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Men actually DO have their uses!
Men actually DO have their uses!
I discovered some very important things about my life last night:
1) Beef ribs have very little meat, but tons of fat on them.
2) Fatty ribs cause these REALLY scary flame ups on the Jenair grill on my stove--which is about 2 feet below the wooden shelf holding my microwave.
3) Drizzling water and marinade on said fatty ribs makes those really scary flame ups DAMNED SCARY.
4) Fatty, almost-no-meat beef ribs taste like crap when burned, despite being craftily marinaded.
The painful truth is that, despite my Zen-like command of all things cooking-related, grilling--at least on that hellish Jenair thing--seems not to be my forte. I can masterfully create anything in the kitchen, but those ribs really tasted like the devil's own crap.
My cooking and entertaining skills are so renowned among my friends that jokes are made--mostly because of my spicy cultural heritage: half Cajun, half Sicilian:
I'll make you a gumbo you can't refuse.
I know how to feed a man, fuck him and kick his ass.
All very, very true. . .but for the conundrum of the beef ribs.
My ex--Toad of Darkness--is many things. Abuser, adulterer, all around pantload. But he has two things going in his favor. He is a genius at his chosen profession, and he grills a rib-eye that will make your tongue spontaneously orgasm.
He couldn't boil water when I married him. He still couldn't boil water when we split 15+ years later. But, he could grill meat to sell your soul for.
What's up with that???
Thanks to this delightful, but ofttimes useless, college education of mine I can at least pose a guess.
Since man started walking upright--about a week and a half ago --he's had to go out, slay the brontosaurus, invent fire, then toss the haunches of that great beast into the flames to feed his tribe.
I'm beginning to believe that the ability to grill great meat is a survival mechanism--sort of like men with minuscule endowments developing dazzling oral talents. Since grabbing your woman by the hair and dragging her anywhere will rightfully get you tossed in jail, you've got to have some edge, so God, the universe, et al, gave men grilling and barbecuing!
Last night, as I eyed the spitting, sputtering flames dancing higher and threatening to get sucked into the vent beside the Jenair, my feet edging me back toward a fire extinguisher and very large Tupperware container of flour, I was craving a man. And yes, while being eaten into oblivion and ridden into the dawn's early light would've been nice, I would've preferred ribs that were edible.
As I tried to watch the long awaited dvd of "The Unbearable Lightness of Being," eyed by four hungry felines who coveted even those blackened bony chunks of poorly executed grillery, it became apparent that men do have their uses. I could picture myself standing outside one of those high-end stores that sell $2000 outdoor grills with a cardboard sign around my neck:
"Will give head for properly grilled steaks."
Until I've found the right male companionship--what bipolybabe brilliantly refers to as the LIP, Live-in-Penis, which in my case would be more like SOSTAMP. . .Sleeps-Over-Several-Times-a-Month-Penis--I think I'll stick to grilling burgers and pork loin steaks. I'm less likely to burn the house down!
Perhaps I should add that to my already tome-like profile: Must grill meat that will give me spontaneous G-spot orgasms.
Hmmmmmm. . .