Ribs in the rain.
I don’t have any pictures of the ribs that resulted from this long day of BBQ because we went blind and stupid as soon as we pulled off the first available bits of meat. The moment Tim lifted the rack off the grill and onto the carving board, drops of rain started to penetrate the overhanging tree limbs; we chose to stay and eat.
I made a BBQ sauce out of the entire contents of the fridge door and spice cabinet excepting mayo and relish. Smoky, sweet, a little heat and about two tbsp. of bourbon to round it out. The meat was sticky, tender and a little crispy around the edges, and I felt like one of the Lord of the Flies kids devouring it. Every tendon was liquified and by the end of each rib, one perfect bare bone remained.
The neighbors were playing rocksteady too loud from their window, but at some point, I moved from mild annoyance into enjoyment. The foliage caught about two thirds of the rain anyway, or enough that if I kept my head down, nothing harmed my remaining ribs. It wasn’t until we scraped the last shreds of meat from the bones when it really began to pour, and we came back upstairs.