick, managing a golden brown on all sides like a marshmallow master?

Or maybe you’re the gourmet who whips out Reese’s Cups and imported chocolates.
More aptly named “S’mores Snobs.” And yes, I’ve been known to be one.
But when it’s mid-January in northern Minnesota and thirty degrees below zero?
I go classic: graham, square of Hershey’s, microwave-melted mallow. Simple. Reliable. Fire optional.

The Flat-Top Grill: America’s Second Kitchen

While we’re on the topic of summer, let’s address the American obsession: the outdoor flat-top grill.

Not necessarily a new invention, but definitely a new way to feel fancy about something you already had.
We spent decades working toward the American dream—four walls, a roof, central air, and a nice stovetop—and now what do we do?
We head right back outside and say,
“Look! I could cook this all inside, but instead, I’m going to do it out here… with a second kitchen.”

Am I a prime example? Absolutely.
I fell for the flat-top grill marketing pitch like it was a limited-time-only deal at Costco. Now I’m convinced I can’t live without it.
Could I sauté vegetables, flip smashburgers, and fry bacon inside my fully functioning kitchen? Of course.
But do I? No. Because apparently, what I needed was the same setup—but in my yard. With bugs.

The flat-top has become the grillmaster’s stage.
Also: a valid excuse to be included in the party without having to actually sit down and emotionally engage with anyone.

Think about it—was your dad ever really in deep conversation at any backyard cookout growing up?
Or was he hovering over the grill, turning unseasoned meats into charred bricks of smoky avoidance while muttering something about propane to random other hubbies?
Exactly.

This, I believe, is why we’ve brought the kitchen outdoors.
It’s not just for airflow or ambiance.
It’s for the great American tradition of:
“Sorry, I have to man the grill.”

Every summer, it’s a fight between my husband and I as to which one of us gets to be grill master when we invite people over.
I lose every time.
I have cooked every indoor meal for 20 years of our married lives, and yet the second we step outside it’s:
"I'll take it from here."
And to this day, it's still his sexiest flex.

Turning the dial, waiting for the spark, smelling gas for a titch, and hoping to ignite gives me just about as much anxiety as opening a tube of Pillsbury Flakey Grands—so, have at 'er.

Let’s be honest—when you're standing behind the flame, you don’t have to talk about work, politics, or why your cousin still isn’t speaking to your aunt.
You just flip, nod, and keep the brat train moving.

The Midwestern Goodbye

Once the brats are gone and the s’mores supplies have been ransacked, there’s still one last tradition to uphold:
The Midwestern Goodbye.

You say you're leaving.
You stand up.
Someone else stands up.
Next thing you know, you're still in the driveway 45 minutes later talking about how fast the kids are growing or comparing grill brush recommendations.

There’s the slow walk to the car.
The double back because someone forgot a Tupperware lid.
The wave from the window while the car’s already running.
And if you're really committed—the full “Well, we better get goin’” with the universal thigh-slap that kicks it all off.

It’s not a goodbye.
It’s a multi-phase exit strategy.

What Grilling Season Is Really About

Here’s what grilling season is really all about:

Somehow, standing near the flame—and the summer season—
makes you put your phone down.
It slows you up just enough to notice things:
the smell of lighter fluid, the sound of someone laughing from a lawn chair,
the weird but wonderful calm of being exactly where your feet are in the grass, barefoot.

…And then immediately wondering if you’re standing in the same spot the dog peed on earlier that morning.

It might be chaotic.
It might be hot.
You might eat way too many things you don’t even like.

But if there’s one thing most of us can still agree on, it’s this:
Grilled meats and unplugging long enough to enjoy summer while it’s here.

This week, let’s raise a brat to Charlie Murphy, the unexpected host of every neighborhood’s favorite unplanned cookout—and enjoy each other.

RaeAnne Conat
www.unfinishedbusinessreinvention.com
🎬 Watch the Original Johnsonville Ad