Sometimes I amaze myself.

Usually, that’s not in a good way, but I’m actually pleased with myself today.

The quartet sang this morning for a small Presbyterian church whose Pastor had to be out of town.  The concert/service lasted for about an hour and fifteen minutes, followed by coffee and doughnuts in the Fellowship Hall.  It was lovely, but I was exhausted, and it wasn’t even noon yet.

Not really feeling like going to Wendy’s after all of that, BJ and I opted to just come home, and of course, we were both instantly hungry as soon as we got into our jammies for a football afternoon.  I whipped up some Philly cheesesteak sandwiches for lunch, thanks to one of yesterday’s impulse buys at the grocery store.  Killer good.  But that’s not even the best part!

The other impulse buy was a big ole honkin’ pack of short ribs.  Now, I’ve tried to cook ribs I don’t know how many times, and while they’ve always been OK or better, they’ve never been great.  So since I was grocery shopping while hungry, and because they looked so good, I brought home yet another attempt at rib cookery.

This time, I tried something different.  I braised the little fellas in broth (half chicken, half beef) with all my usual dry rub seasonings on the stovetop over low heat for about two and a half hours before slathering barbecue sauce all over them and popping them into the oven for another hour.  Oh. My. God.

Usually, I’m not one to rant and rave over my own cooking.  I learned to cook from my mother, who was the absolute bestest cook in the whole wide world, but I consider myself only slightly better than average in the kitchen.  Still, those short ribs would have beaten out the ones at my favorite rib joint. BJ and I both had sauce dripping from our chins.  And on a still night, you can hear our arteries slamming closed.  Oh, yes.

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