I am making a confession here that I know may be forgiven but I will keep committing the sin. I par boil my ribs before lying them gently on the grill to gain the caramelization of a wet sauce they so richly deserve. I actually choose to suggest that giving them a bath of flavors before their ultimate forfeit is a more kind way to look at this...this heinous act of carnivorous treachery. With onions, garlic and peppercorns they happily spend their time in a jacuzzi of delight.
I have spent time with smokers and now better appreciate the fine quality and knowledge of their work and sacrifice for the bone gnawing goodness they construct. I can say that the end lusciousness of their labor produces eye rolling mouth ecstasy that my humble fabrication cannot duplicate nor would I try. I am a boiler. I am a boiler. I cannot see it another way.
Happily in the lap of a Texicans chair, or wiping the smoke induced tear streaked face of gratitude and delight while I ingest every last iota of flavor from a well created meal of ribs or brisket leaves me the impossible question of which really is best. The camp is divided and I will always accept every new nuance and flavor I am offered. However for my own back yard I must adhere to Dorothy’s rule and say, “There is no place like home.”
