'Dem Bones, 'Dem Bones. . .

Thursday October 17, 2018 St Louis cut ribs; roasted new potatoes; sauted eggplant 

with tomatoes.

Growing up, ribs were not a thing in our house. Most certainly not pork ribs. Mostly this was because they were not a part of either of my parents culture. Another factor might have been my mother's general aversion to animal protein that was too reminiscent of the source. (Anyone notice that protein should be spelled protien? Think about it, "Einstein," the "i" sound has the spelling "ei" the "i" is after the "e." "Relief," the "e" follows the "i." So "proteeen" should be "protien" right?) 

Come to think of it I don't think I ever saw my mother pick up a piece of chicken and eat it off the bone. We ate plenty of chicken. She ate steak well done. Fish was filets. Head on? Not in a million years. 

So I developed my love of ribs as an adult. Better late than never. 

(Protein is from the Greek proteios, first or primary. It is a reflection of the desire by nineteenth century chemists to find the "life force," that which is primary for life. The enzymatic properties inherent in many proteins appear directed. English is a mess.)