I ate the whole rack

Middle-aged man food!

Last Saturday I suddenly, and without warning, got a middle-aged man attack for BBQ baby back ribs.

I get these furious attacks every once in a while.  Rather than let it subside, I decided to order a large rack of 12 ribs with an understanding that my wife would join me for a Saturday-evening rib feast delight.

So I called a local restaurant, known for its stellar reputation of cooking the best BBQ baby back ribs known to mankind, and placed an order to go.  I brought them home with thoughts of having a romantic candlelight dinner with my wife of ribs only until she revealed how she really preferred eating something else. 

I can’t really say I was heartbroken because this meant the entire rack was mine to destroy and enjoy.

I didn’t ruin my appetite with side dishes knowing I can eat side dish food anytime.  I either have a BBQ baby back rib attack or I don’t and side dishes do nothing to tame my beast.

Well hungry as I was, I couldn’t put down the entire rack in one sitting so I regretfully put the leftovers in the refrigerator for next day. 

Guess what I had for breakfast the following Sunday morning?  More ribs; but I still couldn’t put them all away so I had one more serving remaining and something to look forward to on Monday. 

Guess what I had for breakfast Monday morning?

Since there were only a few ribs remaining sitting in a cold refrigerator begging for attention, I decided to put them out of their cold misery.  About ten minutes later, there was no evidence of their prior existence.

So in about a 36-hour hour period, I ate a whole rack of BBQ baby back ribs.  Those Paleo Diet characters would have been proud of me.

Later Monday afternoon, it seemed like my body was emitting powerful and pheromone-like aroma from my three-day rib feast, similar to what someone experiences who has eaten a garlic-laced meal.  

It was a very pleasant scent to me and a reminder, as I shook my head in disbelief, that I ate the whole rack.

Pax Domini sit semper vobiscum