I turned my back on cooking ever since I discovered that I bake better than I cook. I eat simply at home, and leave my more elaborate main courses to the chefs at restaurants. I expend all my culinary energy on satisfying my maniacal dessert cravings.
So it strikes me as bizarre that I find myself cooking this Sunday morning. What spurred this cooking spree was a billboard advertising Kenny Roger’s ribs. It caught my eye as my Bin and I were driving home after a morning of biking in Sta. Rosa. “Man, ribs sound good right about now,” I murmur.
But I didn’t want just any ribs ”“ I wanted thick ribs with meat practically falling off the bone. I wanted to eat with my hands and re-connect with my feral side. Most of all, I didn’t want to have to pay a crapload of money for bony ribs that are usually served at Kenny Roger’s, Outback, and their ilk. I know, I know, they’ve got to make a profit, but still…
So I decided to make the ribs myself. And it was easy.
I bought two kilos of spare ribs and marinated them in my homemade bbq sauce. Let me tell you about my bbq sauce: it calls for about 12 ingredients which sounds like a lot but comes together in a flash. This sauce is so red, it’s almost vermilion, thick and smooth as velvet, balancing well between tangy and sweet. Personally, I’m quite proud of it.
I marinated the ribs in half of the bbq sauce overnight, and then I cooked down the remainder to pass around at the table. Because I don’t know how to grill, (although I own quite a nice griller), I baked the ribs for 2½ hours. Succulence. I paired the ribs with french fries, beans, and because I so love my carbs, a baked potato. My Bin and I were silent, lost in wondrous thoughts of bovine love. Our fingers and mouths are stained and we’re loving it.
Dessert is something I quickly pull together while the ribs are in the oven. I had various kinds of bread in the fridge so it was only natural that I make bread pudding. The one that I make is a combination of custard and softness. I’m not a fan of bread puddings that are chilled and slice like a cake. It’s called ”˜pudding’ for a reason. I whip up some crÃ¨me anglaise (rich custard sauce) to top the dessert, which I feel makes bread pudding even better than it is.
Ah, craving accomplished. Not bad for a baker who’s also a reluctant cook.