Which One of You Wrote This?

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The smell of smokey slow roasted meat had been filling the house for hours, begging the rest of my senses to join in the sheer delight my nose was engaged in... Low and slow, that had long been the motto for cooking ribs. Low and slow and tonight had been no different.

It had been two and a half hours since I had broiled the ribs to seer in the flavour and I could still see the dry rub atop the glistening meat crack, bubble, smoke and hiss. Two and a half hours since I had set the oven to 275 and walked away. Low and slow. Low and slow.

Grabbing a pot and some ingredients I threw together the sauce that would grace the warm and tender morsels of meat I had dry rubbed, broiled, and roasted with such care. Some hickory smoked BBQ sauce here, a dash of pepper there. A large helping of fresh maple syrup from the bottle, and an extra splash into my mouth for good measure. Topped off, of course, with that secret ingredient that makes everything BBQ-like taste so damn good - more sweet sweet brown sugar. The ingredients surrendered their individually to the whole, churning and bubbling merrily in the pot as I stirred, poked and cajoled it while it cooked. A small taste - a dash of salt - a small taste - another dollop of syrup - a small taste - perfection, enough, no more. Off the burner and aside to cool.

The ribs themselves pulled out, unwrapped from their foil packages one by one by one. Like a pile of delicious Christmas presents laid bare, steaming and begging to be sauced. Glazed once for good practice, once more to lock in the flavour. Back into the oven to warm. Two minutes pass... Three... Tension mounted as mouths watered. Finally, the time drew near. Once more out of the oven to be glazed again. My hands moving with the rapid speed of skill, practice, and confidence that the end drew near. My hands shook with excitement but never wavered, never faulted. Not a single drop of sauce wasted or left wantonly abandoned.

Broiler on once more, the ribs back for their final touch. The sauce screaming as if touched by hellfire - smoke churning, bubbles bursting, a cacophony of sound from the grilling meat. And then - silence. The ribs out, into a bowl. Waiting... Waiting... Waiting...

The first bite. Indescribable. The second - just as good. An amazing balancing act of smoke, char, tangy and sweet. The meat literally pulling away from bone, not a knife in sight for none was needed to carve through the flesh. Mouthful after mouthful worth every second of the hours of preparation work and attention to detail. Every mouthful a delight for the senses.

And then, not with a bang but with a whimper, the moment was gone... My eyes grew dim at the sight of destruction around me. Where once had stood a proud nation of ribs, now lay a pile of bones. I had eaten them all. There were no more. This was the end.

I regret not that I ate them unto extinction... Nor that we discarded all they left behind into the trash. My only regret is that you were not here to share in the feasting.

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