Every time I eat ribs, I feel like Fred Flinstone. I'm not too sure what it is, maybe it's the primal act of gnawing at bones, maybe it's the eating with hands, maybe it's because I like mine a little charred, or maybe it's just because I watched too much TV as a kid.
I recently got called out of town on short notice. This meant that the colossal amount of meat in my fridge had to be frozen. I had the clever idea that I would pre-marinate everything in zip-loc bags, allowing all the flavours to blend as they thawed. In theory, a clever idea. In practice, I should have labelled the packages more carefully. "Pork Ribs" only helps me so much. I opened the bag & smelt garlic and ginger, I could see black & chilli pepper. There was some sort of liquid - I'm not sure what it was.
I braised the ribs in the oven at 150° (300°) for 90 minutes in beer, then, when they looked like they were falling off the bone, I slapped on some homemade sauce (BBQ seems to elegant). and grilled them for 12 minutes until they were as charred as I like them.
1 Tbsp soy sauce
1 Tbsp Worchester sauce
1/4 c ketchup
1/2 Tbsp Dijon mustard
1 Tbsp honey
1/2 tsp dried, minced onion
1/2 tsp garlic powder
Mix everything together & put on ribs. If you prefer, you can even use real onion & real minced garlic, but I was feeling rustic.
I gnawed on the bones in desperate need of dental floss, and felt like a citizen of Bedrock. The only thing missing was the bone in my hair.
1 day ago