Ribs

I had always been entirely terrified of Ribs. Not of eating the ribs, of course. I'm not terrified of eating any food, bar perhaps brains. (I just don't get brains. The Texture- oh, the Texture). The problem with ribs is that I simply didn't know how to properly cook them. It all seemed so arcane. Mop rags, boiling or not, indirect heat, basting, removing membranes. It was one of these terrible morasses I had no desire to go, however much I liked to slather the rib and thereby myself in sweet musky sauce.

But in honor of my friend Lewis, I decided to try ribs. So I cleaned out my barbecue, put some bricks over one side so as to coral the fire, and then let it go. I had previously, of course, made a rub for the formidable strip of meat, though I rather suspect in retrospect it had too much sugar in it and too little spice (and it definitely needed a little of the acridness donated by a dose of cumin.)

I also decided to try to simplify the whole thing by not basting the ribs during cooking except with sauce right at the end. Yes, I'm sure this makes me terribly gauche, but I just didn't want to get into the whole basting liquid debate.

So anyway, I put the rubbed rib right on the grill, fired by an indirect heat. I shut the cover of the ribs, ran upstairs to continue watching TV, and grabbed the chair I was sitting on furiously to avoid checking on the smoldering delicacies. About forty five minutes later, I went outside to take a look; and lo! They were cooking!

So I let them finish, basted them all with sauce, and munched. They were actually good. How amazing is that.

So I've got over my rib problems. Now just to "ameliorate" the style, so to speak.