gentle ribbing.

Not long ago, I noticed a rack of ribs in the freezer. They'd been there awhile, and I had to chip them out of the ice with a butter knife. I felt a little embarrassed, but then decided to see it as practice for my future climb up Everest. Getting ribs out of the freezer and climbing the tallest mountain in the world, that's the same, right?

Anyway, ribs are easy to make and easy to eat. I use a recipe from the Pioneer Woman, though she gives credit to Pam Anderson. Not that Pam Anderson.

Once I got the ribs out of the freezer, I noticed there were spots that looked a little...odd. Sorta dried out and raw at the same time. I figured it was freezer burn. Not that I actually know what freezer burn is, but I'm not aware of anything else that can happen to stuff that's sitting in ice. In any case, I had been eating freezer burned chicken for weeks, and since it hadn't killed me, I can only assume that I am somehow stronger for it. I am not one to waste a rack of ribs. I may have gotten it on sale, but it was still more expensive than anything else in the icebox.

Fast forward a few hours, and there is delicious roasted pork smell in my house. Other smells: delicious baked bean smell, delicious coleslaw smell. Okay, fine, you couldn't smell the coleslaw at all. Josh walked into the house after an evening shift and was greeted with those smells, plus his beloved wife in a flattering, yet demure dinner dress (or maybe it was sweat pants? I'm a little hazy on the details).

We sat down with our plates full of that which was creating those delicious smells. Josh started in on the ribs with gusto, while I worked the clicker to queue up the next episode of Doctor Who. He expressed that I was the best wife ever in between mouthfuls of sweet pig rib meat.

I took a bite of rib, and made a gagging noise. Okay, a bad bite. Except that it was followed by another bad bite. I exchanged the rib for another on my plate, but it suffered from the same ailment. Sort of a weird metallic taste? Obviously off in some fundamental way. I can't describe it. Just understand: it was bad enough that I did not want to eat pork ribs.

I pushed my plate away. Josh watched, rib in hand, barbecue sauce on his lip. I commandeered the rib he was eating and tasted it. It was just as bad. A whole rack of ribs, ruined. I consoled myself with baked beans and coleslaw.

"Did you not taste that? I can't even eat it."

"No, I did. I just thought it was something about the preparation."

"You thought it was my cooking? Is my cooking usually that bad?"

"No, your cooking is delicious. I didn't want to hurt your feelings."

Isn't he the sweetest?