Fourth of July

Summer is the season for salads. Some days it just gets too hot to turn on the stove. And you never get quite as hungry on those days anyway. A salad for dinner makes perfect sense. Still I am always challenged to figure out how to make salad feel like a meal. Especially without adding fish or grilled meats.

Friday night was one of those salad nights. I had planned on making a chickpea and spinach dish but cooking was out of the question. A spinach salad was devised instead. Fortunately there were several delicious things on hand to make the salad something special. In this case Stilton cheese, red onions that were "bloomed" in vinegar, glazed pecans, and Mission figs.

Adam Perry Lang’s Grilled Shrimp Cocktail
Teddy Kennedy’s Favorite Lobster Salad
Lila’s Guacamole
Jumbo Lump Crab Dip
Spicy Black Bean Dip

Buffalo Hot Dogs
Chicago-Style Hot Dog
Buttermilk Fried Chicken
Alan's Grilled Salmon
Henry Ephron's BBQ Sauce Pork Ribs
Cowboy BBQ Burger
Beer-Cheese Burger
Grilled Steak Tacos with Watermelon-Mango-Jicama Salsa

Tomato & Avocado Salad
Watermelon, Feta & Mint Salad
Lulu's Tastiest Coleslaw
Suzanne Goin's Succotash

John McCain’s Baked Beans | Cowboy Beans | Mediterranean Orzo Salad | Mac and Cheese
Chili Butter Corn on the Cob | Patriotic Potato Salad | Curried Lobster Salad

The Bootleg | Cuba Libre | Dark 'n' Stormy | Mai Tai | Margarita | Mojito | Sassy Sangria
Sea Breeze | Tequila Sunrise | Tequila Gimlet | Watermelon Falls

“No Bake” Mocha S’mores Pie | Mom's Blueberry Tart | The Best Brownies Ever | Blackberry Pecan Crisp
Chocolate Chip Cookies | Crunchy Ice Cream Sandwiches | Cherry Rhubarb Pie
Grandma Hazel's Lemon Cake | Peach Cobbler | Pomegranate Granita | Fresh Strawberry Pie
Super Easy Bittersweet Chocolate Ice Cream | Whoppers-Malted Milk Ice Cream Pie

If you’ve never read Elizabeth Gilbert’s book, “The Last American Man”, I suggest you pick it up this Fourth for a bit of quirky, patriotic fun.  It chronicles the true story of a modern day hero who lives in a teepee in the Appalachian Mountains, eating only what he himself picks, raises or kills.  The guy is an egomaniac and a genius, and the writing, especially when detailing how he forages in the woods, is funny and sensitive and page-turningly good.     

The only problem with that book is the title.  He’s not the last American man. My mother is.

She spends every summer, and most of every fall, wading through rivers with a fly-fishing rod, and hiking giant, shale-covered mountains to sleep under the stars.  She’s had staring contests with bears and cougars, weathered lightning storms under scraggly trees, and once hiked three miles back to her truck with a broken tailbone.   

Sorry, brisket fanatics from Texas. My apologies, pulled pork addicts from North Carolina. If I had to pick my last meal on Planet Barbecue (I sure hope I never do), I’d order ribs. Perfect for July 4th celebrations, ribs offer it all: gnawable bones that provide structure and flavor, presenting a broad surface to the smoke and fire. Well-marbled, rich-tasting meat at with a price that remains relatively affordable -- especially when compared to steak.

Ribs possess other advantages. Versatility is one: all the major meats types come in rib form, from the ubiquitous pork and beef to the more rarified lamb, veal, and bison. Ribs can be cooked using a myriad of methods, from direct and indirect grilling to smoking and even spit-roasting. (You’ll find the latter at Brazilian-American rotisserie restaurants, like Fogo de Chao.) Many pit masters use multiple methods -- smoking the ribs for several hours first, for example, then flash-searing the sauce onto the meat directly over a hot fire.

Even rib portion sizes vary widely, from the paper-thin strips of kalbi-kui (beef short ribs) direct grilled on charcoal braziers at Korea town restaurants to the plate-burying slabs we’ve come to expect from barbecue joints in Memphis and Kansas City.

But most of all, ribs are just plain fun to eat, evoking a primal memory of when our cave-dwelling ancestors roasted huge hunks of meats over campfires, ripping them apart with their bare hands. Admit it, part of the pleasure of ribs is that you get to eat them with your fingers.