ribs Tag

CUMIN SPARE RIBS

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DON’T GIVE ME THE BULLSHIT, IN THE END, DO I TASTE FREAKING-ABSOLUTELY AWESOME?


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To be honest, I don’t think I have ever truly enjoyed BBQ ribs.  It has always been, to me at least, more enjoyable as an idea – the smile of the pit-master, the black smoker hissing under the Southern sun, the sense of all American lifestyle – than in actuality.  In actuality, I’ve been waiting my whole life so far, to be impressed, turned, proven wrong, by something that I so desperately would like to grow more fond of.  But in the end, picking at a pile of ribs that are often borderline dry and overly sweet, I always ended up wondering if I have missed something.

This isn’t to say, the rib’s problem.  In fact, any form of scanty meats adhering to a disproportionate amount of bones, that requires bare hands and  sheer fangs to tear down, I’m there.  In fact, the rib-hole that had been ironically left hollow in my long years spent in holy BBQ-land, was immediately filled and nurtured within a month after I moved here, by the most unlikely of all cuisines.  A Northern Chinese creation called, cumin spare ribs.  Typically you wouldn’t think the word “mild” is the most associated vocabulary for American BBQ ribs, where plenty of spices and smokes coincide in effort to achieve the opposite.  But when put side by side with Chinese’s answer to finger-licking ribs, that’s exactly how they will appear.

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CARAMEL SOY SAUCE STICKY RIBS

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“Well I guess… I just have to KILL TWO BIRDS WITH ONE RIB”

It’s Chinese new year’s eve today and I.  Have.  Got.  Nothing.  To eat.

This is no doubt starting to become an alarming pattern over the last couple years… especially when this year, another major national event from the West is clashing head to head with CNY, clouding my already impaired judgement when it comes to curating content.  It’s CNY (looking right)… it’s Superbowl (looking left)…  Oh but it’s CNY (looking right)…  Woah but wait it’s Superbowl (looking left)!…  Oh shit I’m so confused!

Well I guess to be extremely lazy thoughtful and considerate, I just have to kill two birds with one rib.

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Funky Business

All right.  I admit it.  I have been hiding something dirty from you.  I have been for quite sometime now playing the role of a girl who gushes about red velvet things, woos-and-ahhs over seasonal muffins for weekends and salutes to tacos, sandwiches and raviolis for everyday meals, who even contemplates (but no luck so far) on creating the ultimate fairy-food salads to tackle the hippie crowds.  Don’t get me wrong because I love all that (maybe not the salads…) as much as the next American and who wouldn’t?  But… there’s more to it me and it’s despicable that I’ve been tucking it away in a dark corner to lick off its own shame.  Today I’m going to let my closeted funk-fetish get exposed…

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Man VS Beef

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* Ingredient update

I have never been a BBQ person unless you can call pastrami or Montreal’s smoked meat “BBQ” (rubs… smoke… low temperature… ?).   Honestly it’s one of those world’s-great-foods categories that falls into my list of things that’s mysteriously popular over largely unfounded reasons, like durian.  I’m very much aware that I’m not the most credited scholar on BBQ for someone who’s never really been to the South, except for New Orleans where we were blinded by other dashing things they do much better with.  On top of that, an one-time appearance to the annual Big Apple BBQ Block Party somewhere around 2004 or 2005… plus a couple of supposedly-happening BBQ joints in the city, pretty much sums up our entire BBQ experience up to date.  And all of which I can comfortably say, wasn’t all that.

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