Whatever the case, wine's taken the role of John Oates to food's Darryl Hall. The mustache cannot be ignored, but the lyrical prowess is relegated to the background. There's been a very good, incredibly overdone (at least on this blog) reason for this perhaps disturbing phenomenon: pregnancy. While in the past, opening and perhaps finishing a bottle of wine a couple times a week was not uncommon, my crippled drinking buddy has made this guy think twice about popping a cork, especially if the contents within will not stand up to a few days of exposure. Then, flash forward to the past few weeks, when I cannot take the risk of having that second nip of wine, or whatever amount would compromise my ability to drive to the hospital at the drop of a hat or the shave of a sweet mustache. I can't go for that (no can do).

So, while my access to wine hasn't come to a screeching halt, it is limited to wines that will last for 4 days, or soirees with friends (though- incidentally- friends aren't knocking down your door to party when you've taken on the metamorphosis from mirthful gadabouts to suburbanite baby-churners). However, we all need to eat, and tasty foods have filled that wine-shaped hole, hopefully slaking your thirst for consumption-centric entertainment.

To this end, I present ribs: