I'll eat almost anything. The word "omnivore" doesn't do me justice. If it walks, crawls, flies or swims - as long as it doesn't have opposable thumbs - I'll try it.
I'm not saying I'm as adventurous as Andrew Zimmern, the nutcase who hosts "Bizarre Foods" on the Travel Channel but I've eaten some pretty odd meals. I've eaten bugs, rodents, pig and cow testicles, raw beef and raw fish. I've tried fungi, mosses, weeds and leaves from trees. I've eaten food that looked great but tasted vile and food that looked disgusting but was absolutely delicious. I've had food that's gotten me stoned (hash brownies) and food that's sent me to the emergency room (tainted chicken).
That said, there is one meal that I prefer over all others. It is the meal I would order if I was on Death Row and it would be the last food I'd ever taste. I'd go to the gallows with a twinkle in my eye and a song in my heart as long as my face and hands were smeared with sweet, sticky and spicy red sauce.
Yes, folks I'm talking about barbecued ribs, God's gift to the human taste bud.
I've eaten ribs in rib hotspots all over the country - Chicago, the Carolinas, Memphis and Kansas City. Each of these places claims supremacy in the art of barbecue. And each has a valid claim. My good friend Bruce Diksas, tells me that there's even a rib joint on the island of Bali, where he lives part of the year. The place is run by an American ex-patriot and advertises Chicago-style ribs.
One day Bruce decided to try the Balinesian ribs. Now, Bruce grew up in Bridgeport and knows a thing or two about ribs. When he finished the platter, the bar owner asked Bruce how he liked them.
Bruce shook his head sadly and said, "Sorry, pal, these ribs would never make it in Chicago.
One of the first times I ever tasted great ribs was in a small storefront in Gary, Indiana, called Shoe's Ribs and Chicken. Shoe's specialty was a rib sandwich, which was nothing more than two or three rib bones slapped between two slices of Wonder Bread, drenched in sauce and served on waxed paper. I don't recall if napkins were made available. Anyway, those rib sandwiches were delicious. Man, a couple of those and a cold bottle of Blatz and you were set for the day.
When I settled in Chicago, I thought I found rib heaven. There were good rib joints everywhere. My favorite was a small spot off North Avenue by the Chicago River called Edith's. In my opinion, Edith's ribs were close to perfect. Edith used baby back ribs and the texture was just right. They weren't wussy ribs that fell off the bone if a slight breeze passed by. You had to work them a bit but it was well worth the trouble.
The best ribs aren't always found in restaurants. Some of the best ribs I've ever tasted have been at backyard barbecues. Two stand out in particular. One old friend, a college buddy named Way Out Willie Bauer, was and probably still is, a rib master. He took infinite care with his ribs, hovering over the grill like a card shark over pocket aces. He constantly adjusted the coals, carefully turned the slabs and watched for flare-ups as intensely as a California park ranger watches for brush fires. When it came time to add the sauce, Willie's brushwork was every bit the equal of Picasso's. And Willie would accomplish these magnificent rib feats while consuming huge quantities of booze and reefer.
Another rib master is my neighbor, John O'Connor, who works as an attorney in order to finance his rib habit. John prefers a dry rub to sauce. Although I'm a sauce man I have to admit that John's dry rub is the best I've ever tasted, spicy but not overpowering. He hosts a backyard cookout every summer. I always try to be on my best behavior at his cookouts because I don't want to get drunk and do something so stupid that he won't invite me back. His ribs are that good.
A while ago I wrote about visiting Kansas City with Bruce Diksas. We went for a reunion of our old army outfit. Now, Kansas City has a lot of things going for it. It's not Milwaukee or Indianapolis, for one thing. But in my mind Kansas City's greatest asset, it's municipal pride and joy, is Arthur Bryant's.
For years, Arthur Bryant's, along with the Rendezvous in Memphis and Lexington Barbecue in Lexington, North Carolina, has been ranked as one of the top rib joints in the country. There was no way on Earth we were going to Kansas City and not visit Bryant's. It would be like going back to your home town and not visiting Mom.
We were not disappointed. Bryant's served superb ribs, meaty, al dente and with a wonderful sauce. It was everything I'd hoped it would be. We each had a slab accompanied by French fries and a scoop of slaw. I doubt Bruce and I spoke a word while devouring those fantastic ribs. We just grunted, groaned, belched, slurped, licked our fingers and guzzled beer. When we finished, we leaned back in our chairs, patted our distended bellies and sighed with pleasure.
"Well, what do you think?" I asked Bruce.
"You know, Milo," he said, "I think those ribs would make it in Chicago."
