sticking to my ribs

We had ribs tonight, the most delicious baby back ribs made locally at Ottawa's The Piggy Market. Fresh, local & fairly/safely raised pork, organic sauce... and after a few minutes on our own home barbecque, it was just scrumptious.

(photo, above, via Flickr)

Perhaps it's because I'm 4 months pregnant, perhaps it's because the ribs are particularly delicious... but this was all a little strange for someone who more often than not chooses vegetarian food.  As I sat licking my fingers tonight (how can you not with ribs? :) I paused and a flood of memories came to me. I closed my eyes to remember, in great clarity and detail, sitting in a certain little German restaurant in New Ulm, Minnesota, where my mother grew up and we travelled for large family reunions when I was young. I remember what I wore, the lighting, the ribs... and the faces around the long tables. My great grandparents, who hosted these marvelous reunions, would take everyone (yes, even the "out-laws") out for a special, fancy rib dinner once during the reunion. Those were really wonderful days.

And then I remembered my great grandparents' home, filled to the brim with sweets and treats of every kind as we arrived. I'm convinced my great grandmother kept a second fridge in the basement, just outside of the spare room where we slept, just to be extra kind to her grandchildren and great grandchildren, who thought we were all "sneaking" just one or 2 brownies. I think she planned it all along, in her marvelously loving, informal way.

I remember spilling a jar of homemade strawberry jam all over her carpet, and how she gently showed me how to clean it up and spill salt on it so it wouldn't set.

I remember when my cousins and I deliberately chose a little plastic cup with champagne in it because they looked the same as the 7UP cups we were supposed to drink.

I remember the feeling of love and family and weeks spent with wonderful people I didn't get to see the rest of the year.

All from a side of baby back ribs.

Such powerful connections between food and memory exist. I'm thankful for them, because they surprise me like little fairies dancing across my heart and mind.