Ribs

There is a broad appreciation for ribs–both pork and beef–primarily from the opposite sex, but when I find myself at a food establishment specializing in such I pour over the menu in search of a salad, fajitas or something similarly boneless.

My husband Chuck is a rib-loving guy. He is quick to suggest a a rib joint when we have plans for dinner and, despite his slender physique, can be counted on to order the "Texas-sized" platter.

Despite my practice of avoiding traditional smokehouse fare I always, upon Chuck's hearty recommendation, sample a rib or two. I endure the messy but sweet, sticky but delightfully tangy sauce to literally suck the tender meat from the bone. My regret for not ordering my own rack is immediate and deep as I unenthusiastically return to my boneless meal after wiping my fingers clean with a wet wipe.

I had an opportunity to change my ways Friday night when we went to the Village Smokehouse to have dinner with friends. Despite Chuck's reminder of how much I enjoyed sampling his previous orders, I found myself dining on fajitas and, of course, a few ribs from his "Texas-sized" order.

I have it it in mind, however, that next time given the opportunity, I will proudly order myself a rack of ribs, with coleslaw on the side and leave the boneless meals for the less adventurous diners.