When the hubby and I first started dating (in our twenties! IN. OUR. TWENTIES.), I wooed him the only way I really know how to: through cooking. During that eyelash-batting phase, I assumed that he was like every other red-blooded American male I’d ever met – a meat eating, beer swilling type who ate vegetables as accessories to the “real” dinner. Imagine my shock – quelle horreur – when I discovered that the hubby didn’t eat his first steak until college, and upon our meeting, had never eaten pork ribs.
I immediately rectified the situation by dry-rubbing some beautiful baby backs and slow-roasting them in a boubon-apple marinade that turned into a glaze when finished on the grill. I can still remember the utter bliss of watching a man eat his first rack of ribs. It’s a pretty satisfying feeling.
