I did some thing this past weekend that I've never done before, and I might just do it again now that I know how truly satisfying it was!
Family went in search of great ribs on St. Simons Island, GA...the St. Louis style...smoked, rubbed, wet, falling-apart...that kind. Gosh, that sounds like something that I should censor.
I'm not going to say the name of the BBQ joint, but there are two locations...one in the village and a take-out location on a main highway. So we go to the village location so we can sit down in the courtyard and Cute Little Very Friendly Southern Waitress brought us our great potato salad and slaw first. Our precious little Mary (age 2 1/2) was having a great time but getting as impatient as the rest of us for her ribs! Of course she had a PB&J samwich coming just IN CASE.
PB&J arrived first and precious Mary was enthralled! Best PB&J samwich she'd ever had and she just dug right in. We didn't hear another word from her. (And she's been known to talk nonstop for 6 hours straight!)
Next came our ribs. "Uh, Mom, " our chef-son brought my attention to the star of the show. "I know that smoked ribs are often pink inside but check these out."
I grabbed two ribs to pull them apart. I wrenched and tugged....finally grabbed my ultra-serrated black plastic super heavy-weight (I'm joking) knife and after 3 good minutes of sawing, was finally able to separate those suckers!
Hmmmm....pink....with bright splotches of red seeping out. Did I hear an "oink" in the distance?
Ok, so we call that Cute Little Wwaitress (CLW) over and show her the FORENSIC EVIDENCE she had just served us for dinner. She grabs a phone and makes a call (to the owner). She stands right there at our table and explains the situation. We cannot hear the exact words, but we CAN hear the gist of his loud expletives that are surely causing her irreparable cochlear damage that will manifest itself one day when she's trying to hear her grandchildren talk to her on the phone.
CLW punches the "OFF" button on the phone and turns to us. "Ok, I'm really sorry, but he tells me to tell you that the pink is normal in smoked pork."
"Ok," I answer, " but what about the blood? I'll be happy to talk with him if you call him back."
"That's ok," my husband says, "Just give us the check and we'll pay for our wine and the PB&J sandwich."
"Oh no," CLW says. "I have to charge you for the ribs, too. You can go to blah blah blah address and try to find the manager and see if he will give you credit for the ribs."
I started to hear ringing in my ears.
"Do you mean that you are going to charge us for ribs that are rare and inedible?" I ask, somewhat....very MUCH incredulously.
"Yes," CLW says.
Hubby says calmly, "I'm not going to pay for these ribs."
Impass. You think?
I look around at the 4 other tables in the courtyard filled with tee-shirt-clad tourists perusing their menus. I can see drops of saliva at the corners of their lips. They are hungry and ready to order from our CLW.
"Excuse me," I say to my hungry audience. "May I have your attention please? I just want you to know that the ribs are being served raw, tough, and completely inedible this afternoon, so don't order them."
CLW slapped the check down on the table next to hubby's plate, apologized profusely, and said she was only charging us for the wine and the PB&J sandwich.
Our precious Mary never skipped a beat; we wrapped up the remainder of her samwich and went to Shane's Rib Shack and had really GREAT ribs, the St. Louis style...smoked, rubbed, wet, falling-apart...that kind. Mmmmmmmm...satisfaction!