Today's scripture reading was ribs and brisket. The brisket was as tender and juicy as
humanly conceivable. It sported a nice
Presbyterian smoke ring - present and accounted for, but nothing
ostentatious. The beef taste was so
robust, I wonder if it had been re-warmed by a quick dip in beef broth. However, a smoky bark illustrated the sad
tale of the prodigal son in today's homily - I looked for it, but it was
nowhere to be found.
Fortunately this was an ecumenical gathering and the lean
pork spare ribs showed up to dance and shout - holy rollers of rub, smoke,
tenderness... I still hear angels singing as I write. Perfectly smoked, pink meat ran clear to the
bone - they're the red letter edition of KC 'Q.
These porksicles are exactly equal to the best in the whole blessed
town, I do declare. The preacher's kid,
closely-scrutinized sauce, showed off with specks of herbs and spices;
conspicuously absent in his twin sibling down on Strangline.
My professional assessment (based on my
scoring standards):
Brisket...
Taste: 8 Tenderness: 9 Appearance: 8 = Overall: 8.4
Ribs...
Taste: 9 Tenderness: 8 Appearance: 9 = Overall: 9
Am I converted? Am I
a true believer? Have I found the path
to the altar of all things Q'ed? I'll
grant so much as I might attend frequently and throw my money in the
plate. As good as I confess OKJ to be, I
still am in search of a smoke-shrouded holy grail, Nirvana enthroned in a
hickory haze. But, fear not! Pilgrims of the pink pellicle won't lose
their way with regular attendance at this chapel of the char.
Although it pains me to give any joint with "Oklahoma" in its name
anything more than a black eye, I will graciously anoint OKJ with FOUR piggies.
anything more than a black eye, I will graciously anoint OKJ with FOUR piggies.
