Yankee Ribs

I had a hankering for ribs today, and knew of a place on the edge of the hood that I've been meaning to try. I swung by today, optimistic and hopeful. The only problem is that when you've tasted the best, it's hard to meet those kind of expectations.

That's not to say that the ribs I had today were bad. They were decent enough, and if you were at a backyard BBQ, you'd tell the cook that they were tasty, partly because it's BBQ and because it's pork, (always a good thing) and partly because no one ever has enough ribs to make having ribs be anything other than something special. "You're offering me ribs? Why thank you...they're fantastic!"

But here's the rub: I've had the best, on numerous occasions now--so much so that the college kids down in Illinois started calling me the pork sommelier. I'd just call myself a pork and rib connoisseur. (OK...I'm a pork snob, really, but I've got no problem with that, and in fact carry that badge with honor. You stick with me, and I won't steer you wrong.) With the eye of the pork sommelier, these ribs were lacking.

First off, I've decided that I'm a baby back ribs man. Less gristle, more tender meat, smaller bones and bigger chunks of meat to savor. These were spare ribs, and those have been all of I've cooked myself in the past, but I'm making the switch. And let's talk cooking techniques. These puppies were just a little too dry, and though they had decent smoke flavor, it wasn't consistently spread throughout the meat. There were pockets of smoky flavor, and then some pockets that were overwhelmed with smokiness, while some parts of the meat didn't have much smoke at all. I think they needed to be turned a lot more frequently, with a mindfulness towards rotating them on every other turn to make sure they get even treatment. One thing I'm convinced of as well about smoked ribs: the ribs should never have char on them, evidence that they've been licked with flames. Low and slow, and primarily indirect heat is the key to tasty and tender ribs. These had chunks of char on them that added a flavor profile I like on the crunchy bits of grilled chicken, but not on my ribs.

Now let's talk sauce, perhaps the most subjective part of rib cooking. I like all kinds of sauces, from tangy and spicy, to smoky and thick, to thinner, more vinegary and mustardy sauces. I'm just not a fan of overly sweet sauces, since they bring a cloying element that commands the attention of your taste buds, and takes away from the main event: the meat. When meat primarily becomes a vehicle and showcase for the sauce, I think the package has fallen short. The ribs should taste great on their own, and light up with a touch of sauce. The sauce should be something you'd like to dip your fries in again and again to sample, but when you put it on the ribs, ideally you have an experience where the two work in concert together perfectly. Not so with these ribs, which were doused in a sauce that, though nicely tangy, was far too sweet and overpowered the ribs. I found myself wiping it off with a paper towel.

Bottom line: I'm thinking that if I want ribs like I had down in Illinois, I'm going to have to be guided by Mike Mills, and practice a lot. On that score, I'm happy to fill in my practice card.