Yesterday, we were expecting A.'s friend J., the one who fishes ALL THE DAMN TIME, for dinner. A. decided he really wanted to make ribs on the grill. Well, who am I to stand between a man and his ribs? (Also, it meant that all I would have to make would be some corn on the cob and a salad. Works for me.)
So, he bought the ribs. This is unusual in and of itself, because we very rarely buy meat. Because of this and this, you see. Anyway, he bought the ribs, he rubbed it with his very own spice rub mixture, he started the coals at 2 p.m., he propped the grate up on bricks so it would be at the right distance from the coals, and he monitored the meat for the next three hours. It was, as you can see, A Process. But he was willing to do it, because it meant he got to have ribs for dinner.
J. arrived about 5 p.m. and I started my final preparations for dinner. Just as I was about to set the table, I glanced out the window at the grill and saw . . . no meat. With a sinking feeling, I went out to find A., who was sitting on the porch with J. I asked him if he had taken the meat off the grill. He said no. I said it's not there. There was a second of silence, and then he got up out of his chair with every intention of exterminating the dog that had absconded with his carefully coddled ribs.
Except . . .
There was nary a rib to be found. And all the dogs were milling around, sniffing the grill area and looking innocent. But we have only one dog who is smart enough to be capable of deception. Three of the dogs would have grabbed the meat and settled down right in front of the grill to gnaw on it. Otty, however, is quite clever enough to have snatched the meat off the grill and jumped the neighbors' fence with it, where I have no doubt she hid it away somewhere and returned to it at her leisure.
So, with no evidence, A. was forced to abandon his plan for revenge. I headed into the kitchen to cook after all, falling back on the reliable combination of bacon, potatoes, and cheese for a main dish. It was good, but it wasn't ribs.
Oh well. We may not have had the ribs, but we got a good story out of it.
11 comments:
First of all, you clearly need a lid on your grill. Not only will it protect future ribs from secret agent dogs, it'll actually cook the ribs better.
Second, you're wrong. It's actually funny right now.
Never turn you back on that pack of wolves. And I concur with Drew, it is very funny even as you tell it right now. The tale of the disappearing ribs will ripen with age (which is why the Otty buried them). Enjoy the ribs that got away, they will taste better and better every time you tell the story.
What would I do without your blog to follow! I wouldn't wish this disappearing act on anyone, but it is so funny!!!
OH dear. Very clever though, you have to hand it to them. When my family and I used to go to Martha's Vineyard on vacation in the summer we used to have the same problem with the grill. Once or twice in our week there, something on the grill would mysteriously vanish and, with no dogs to investigate, we were flummoxed. Several years in we realized the culprit: A big old seagull. We named him Fred.
"Otty will have diarrhea" I sing in my best sing song voice. "Neener neener boo boo"
I agree with the others; it is funny right now.
But also: How do they do that? Don't they get burned? I mean, I can barely take stuff off the grill without getting burned, and I can stand on my hind legs and I have opposable thumbs and tongs and everything.
RLS raises a good point...how do they not get burned stealing the meat?
Once I labored for a hour BBQn various chicken parts. Upon completion I set the platter of chicken on the kitchen table. Only to return in 10 minutes to find a long haired cat nestled amidst the bird. Needless to say the chicken ended up in the trash. I won't reveal the cat's justice. Lesson learned. Never leave a grill in active use, and post a guard on the kitchen table. Lance
People ask me why I won't leave the house without putting Molly, my black lab, in her cage. Well, several years back I had a large pecan pie (12" inch diameter, no less) in the center of my kitchen table while I was getting a shower. I came out of the bathroom and there was absolutely nothing left except the pan the pie had been in with a couple of black dog hairs on my white kitchen tablecloth. I frantically called the vet to ask if this was going to be trouble. They laughed hysterically at me and said she may need to go outside more often than usual for the next day or two. Another time I had a $20 bill laying loose inside my open purse on the floor. Found the missing $20 bill in the backyard wrapped neatly in and around her poop a day later.
Yes, I have to agree with the other commenters: this story will grow and age well. Classic.
Oh Otty. We know it was you. You sneaky little bugger, you.
We had a friend's beagle swipe a huge mouthful of smoked brisket off the buffet at one of our bbqs once.
We would have been mad if it weren't so hilarious. He couldn't even chew, his mouth was so full.
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