I have a long and complicated history with ribs.
As a child, and then growing up, I wouldn’t even taste them having been deeply traumatized by the sight of slavering people in restaurants (albeit not fine restaurants) sucking and chawing away at bones with red sauce running down their chins and a shiny, 1980s lip gloss look about their entire personage afterwards.
Plus, these were actually ribs and guess what they looked like? Yes! Ribs! Gack!
As someone who often likens their own eating habits to that of the Gentle Brontosaurus (“Only tender young shoots and veggies for me please”) I actually do eat meat but I am very particular about it, which is an important precursor to this recipe.
Because these are, the ribs that even I will eat and enjoy – if somewhat guiltily.
Men, generally, seem to love these by the way and make no bones about it, if you’ll pardon the pun.
I don’t care for the commercial grade, overly hefty cinnamon buns.
It’s what my mum would call “too much of a muchness.”
It’s just not okay to me when a bun looks as though it’s been carved away in the style of a Chicago Deep Dish pizza; it’s too much on the plate, the icing texture is reminiscent of toothpaste and no matter how tantalizing the smell is at the time, ultimately, there will be disappointment and a broken plastic fork.
If you can relate to any of this, you will be very happy with the following recipe.