Ribs

Laid up in bed for a second day, having taking a tumble and cracking a rib or two. Stay still and do nothing is the way to a quick heal with a full dose of ibuprofen every eight hours and plenty of sleep too. Last week I cooked pork ribs for the first time in over a year. I don't mean to suggest that that was in any way an auger of Sunday night's mishap but I suppose if life is at all themed these two events so close together provide at least an amusing coincidence. For one thing, pork ribs, slow cooked, with a dry rub of pepper and garlic and mixed herbs, and a little stock added at the end of the baking, are a wonderfully tasty meal and full of pleasure and nutrition. The remaining juices are reduced with some added stock, cheap balsamic vinegar, worcestershire sauce and sugar, and provides a piquant take on traditional barbecue sauce when drizzled over the sliced ribs. On the other hand, this injurious fall, though unavoidable, is definitely not to my taste.

I want to say here that I mourn the passing of a great soul on October 21st. I count myself fortunate to have know the painter R.B. Kitaj back in the late seventies and early eighties. I broke bread with him and his then girlfriend and now since deceased wife Sandra, on several memorable occasions in London during that time. His great spirit and keen intellect made an enduring impression on me and he leaves an artistic legacy that I believe has not been fully understood in our time. His was an art of great invention, and the greatest and most difficult subjects which he was not afraid to address. Though he was advanced in years I count his passing as a great loss and I am sure I will be lacking the nourishment that his new art has always provided.