I used my simple recipe of simmering the ribs on the stove top in a little water with some seasoning and onion for a while. Then I baked them in a sauce of ketchup, brown sugar and a little vinegar. Probably not what the Aussies would consider proper ribs, but hey matey, we enjoyed them.
But the real reason I have been thinking about ribs a lot has to do with little boy having a bath at grannies house. You know that deep tub I have, well wild child loves it and knows no fear. So grannie of course is right there tub side, hanging on to him in slippery waters. As he makes a dive for a tub toy, I dive with him and hit the side of the tub with, you guessed it, my left rib cage. I actually heard something pop. Ouch! Roberto always said there is nothing more painful than a bruised rib, and there's nothing really you can do but wait it out. Apply ice, take motrin and bind it up with some kind of a corset. Lovely. Maybe I should make a mustard pack with the mustard that I didn't use in my rib recipe.
At any rate, you can see there is a common thread that winds through my thoughts. It sticks to my ribs.
Love,
Ribnotta


























