After each try they were better. The brown sugar and cayenne clashing, the ribs were never the same. The only thing that remained was the cut of meat. The process was not a simple one: a whole day of rubs, a whole day of cooking, this process was not one to be taken lightly. I liked that they took a long time, it gave me time to admire the art of cooking, the intricacy, all of the rubs, one missing spice, one missing sauce is everything wrong. The illusion of success, there is always something that you can fix.

I woke up at eight o'clock; I could smell them already. I could not wait to taste their savory sauce, their sweet and spicy rubs. I would run down the stairs. I knew what was coming next. I would say hello to my mom and then run down to the backyard to see the ribs, I would talk to my dad about them, question how to do things for I would learn to make them some day I would be the one smoking the ribs. I would then go and play with my sister, even though she is two years older and we don’t see eye to eye that much; on these days we are happy together. Each year, I saw a pattern. My dad would always need to run to a store. Each year he would forget something, every year. After the trip to the store, the real fun would begin.

Taking the ribs out of the smoker was a tricky endeavor. My dad needed to be able to pull out the ribs without getting burned, but he also needed to keep them in one piece. Most of the time, my dad would put a thin baking sheet below the ribs and pull them out but one time he got more creative. This time he took twine and wrapped it around one of the ribs, and then he then slowly pulled the rack out of the smoker. After the rubs were brought upstairs, my mom would get the sides prepared. Most of the time the sides were: A salad, biscuits, corn, and other vegetables. After the table was set and the sides were ready, we would dig in. Warm heaping plates of ribs and vegetables. Everyone would compliment my dad.

Fourth of July brought explosions along with it. Most would say fireworks were the largest explosion on the Fourth but I say it’s my father’s ribs. Along with flavor, they brought conversation. This conversation always started with the ribs. Compliments became larger conversations. The conversations soon came back to compliments-A never ending cycle.

The ribs were also a casual food. The amount of time the ribs took may have been long, but it was more than worth it. I would wake up to the smell of rubs and sauces. Like I said the ribs were always different, so I never knew what to expect. Would it be a tangy yet spicy taste, a sweet and spicy? I never knew. The taste of the ribs varied but the satisfaction didn’t. The ribs were always great; No matter what was done differently. The times ribs were made, there was not a single cloud in the sky. The best days of the year.

I would watch, see what to do if I cooked the ribs. I have always wanted to cook them . It just seemed like such an art. The sauces, the ribs they were always interesting, always changing. I was introduced to these amazing ribs when I was five. I have loved them ever since, but since they were never the same I never loved the same thing. Ever changing, ever loved.