Don't You Know Who I Am?

The trouble with being a blogger is that, whether you've earned it or not, you position yourself as some sort of expert on a specific subject. In my case, that would be BBQ - which, let me tell you effusively, I am not an expert on. I am certainly a critically acclaimed consumer of the stuff, and I do more than just dabble in preparation, but I'm a long way from being very good at it. Nonetheless, you start a blog called the Rib Rebort and you're kind of setting yourself up for a big fall, should, say you have to be paid a visit by the Real American Heroes of the Philadelphia Fire Department.

Let me rewind: On Thursday Rib Reporterette and I were to host a little dinner party, featuring yours truly, Lil Smoky, on the grill. We had some skirt steak marinated, salad all prepped, when she realized that she needed to make a quick run to the store, as we needed a few more quinces. I decided this would be a good time to throw a little slice of steak on a pan - the coals on the grill weren't hot yet - to sample the coming main course. Well, this little piece of red meat - no bigger than a Ritz cracker - had a lot of life to it. Soon after it hit the pan, the kitchen, in fact the entire first floor, was filled with an acrid grey cloud. I went to open the door, and that's when the smoke alarm went off.

Now, for those of you who haven't had the pleasure of experiencing one of these newfangled fire alarms, let me tell you what you're missing. A high-pitched squawk appears to emit from every wall in the house. The sound burrows into your brain, and very quickly works its way into your internal organs. At this point, you begin to actually see flashing lights which correspond with each infernal MEEEP! Loyal readers know of my stoicism in the face of adversity - the story of how I singlehandedly backed down a crazed herd of emu while on a UNICEF mission to Luxembourg is oft repeated, for good reason - but friends, I must tell you that I was not man enough to handle this situation. I contemplated running from the house and never looking back, but realized that we had company arriving shortly. Emily Post's visage appeared in the haze above the stove, and she looked extremely disappointed to hear that I might bail on my guests. Not wanting to let her down, I dug my feet in like Frank Robinson after getting buzzed by a high hard one.

At this point I could hear commotion on the block as neighbors, and their dogs, began to react to the hell squeal coming from the house. I located the smoke alarm, but the damn thing was hard wired to the internal mechanisms of the house - the future is here, and its almost impossible to disarm. I called Lisa, while simultaneously the alarm company was calling the house. Phone on each ear, I was able to accomplish exactly nothing. By now I'd realized that the house was not going to burn, so I turned my attention to infuriating as few neighbors as possible. Standing on a chair, I did my best Little Dutch Boy impersonation and plugged my thumb into the noise-making tube on the alarm (that's tech speak for you.)

I stood there until Lisa walked in the front door, told me I was an idiot, and cut the wires in the alarm with a pair of scissors. Silence. Ahh. Sirens. Damn.

This house, this little brick house, built in the days of bucket brigades and horse drawn fire engines, had gone over my head and called the Fire Department. How it did it I'll never know - its not talking. Suffice to say, we're on some Jetsons shit folks. Lisa went out to meet the truck, and after assuring the firemen that is was not she, but rather her boneheaded boyfriend who'd set off the alarm, she pointed them into the house.

The thing about Firemen is you really can't hate on them. Police? Yeah police can catch some well deserved flack. But firemen? What can you say about them? They put their lives on the line, they get cats out of trees, and they're unfailingly rugged and charming. They walk into your house with their friendly little chuckles, their, "buddies," and, "pals," and you just know that if they weren't on duty they'd laugh at you for your inability to cook a steak, then go fix your girlfriends carbuerator and take her for a ride on the hook and ladder. But they were on duty, thank God, so instead they just looked around to confirm that nothing was on fire, then asked if I'd been cooking. "Fellas," I wanted to say, "its all good. I'm Mr. Mo, from the Rib Report. You guys are readers, right?"

"Oh of course," slightly shorter slightly less ruggedly handsome fireman would reply. "We have a subscription at the firehouse."

"Well then," I'd say, "you surely recognize that this is all a big misunderstanding. I'm not used to working in this kitchen, and it appears there's a defective pan in here. I'll get everything straightened out."

"Alright Mo," they'd say, "hook us up with a shoulder one of these days."

Instead, they just hit me with the American Hero smirk and walked out, leaving me with a smoky kitchen, a burnt pan, and a girlfriend not known for restraint when it comes to re-telling potentially embarassing stories.

Postscript: The steak, when cooked on the grill, was banging. I then has steak the next two night at wedding related events. I've been having trouble walking.

Mothers Day Update

As I promised last Sunday, I'm going to try to keep a weekly schedule with this here weblog. The weekend having been long and disruptive, though, for today all I want to do is wish a very happy Mothers Day to my mom, and all the mothers out there. I'll use my lunch break tomorrow to hit you off with the weekly post. Find out what makes a wedding a Jersey Wedding, get the recipe for a nice skirt steak with watermelon relish, and read the real story of why the Philadelphia Fire Department was in my girlfriend's kitchen last week. All this, plus Specs Franklin on the Anderson Monarchs.

Love you Mom.

Testing, testing, is this thing still on?

Uh, hi. Its been a while since we spoke. I guess I'm gonna have to go ahead and take the blame for that. I mean, sure, I've got the usual excuses - flesh eating bacteria, covert mission to Finnish Indochina, guest stint on Law and Order:GOP - but really, I just haven't had the motivation.

No, no, its not that I don't want to talk to you. I mean sure, you're a little reserved, and yeah, I feel like these conversations can be awfully one-sided, but seriously, I'm just really bad at staying in touch. Ask my mom, I phone home less than E.T.

No, dumb ass,not the football player, that's LT. E.T., the Extraterrestrial. You know, Drew Barrymore, Reese's Pieces, all that? Anyway, this isn't going anywhere. I really just wanted to tell you about this BBQ spot I ate at a couple weeks back.

Well that's the thing, it really wasn't very good at all. It's called Phoebe's, right on the 2200 block of South St. in Philly. You know, they have those glossy brochures that they leave all over the neighborhood, the ones with flames licking the pages and assorted meat products floating through the air? So, I've talked a little junk about the place before, but that was just based on a nibble or two. I wanted to give these guys a real chance.

Yeah, I talked about the demographic composition of the staff there, and theorized that their BBQ wouldn't be up to snuff. But honestly, its not just that. I mean, what's your favorite rib spot?

Okay, and when you're going to get food there, don't you start to get really excited when you're like, a block away, and you can smell that smoke in the air?

Yeah! It's food foreplay! By the time you get in that door, you're ready to do some horizontal slam-dancing with a beef brisket.

Okay, sorry. That was a bit much as far as images go. But you get the idea. And when you're on Phoebe's block? Nada. No smoke smell. It makes me suspicious. I'm not totally convinced that they're even cooking with wood.

Well, the food supports my theory. The ribs were meaty, but dry and pretty chewy. The pulled pork was fine, just cuz, you know, it was pork that had been pulled, but it wasn't a stand out. We got some greens that were salty, cole slaw sans taste, goopy mac and cheese, and candied yams that were..actually they were fine. The menu says the sides are, "awesome," but I'm starting to have my doubts about whether that piece of literature was written by an objective observer.

Oh yeah, the sauce. Good question. We got mild on the pulled pork, hot on the ribs. Couldn't tell the difference. Neither one made my tongue tingle or my lips lust for more. It was sweet, thick, gooey. I think the best adjective would be cloying.

No, I'm not 100% sure what it means either. Sounds good,though, right?

No, no, I mean I sound good when I use the word. The sauce was not good. And that's pretty much it. I'm sure they'll do well. They've got a good location, good PR, and there are enough folks in this neighborhood for whom BBQ is enough of a foreign food that quality isn't as important as the experience. I think its the same way all those crappy Indian buffets stay in business.

Yeah, I know I'm a snob. Someones got to be though.

Alright, yeah, well I've got a vegan creme brulee in the oven so I've got to run anyway. But this was fun though. Maybe we should just set a standing date for Sundays, alright?

Right, no, I didn't forget about your a capella concert, but that's just a one time thing, so I mean, maybe we can just re-schedule that week.

Alright, cool, so I'll talk to you next Sunday. One.

This Week In (Monarch) Baseball

Due to a surge in reader interest in South Philadelphia based youth league baseball, as determined by a series of focus groups conducted by our in-house research team, Polled Pork, we have dispatched veteran baseball writer Specs Franklin to follow the Anderson Monarchs. The Monarchs are a program based at the Marian Anderson Recreation Center at 17th and Fitzwater Streets in Philadelphia. Specs will follow both the 8 year old Monarchs, for whom it is the first year of kid-pitch baseball, and the 11 year old team, which has been together for 3 years now and appears to be stocked to make a run for a city title. Both teams compete in the Northeast Conference of the Philadelphia Dept. of Rec. League, and they are the only team in the conference not from the Northeast (read: suburbs.) Specs' first report follows.

The 11 year old Anderson ballclub won 3 games this week to run their record to 4 and 0 in league play. On Monday the Mighty Monarchs faced a lackluster Somerton squad, and our boys left the Northeast Nine licking their wounds after a 9-3 walloping. Fox Rok was the next to be vanquished, 13-1, as hard-hitting catcher Mason Thomas led the way with a 2 run homer and bases loaded triple. Quirky young hurlers Gilbert Peralta and Kidanny Cumba combined for a one-hitter, and lead- off man Demetrius (Meech) Isaac, wreaked havoc on the base paths while providing his usual solid play at second base. With his hard-nosed style and quiet, no nonsense demeanor, Isaac reminds some long-time baseball observers of another 2nd baseman who wore navy and white: Charlie Gehringer. On Saturday, in the first game of a Big/Little double header, the boys went in to cruise control against an overmatched Holmesburg squad, garnering both a 10-5 victory and the ire of grizzled skipper Steve Bandura and scrappy young pitching coach Doc Huron.

The 8 year old Monarchs are a rapidly improving young squad that play the game with vim and vigor. After starting the season 0 and 3, they headed out to Bustleton this past Thursday still looking for a second pitcher to complement ace Victor Alicea. With Head Coach Bandura unable to make the road rip, and morale low, Doc Huron would have to pull out all the stops to avoid finishing the first quarter of the season winless. The starting pitcher for the Monarchs that day was Ramon. While his last name escapes this writer, his performance Thursday insured that he has entered the pantheon of one-name wonders: Mickey, Reggie, Ozzie, Cal, Ramon. After surrendering 4 first inning runs, the ponytailed young twirler settled down on the hill, glaring down the Bustleton bench as they burst into their high-pitched "Time to Get A Hit!" chant, and pumping his tiny fist as one batter after another fell victim to his herky jerky slowball style. Meanwhile, the Monarchs, as if working with one mind and 9 bodies, decided to start playing baseball. The bats woke up, as lead off man Justin and number 2 hitter John Washington each reached base 3 times. Victor hit the clubs' first home run ever, a lined shot to left, and even young Mateen, the only 7 year old on the squad, got into the act, scoring twice. On defense the infield shined, exemplified by the play of Nicolas Alicea, Victor's cousin and owner of the scampiest smile on the team. He made play after play at second base, including spearing a line drive and calmly flipping the ball to first, catching the Bustleton runner sleeping for Anderson's first double play of the year. After 5 innings, with the sun setting over center field, the umpire called the game and Anderson was victorious, 8 to 5. The players on the team who were aware of the score were very excited. The rest, when informed by Doc Huron that they had, in fact, won the game, burst into a spontaneous show of emotion that was enough to bring a tear to the eye of even this hardened scribe. And while the Monarchs came back down to earth on Saturday, losing 9-6 to a tenacious Rhawnhurst Raiders club, the team's future is as bright as their smiles.

- Specs Franklin

This week at The Yards: Both teams will be in action this Saturday for another Big/Little Doubleheader. The 11 year olds lead things off at 10 AM as they clash with Boyle, while the 8's will battle Crispin at 12:30. Unfortunately, heady young pitching coach and perpetual crowd favorite Doc Huron will not be with the team that day, as his better half is participating in what is sure to be a memorable wedding. However, come support the scrappy young baseballers from Anderson as they chase their dreams at The Yards.

Marvin Gaye

Damn good.

We're so Happy You Didn't Sneeze, Too.

Today marks the 39th anniversary of the death of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. I was in Memphis a few months ago and had the opportunity to visit the Lorraine Motel, the sight of his murder and currently home to the National Civil Rights Museum. The museum itself was somewhat underwhelming - a little text heavy, though very exhaustive. It felt somewhat like walking through a very well written, extensive textbook on the Civil Rights Movement. This is great for some, I guess (though America is less and less literate every day, it seems) but for those of us who were raised on Eyes on the Prize, Happy Birthday, and stories from our parents, it felt a little, well, dry. But there is no denying the power of the site itself. Walking down Memphis' Main Street, a once regal thoroughfare just now showing signs of life after 40 years of abandonment, you come to spot where the low slung buildings that line the street have been cleared, leaving a wide plaza. Below the plaza, directly in your line of sight, the Lorraine Motel sits frozen in time. Its the exact image that is seared in our national consciousness. You can almost see Jesse Jackson on the balcony, pointing to the spot where the shots rang out from. The motel has been preserved immaculately, and it really resonates with visitors. Well, this one at least.

I'll refrain from playing the, "What if he were still alive?" game, as he's not. Suffice to say, he'd probably be pretty happy with a lot that's occurred over the last 39 years - he's now been dead as long as he was alive. Damn, dude got a lot done before 40, huh? - upset about other things, disappointed with much, and downright disgusted with a great deal. Anyone see the Boondocks episode where MLK came back from the dead? It caused a lot of controversy but there was some stuff in there worth thinking about.

Anyway, here's an audio clip of Dr. King's final speech, which is chilling in is prescience. Above I've also posted a youtube clip of another legend who died too young, 23 years ago this past Sunday. His birthday was Monday and this song has become part of the soundtrack to the years of upheaval that followed Dr. King's death.

I'll get back to regular rib reporting soon. Just started working with some little baseballers, and that's detracting from my computer time (no complaints here.) But I'll list the last few trivia contest winners, and will provide an update on some tips for optimizing your Spring grilling season. It's a good eating week, what with Passover and Easter, not to mention the first ballpark hot dogs of the year (food plays such an organizing role in religious events of all stripes) so go ahead and enjoy yourselves. Talk to you soon.

Pig Tails and Pig Tales

Somehow I've gotten a little turned around, and here it is Thursday and I've only named 2 winners. I'll try to post up 2 today, so we're all caught up.
The AM Winner is a neighbor, friend, and fellow food fan. She made a name for herself at City Year, where she dispelled any notions of generational apathy, and got to wear thweet outfits. Check for her soon at a Quizzo game near you. She'll be the one getting all the Golden Girls questions right. Rib fans, Michiko Hunt:




1. Which rapper would you most like to eat a BBQ feast with, and why? (I realize that this question skews a little young. If you were born before 1960, and can name a living rapper besides Eminem, Puff Daddy, or Snoop Dog, I'll give you credit.)
Dr. Dre for a number of reasons: He's very smart, and would probably have pretty interesting things to say about what's going on in the world. He's been famous for a real long time, so he's gotta be full of all kinds of good stories about wild'n out with other famous people- ya know, the time he and Eazy-E had sex with Madonna....when he and Snoop got high with Bill Clinton.... He's bad ass, so your meal wouldn't be interrupted by annoying autograph seekers or paparazzi- he could just shoo them away with a disapproving glare (and possibly a gat)

2 - Is Willie Nelson the coolest man to ever sport a ponytail?
Yes. although I think the question should be, "is Willie Nelson the coolest person ever sport two long braids, a la 'Heidi' ?" in which case the answer would be HELL YES.

3 - If Benjamin Franklin were alive today, what would he invent?
Hmmm... this one is tough. perhaps some kind of intelligence test for anyone running for office? That, or he would help me patent and perfect one of my many million dollar ideas, (doubledate.com, head tents for sunbathers...)

4 - What will it take to get Ann Coulter to shut up?
Again, a tough one. I think falling madly in love with a half black/half Mexican man with a lesbian socialist mom would probably help her.... but since that's probably not likely to happen my second guess would be to just ignore every racist, sexist, homophobic, anti-Semitic, ignorant, anti-American, bigoted word that comes out of her mouth, as all she really is an attention seeking freak show and not paying attention to her would be the ultimate punishment. Ok, i gotta win some free music for that!! also, i need to get my glass lasagna dish from your house- think it's been there since your holiday potluck....

Congratulations, Michi! You win a free CD, and since I'm in a giving mood, I'm gonna throw is a high-tech, multi-platform lasagna dish. I might even deliver it to your home. But I wouldn't bank on that.

Tofu BBQ?

Tonight's winner is an old friend, yet someone I've never had the pleasure if charring the flesh with. He's a martial arts specialist, future Golden Globe winner, and possessor of the type of mustache that makes Mr. Pringle cower in shame. Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you Stylish Brigham.









1. Which rapper would you most like to eat a BBQ feast with, and why? (I realize that this question skews a little young. If you were born before 1960, and can name a living rapper besides Eminem, Puff Daddy, or Snoop Dog, I'll give you credit.)
Fat Boys - just 'cause. Definitely a choice of novelty. M-1 and stic.man of dead prez - hope to have some interesting conversation and I'm pretty sure they are vegetarian like myself (I realize this to most likely be the biggest sin in the BBQ world and will perhaps qualify me for a public ridicule but let me say: those of you without sin may cast the first rib). The choice I'd probably go with would be RZA: even if we did not share common ground with our diets (though he's been known to dabble) we could consume various herbs and tonics while discussing martial arts, movies and Jim Jarmusch flicks - all interests we definitely share. Actually, I am now officially pescatarian - perhaps fish is my "gateway drug." But what I really want to say about BBQ is this: although I have not tasted with mine tongue the side of a pig, I have spread, with mine own hand, various secret sauces and rubs on the tasty (I hear) animal flesh and of course enjoyed all other elements of bbq culture. I will say, though happy with being raised vegetarian, the bbq has always been the one place that amongst the laughter, the drinking, the food-induced stupor, I have, indeed, felt a twinge of sadness and loneliness for not knowing what it is to taste the tangy (or not so much depending on geographical location) flesh of the pig or cow.


2 - Is Willie Nelson the coolest man to ever sport a ponytail?
If the top-knot of the samurai does not count then, perhaps, yes. I must say I am unsure on this one. Can you be sure that Benny F. never tied his back-flap up to get down to it?

3 - If Benjamin Franklin were alive today, what would he invent?
Using his past accomplishments as a guide I might say his interests would take him to harnessing the power of alternative energy. Possibly something related to the medical field - early detection for some presently incurable disease. Or lastly, he might preach a return to simplicity and articulately explain to the world how our thirst for constant "advancement" has taken us farther and farther away from the point of it all.

4 - What will it take to get Ann Coulter to shut up?
After thinking about it for a bit I am inclined to say laryngitis. She's a political Howard Stern - she can't really "get in trouble" for anything she says, it only helps her publicity. Some of her other quotes:

"I think [women] should be armed but should not vote... women have no capacity to understand how money is earned. They have a lot of ideas on how to spend it... it's always more money on education, more money on child care, more money on day care."

"It would be a much better country if women did not vote. That is simply a fact. In fact, in every presidential election since 1950 - except Goldwater in '64 - the Republican would have won, if only the men had voted."

"I'm a Christian first and a mean-spirited, bigoted conservative second, and don't you ever forget it."


Thanks for playing Si. Look out for your CD in the mail. Well, first, how bout you send me your address. Then come on up to Philly and have a nice side of bacon. By the way, you may not remember this (I try to tell you only every other time we see each other) but many years ago I told you that Spiderman's story could be turned into a great movie. See what happened? Well, I've got another one for you, but this is the last freebie. Holler. Orange.
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And Now for the Winners...

Over the next two weeks, excluding Fridays, I'll be unveiling the winners of the First Annual Rib Report Trivia Contest. We had a wide range of entries, with some really insightful (and some potentially "inciteful") responses. Hey winners: Thanks for playing. You'll be getting a copy of "High on the Hog, Vol I" in the mail, under your door, or in the case of those of you overseas, when you bring your butts back home.

Two things before we get into today's winning response: Go Hoyas! Happy Birthday Walter!

Now, today's winner is someone close to my heart. A native of Arkansas, she's lived all over the world, from Turkey to Delaware, with a long stint in DC and surrounding environs. She's soon to embark on a new journey to most exotic locale of them all: Canada. Without question the most loyal Rib Report reader, she's also a font of ideas and constructive criticism. I present to you Anne Yarbrough, aka Rib Mother.

1. Which rapper would you most like to eat a BBQ feast with, and why? (I realize that this question skews a little young. If you were born before 1960, and can name a living rapper besides Eminem, Puff Daddy, or Snoop Dog, I'll give you credit: Tupac Shakur, because with barbeque it really shouldn't matter whether you are dead or alive. (Isn't there barbeque in heaven? It could be the ultimate Welcome Table.) And I'd like to look into his soul with all the hype stripped away. which I assume is what you do in heaven.
2. Is Willie Nelson the coolest man to ever sport a ponytail? Naw, I'd go for another redheaded southerner who never picked up a guitar but wrote words that sing, who was a conflicted guy on sex and race but at least was alive, who went into debt to pay for all the projects that kept tumbling out of his brain, and kept a Koran in his library, perhaps looking forward to the day that the first Muslim would be elected to Congress.and need to borrow it.
3. If Benjamin Franklin were alive today, what would he invent? The lovely thing about Franklin was he didn't believe in patents. He invented things and then just gave them to the world. So ... maybe ... Project Gutenberg? Google? Lexis Nexis? Something free and no strings attached.
4. What will it take to get Ann Coulter to shut up? Hmmm ...Greg says people stopped interrupting sports events by streaking after the cameras stopped following them. Why does the media track her at all? She needs to go the way of OJ Simpson. Just. stop. looking.

Great answers Mom. Be on the lookout for that CD, coming your way soon.

Tomorrow, another winner gets their just dues, right here on the Rib Report.

Rib Madness

Just in time for the tourney, The Rib Report presents the Ultimate Good Eatin' Guide to the NCAA tournament. The following are my picks for the Sweet 16, based entirely on the school's relevance to the BBQ world. Enjoy, but I'd caution you against using these picks for more than recreational purposes.



Midwest:
Florida: BBQ Gator? Could be incredible
Davidson: Gotta have someone representing NC style que.
Winthrop: Put some mustard sauce on this trendy upset pick from South Carolina .
Georgia Tech: A bunch of southern engineers could develop the ultimate grill.

West:
Kentucky: The Bluegrass state has its own BBQ delicacy - mutton. I can't wait to try some.
Southern Illinois: Actually something of a BBQ hotbed - 17th St. BBQ is Murphysboro is renowned.
Pittsburgh: What do we cook over? A Pitt. Nuff said.
UCLA: We've all seen the "Nothin But A G Thang" video, right? They got ribs in L.A.

East:
Marquette: Milwaukee's actually supposed to have some decent que. Plus I love me a brat or 7.
Arkansas: Wooo! Pig, Sooey! The Razorbacks have to be the favorite in any pork-based tournament.
Oral Roberts: "Oral: of, pertaining to, or involving the mouth." Sounds like an eatin' school.
Belmont: Comin out of Nashville, with a star named Boomer, these boys can punish a buffet.

South:
Xavier: Cincinnati might not have BBQ, but it's known for its chili, which is a BBQ cousin.
Tennessee: I've been to the Volunteer State. There's food a plenty down there.
Texas A&M: The Aggies can manufacture a super-cow, yielding the most succulent of briskets.
Memphis: Any school with its own style of que is bound to go far in this tourney.

This can't be what Gloria Steinam had in mind

This article appeared in various news publications Monday. Apparently the rate of eating disorders among men is rising dramatically, with the culprit being - hold your breath here - the oft maligned, but never truly disavowed, ideal body type. Oh happy day. It seems that we're inching our way ever closer to equality between the sexes. And what a horrific equality it's shaping up to be: gaunt, malnourished skeletors roaming our city's sushi bars and gyms, obsessing over every calorie and gazing longingly at discarded pizza crusts on the streets. Hell, between ab-obsessed urbanites and Wal-Mart fueled exurban grease receptacles, Al Quada can just sit back and watch the show. Conservatives often claim that we don't have the backbone to fight terrorists, but the truth is we just plain don't have the energy.

Now we all know someone with an eating disorder, and its obviously not a joking matter (though the premise of male eating disorders is sure to draw a snicker or two, just as we make off-hand comments about man-on-man prison rape. Vulnerable men, such good fodder for jokes.) So the question is, will this development lead to a rise in empathy among men for the societal pressures placed on women to look a certain way? Or will the prevalence of chiseled boy toys lead to an arms (and stomach, and pecs) race of sorts? My money's on the latter. Look, as much as we'd like to pretend otherwise, guys are very susceptible to peer pressure. If everyone else is wearing a size 32 (and getting laid by that size 0 girl) its gonna be hard to resist the temptation. Just hit the gym an extra 3 hours a day, lay off anything with taste, and occasionally hit the toilet for a nice boot. You can blame it on too much Smirnoff Ice.

What I found most interesting about this story is the notion that while women who have disorders are typically obsessed with achieving an, "ideal weight," for men the driving force is the desire to have washboard abs. Damn you Usher. I actually wrote a paper about this very subject for a college class, though I see the researchers neglected to cite my work. A portion is excerpted below:

Judging from the evidence found in men's health magazines and my own experience as a male in our society, the ideal male body looks something like this: it is white, or more precisely bronze. It is tall, slim, but well built. There is a specific emphasis on well-developed upper body muscles, and one cannot forget the all-important abdominal region. The ideal male is clean cut with brown hair, though this is not a necessity. Not only this, but the ideal male body comes equipped with accessories, such as stylish clothes and status signifying cars. Achieving this ideal type is hard work but it can be obtained, we are told, with the proper lifestyle and the right purchases. This combination is crucial, for it reminds men that any failure to achieve physical perfection is our own fault.

My take is that this is a market-driven phenomenon. As long as there's money to be made on feeding into our insecurities, we're gonna be pummeled with images that, while perhaps attainable, are certainly not healthy. Let's be honest here: men's health magazines don't give a damn about our health any more than Cosmo is concerned with maintaining the psychological well-being of women. They want money. And just as a desire to achieve the perfect weight can lead a woman to purchase questionable products, the need to flex the perfect stomach on the beach can result in men utilizing dubious tactics.

I say enough. If you're one of my more testosterone-inclined readers, take heed: the "self-improvement" industry is on the hunt, and they've got you in their targets. Can you imagine how many more bowflexes will get sold if we can just get the rate of eating disorders among men equal to that of women? It's a veritable gold-mine. So how do we fight back? For starters, have some BBQ tonight. Close it out with a side of greens and some cornbread. Next, tell your girlfriend, or boyfriend, how much you love having a little cushion for the pushin. For real, the only folks who like their partners all skin and bones are necrophiliacs, pedophiles, and indie-rockophiles. Finally, and I know its a cliche, but try to love yourself. Whether man or woman, you're damn sure a lot more than the sum of your measurements. Personally, I love pulled pork and hush puppies, and the resulting tummy is more than a fair trade-off for the happiness I feel when a bunch of friends are over grubbing down on a nice pig shoulder. Is BBQ the path to enlightenment? Gandhi would probably disagree. But I tell you this much: while you're spending all your waking hours doing pilates and looking at your belly in the mirror, life is happening, and its a lot of fun. If you really want to buck the system, have some candied yams. Then go work for Obama.

"I got techniques, drippin out my buttcheeks...

sleep on my stomach so I don't fuck up my sheets."

Lyrical brilliance. It doesn't seem like 10 years since BIG got got. Wouldn't it be great if the powers that be were as meticulous about finding Biggie's killer as they are about finding lost white girls? I guess he'd still be dead regardless, though.

Just got a few little tidbits for today. I received this story from several of you, and appreciate your looking out for the Report. It's a good read, and makes me think that another up north trip is due.

Towards the end of the story, the author goes on something of a tangent about the effects of BBQ, and how a real good meal should make you want to, "slap your pappy," among other thing. This idea speaks to the very primal, almost neanderthalic appeal of smoked meat. And speaking of neanderthals, check out this story. Apparently these guys are getting their own sitcom. Hallelujah.

And finally, a Rib Report Quiz update. The responses continue to flood* in, and there are some great answers. I'll start posting top entries sometime next week, but there are still chances to win. And just to up the ante, I'll have you know that your copy of "High on the Hog, Vol I," will come with a special limited edition cover, designed by a soon-to-be renowned artist. These are sure to be great conversational fodder at your next Tupperware party. (On a wholly unrelated note, if any of you artistic types want to, I don't know, design a CD cover or something, holler at me.) Email ribreporter@gmail.com with your quiz answers for your chance to win.

The inaugural, "Rack of the Week" will be announced sometime this weekend. Stay tuned for what is sure to become the most talked about internet phenomenon since the Khalid El-Amin sex tape.

R.I.P. B.I.G.

*So I just looked the word "flood" up in Webster's, and in turns out I've been using it wrong all my life. Apparently the word I wanted to use above was "trickle." The responses continue to trickle in. Huh. Now it makes a lot more sense why everyone was so upset about that whole New Orleans situation.

Here's A Little Somethin' to Smoke To

Now in my younger days, a title such as the one above would no doubt be referring to an extralegal activity, rather than a time-honored method of preparing meats and cheeses. It's true, friends, relatives, and prospective employers, that I have on occasion indulged in the wackiest of tobaccies. But these days the only weights I worry about are those of the pork shoulders I buy, and the only sticky-icky that crosses these lips is tomato-based. That's right y'all, I'm gettin high on the hog.

Whether you're indulging in a fat sack or a fat rack, though, its always crucial to have some activities to occupy you. To really barbecue something takes time - we're speaking in terms of days here, folks, not hours - but not a ton of actual work, so you'll need something to help pass the time. A crossword is always nice, and you can't go wrong with the Washington Post (or if you're still stuck on status over substance, the New York Times.) I've heard tell of people who spend their BBQ time imbibing libations, but that can get pretty dangerous, what with the fire, and the knives, and the cell phone full of ex-girlfriends' numbers. I'll take a tall glass of lemonade, please, extra pulp.

Regardless of how you choose to pass the time, music should be involved. If well constructed, your playlist can set the tone for a perfect day, transporting you to a place where cares disappear like wisps of smoke in the afternoon sky, and pigs frolic in rivers of hot sauce. Wow, we've come full-circle to the hallucinogens. But while you'll be just as hungry after smoking a Boston butt as you would be after a Phillie Blunt, and while friends and neighbors might still come around unannounced once they smell the aroma, you can be sure that no one ever got fired for having too much BBQ sauce in his urine.

Here's a playlist I might use to get in the mood. Unfortunately, I don't know how to post music on this site yet, but see below for a chance to win some great tunes from the Rib Report.

• Soul Food (Remix) - Goodie Mob featuring 8 Ball and MJG: Before the most slept on group of all time broke up and Cee-Lo went "crazy", Goodie Mob made this classic paean to good grub. Here they're joined by the fat Mack and MJG, "comin' funky as a pot of chitlins," over a smoothed out beat.
• Backyard Mississippi - 8 Ball and MJG featuring Goodie Mob: These guys play so well together, I couldn't choose just one song. Off of 8 Ball's "Lost", this is simultaneously a joyful ode to, and brutal condemnation of, the American south. If you want to know what ever happened to The Blues, check this out.
• Breakin' Bread: The JB's - A funky, fun, tribute to eating together. Should be mandatory for every potluck. Plus Fred Wesley shouts out his "Cousin Amos," on this track.
• Skew it on the Barbie - Outkast featuring Raekwon: Just as "Bombs over Baghdad" has nothing to do with war in the middle east, and "Rosa Parks" has no connection to the civil rights movement, this song is not at all about cooking on a grill. But the name alone merits its inclusion. Grammarians and guardians of proper English have heart attacks when Raekwon raps.
  
• Back to the Grill - MC Serch featuring Nas, Chubb Rock, and Red Hot Lover Tone: After 3rd Bass, before "The White Rapper Show," Serch made one solo album. Back then no one paid attention, but the Shambolics' Simple Hip-Hop Formula (if it was made between 92 and 96 its probably dope) applies here. Besides a great name, this song features a very young Nas. Plus you know Chubb Rock can get down on some ribs.
• Wind Parade - Donald Byrd, Morning Sunrise - Weldon Irvine: Sometimes you need to just lean back and stare into the clouds. These songs will make you feel great about doing just that.
• Melting Pot - Booker T and the MGs, Soul Pot - The Soul Ones: At some point in the day you're gonna want to retreat to the kitchen and get working on a batch of sauce for your hunk of meat. These joints will keep you bubblin as you tend to your cauldron.
• Fire - Ohio Players, Burning Too - Fugazi, Burning Down the House - Talking Heads: Should you choose not to heed my advice, and instead dive headlong into the Schlitz, you may find yourself with a situation on your hands. These tracks will get your adrenaline pumping as the flames gently kiss the low-hanging roof deck next door and you scramble out of the kitchen with a colander full of water.
• Blackwater - The Doobie Brothers: "I ain't got no worries, cuz I ain't in no hurry." The BBQers mantra if you ask me. This is from an album called "What Were Once Vices are Now Habits," which my dad thinks is one of the better album names ever. The band was an integrated bunch of long-haired, mellow dudes. Wonder what that name was all about, though.
  

Now, to try and drum up a little interactivity, its the first ever Rib Report Quiz. The first 8 people to provide convincing answers to the following questions will win a copy of "High on the Hog, Vol. I" which includes the aforementioned songs plus more smokin hits. (Just don't tell the RIAA.)

1. Which rapper would you most like to eat a BBQ feast with, and why? (I realize that this question skews a little young. If you were born before 1960, and can name a living rapper besides Eminem, Puff Daddy, or Snoop Dog, I'll give you credit.)
2. Is Willie Nelson the coolest man to ever sport a ponytail?
3. If Benjamin Franklin were alive today, what would he invent?
4. What will it take to get Ann Coulter to shut up?

Submit all answers to ribreporter@gmail.com. Winners will be announced once there are some

Slow, low, Sunday

It's been a busy week life-wise, hence a slow week blog-wise. Thanks to those of you who send emails and post comments - its fun to read what you all have to say. That's why today I'm introducing a new element to this blog: The Pork Patrol.

I have friends across the country, the majority of whom eat food. I know that my sensibilities coincide with many of yours, and that you're all intelligent, creative, people. So I'm inviting you to join the Rib Report street squad, spreading the gospel of good food, comfortable environments, and sensible prices. I figure between all of us we can clue each other in to some pretty great spots to grab a bite to eat and check out some local flavor. Eating establishments are not limited to BBQ - there are just too many sumptuous vittles out there to be limiting our consumptive habits. I've created an email account, ribreporter@gmail.com, for your various food related musings. Send 'em on over and I'll post them, with the caveat that I may do some minor editing (I've emailed with you guys - y'all are real smart but some of you sure can't spell.) Looking forward to seeing what sort of great, and not so great, eating experiences you all have to share.

Coming this week on the Rib Report:

• The inagural edition of the Rack of the Week.
• Music to Smoke To
• A few cool food-related sites to share.
• And more.
  

A tribute to some of the greats in music

Posted below are two incredible videos - one from the late 80's, the other the mid 90's. Both are must see TV for DC sports fans, as well as connoisseurs of ridiculous sports-driven music worldwide.

Those mid 90's Bullets teams were stocked with talent, by the way. Its a shame they could never do anything.

You the Man

Thanks to the 12th Man

Hungary? I'm Starving!

It is a basic rule of Barbeque that race and class play a big part in the quality of the Q. Barbeque as we know it is basically the result of poor folks doing the best they could with what they had. The pig (suggested slogan: "Frowned upon by 2 out of 3 major world religions") was generally viewed as a beast fit for consumption only by the lower class. In his excellent book Smokestack Lightning, Lolis Eric Elie notes that, "barbecue was long hard dirty work. The white people who could afford it often hired black people to barbecue for them. Poor white people had to cook for themselves."

Cultural attitudes have shifted, and BBQ has become franchised, dressed up, and monetized. But it remains an incontrovertible truth that your chances of getting a perfectly spiced heaping of velvety hog shoulder are much higher if the person serving it up has roots in the poor American south. It simply stands to reason that folks who grew up tending pits at their uncles' knees, people whose fingers are perpetually pruned from second-hand hickory smoke, are gonna have your best gustatory interests at heart. So obviously the odds of getting a great meal are much higher if your actually in the south. For those of us who aren't, though, I've developed a general rule of thumb: look for black people. The basic migration patterns of American history mean that today the majority of northerners with roots in the American south are black. I don't think I'm telling anyone anything they don't know, or saying something offensive. I hope this isn't a Jimmy the Greek moment.

Anyway, this is a basic rule I've used, and for the most part its been a pretty good guide. If you're in DC, hit the Rib Pit rather than Urban BBQ. (Located, ironically in Rockville, MD, perhaps the most mind-numbingly suburban town in America) In Philly, The Rib Crib is most likely gonna son anything you'll find at Phoebe's. (Extra bonus basic rule - if you must get BBQ from white folks in the north, it should be cooked by an older, stouter man. A beard definitely helps. The kids at Phoebe's look like they're about my age, and can clearly fit into a pair of hipster jeans. I think I saw a lip ring on one of them. These are all bad signs.) But the most important race-related basic rule is that if you ever see BBQ being served up by someone who is neither black nor American white, run, do not walk, into that restaurant and order something. If someone can overcome the firmly ingrained cultural expectations about where good Q comes from, and develop a loyal clientele in the discerning, demanding world of pork eaters, he or she is doing something very, very, right.*

I was reminded of this truism last night as I wolfed down forkfuls of luscious, finely shredded pork shoulder from Ron's Ribs on South St. Heaped to the brim of the Styrofoam container, doused in a tangy, thick, tomato sauce, this is good chopped pork that definitely passes the morning-after test. (Yes, Mom, I had pulled pork for breakfast today. I promise I'll have a salad at dinner.) Accompanied by a crusty mac & cheese and perfectly seasoned greens, it was a great combination of textures and flavors. I also got a couple of paperback sized slabs of cornbread, which had acquired a wonderful smoky accent from sitting around in the haze that sits heavily in Ron's tiny storefront. The most amazing part of this meal, though, is who it was prepared and served by. Ron's still proudly proclaims itself Black Owned, and there's definitely a black man on the premises occasionally, but this is undeniably the province of a blond haired BBQ vixen from Hungary named Petra. With her lilting accent and her endearing habit of rounding the cost of your meal down to the nearest dollar - even if it comes out to $12.91, as mine always seems to regardless of what I order - she's a very welcoming presence and I imagine she smells quite nice. I have yet to really delve into the story behind her unlikely career path, but I have created a detailed back-story for her, involving an affair with an American serviceman in Hungary; the promise of a green card; and upon her arrival in the States, unwilling servitude in the BBQ mines, with only the occasional break allowed for a manicure and to get her hair did. But she seems pretty happy, and appears to have a wide range of motion that would dispel any theories about her being chained behind the counter, so the actual story is probably a lot less cinematic. Hey, I've got a BBQ blog now, I guess I should just ask her.



* See the landmark case study, performed by the Wind-Huron consortium over the years 1987 to 1997, of Kenny's BBQ in Washington, DC. Located on Mt. Pleasant St, in the heart of a neighborhood that was almost precisely split among blacks, whites, and Latinos, this Vietnamese owned and operated carryout served up ribs and chicken of incomparable succulence. Meaty and moist with just the right amount of char, this BBQ was good, plentiful, and economical (one noted researcher was heard to comment, more than once, that you just couldn't get a better deal anywhere in DC.) And though the quality went downhill once the Vietnamese family sold the store to some Salvadorans who made the sauce too salty and started to add papusas to the menu, the memories of many a perfect Mt. Pleasant meal linger in the mind like sauce under fingernails.

Gilbert Arenas Trampoline Dunk in All Star Game

While Eddie Jordan and Abe Pollin most likely choked on their half-smokes at the site of Gil coming off the bench as a ringer for the Ballin' Elvises, this is why DC loves Agent Zero. Yes he's a shamless self promoter, and yes he ocasionally writes checks his jump shot can't cash, but he doesn't take the game, or himself, too seriously, and boy is that a breath of fresh air.

Big Apple Sauce

About a week ago my lady friend and I were in New York. Knowing we had recently spent ten days scouring the mid-south for great BBQ, some friends suggested we visit Blue Smoke and compare notes. Blue Smoke is Manhattan's hot barbeque joint, founded by upscale restaurateur (is there any other kind in Manhattan?) Danny Meyer. The spot has been around a little over 3 years and has developed a something of a following among those poor sauce deprived rat-racers stuck on the Big Island. The reviews from the press have been mixed, and my own experience mirrors those of the experts. I wasn't in full review mode (i.e. I can't tell you whether the beef ribs were supple as opposed to hearty) but here are some general impressions:

I'm working on some Basic Rules of BBQ, which I'll post here at some point, but I think number 1 would be, "Restaurant May Not Have A Pastry Chef." If you wanna offer some of Gramma's homemade pies, that's one thing, but come on now. Number two would be, "One Should Never Have to Spend More Than $20." On this count, Blue Smoke fails pretty miserably. Even accounting for the ridiculous cost of living in Manhattan, this was an expensive meal. Money is no object, however - really, I have no physical money - so let's proceed. We split a rib sampler among four people, along with a pulled pork platter and a few sides. Being in New York, which has no definitive style of its own, Blue Smoke's shtick is to offer visitors BBQ based on a variety of regional styles. The rib platter, then, consists of Memphis style baby back ribs, "Salt and Pepper" Texas beef ribs, Kansas City pork ribs, and "St. Louis Style" pork spare ribs. I've never seen a reference to St. Louis style before, but Meyer is from the Lou, so I guess he's entitled to give his hometown some shine. Anyway, they were all fine - the Salt and Pepper ribs were especially intriguing, and I'm not usually partial to beef ribs. The pulled pork was a little mushy, a little bland. There is, of course, no such thing as bad pulled pork, but there are many variations of good and great. And this was merely good. We were warned by our dinner companions that the mac and cheese lacked any crust, which turned out to be true. The rest of the sides were certainly enjoyable, with the golf ball sized hush puppies a real standout. (Though they can't touch those from every one's favorite Family Style Restaurant, the Cock of the Walk.)

The atmosphere was, well, lacking. I just can't take a place that pipes classic soft rock through the speakers seriously. On one side of us a herd of expense account management types guffawed, while on the other side a man broke up with his mistress. That was the story we made up, at least. Also, like all other Manhattan spots, our servers looked like casting couch rejects - gaunt and hollow eyed from a lifestyle that demands late-night frolicking at the expense of, well, sleep and food. This works fine for places like this, and this, but I want my barbeque servers to have some ruddiness in their cheeks and a waddle in their step. Oh, and we had to wait an hour on a Sunday night for a seat. That's another BBQ no-no.

Don't get me wrong, dinner was an incredibly enjoyable experience. Any time I'm eating smoked pork, I'm doing so with a smile on my face. And the company, it goes without saying, was witty, well-read, and in at least two cases, extremely beautiful. Still, for more than $50 a head, I better be getting a dub sack of some Green Smoke with my ribs.

Time to Start Smoking

With all due respect to the Colbert Report, the Robb Report, and of course, the Dalembert Report, this is the only report you're gonna need from here on out. Why the Rib Report? Because everything of any cultural significance in America, be it politics, sports, music, race, literature, class, even interpretive dance, has roots in the American south. (Actually, upon further research, it turns out interpretive dance is neither culturally significant nor rooted in the south.) But for all the rest, the liquid that has nourished these roots oh so many years has been barbeque sauce. Be it the tart vinegar of the Carolinas, the tomato tang of Memphis and the Midwest, even the mustard hybrid of Georgia and the elusive white sauce of northern Alabama, barbeque sauce is the fluid that hydrates our cultural body. And what's more important to the composition of our body than the rib? It is the center, the core. Hell, the Bible tells us that without the rib Adam would still be posting up in the garden all by his lonesome.

A little hyperbolic? Perhaps. Well, definitely. But I do think there's something to say for using barbeque, and the various iterations thereof, as a cultural touchstone. Some days I'll give you guys restaurant reviews and recipes; others I'll veer off into more tangential BBQ territory, maybe talking about Barack Obama's trip to Orangeburg S.C., where in 1968 three black students were murdered trying to integrate a bowling alley, and where today "reformed" segregationist and Confederate apologist Maurice Bessinger has an outpost of his BBQ chain. But many a day I'll completely abandon any pretense of pork prose, choosing instead to link to this Mike Wise column on Caron Butler, just because Wise and Butler are two up and comers really finding their footing in their respective professions, and because it's the All-Star break and the Wizards are still relevant, and for a boy like me that's big news.

So read, comment, enjoy. I hope to learn tricks along the way that'll make this a more engaging, technically advanced site. If you have any tips or ideas, let me know. And to my boys at the Dalembert Report, I apologize for the name-jacking, but maybe all this free publicity will send 2 or 3 more sets of eyeballs over your way. And yo, Sammy, I need you to hook my readers up with a bangin BBQ goat recipe. I'll be looking out for that.