Born from Adam’s Rib

 Real women love ribs. And barbecue. And hot sauce. Yesterday I had my first barbecue in far too long for a meat enthusiast to admit. Chuck and I met a couple friends in Calistoga for a luxurious day of mineral pools and hot springs. At Calistoga Spa, you can pay for day use on week days and soak up as much sun and water as your little heart desires. You can also bring in your own food and drinks.

So we did- a feast of treats from Oliver’s Market: artisan truffled salami, cheeses handmade by friends, olives I’d never heard of, guacamole and Modelos to wash it all down. I wish I’d taken a picture, but I was too hypnotized by the perfect gooeyness of the Camembert that I forgot to grab my camera.

It seemed only fitting to max out our food lust with barbecue. We headed to Buster’s on our way out of town, prepping ourselves for the legendary hot sauce. The clerk gave us an oral and a written warning on the spiciness. I took the challenge. Of course, I had nothing to prove. My pride was not at all riding on my ability to handle the deep, smoky edge of the firey sauce that stacked from my lungs up to my head with every bite. Perhaps I bit off more than I could chew, but I have no regrets. The pain was worth it.

And yes, sometimes when I eat barbecue, I close my eyes. Doesn’t everyone?