I may have told you before about a little dream the Philosopher and I have.
It goes by the name of ‘Baby’s’.
As in, Baby’s Finger Lickin’ Good American-style Boisterous Barbecue Joint.
Baby’s for short.
We’ve long felt that Oxford needs an injection of something novel and noteworthy in its restaurant scene. It’s not that there’s no good food round these parts, but rather that it’s hard to find somewhere truly unique.
And we, of course, feel that Baby’s would be the perfect (finger lickin’) solution.
I didn’t exactly grow up on barbecue (by which I don’t mean burgers and ‘dogs, you understand, but succulent pulled pork, chicken, brisket, ribs in that classic sweet and salty sauce…) but have been nursing an addiction ever since this place came into my left three years ago on a cold and rainy evening in August 2009. It’s been a pretty sorry addiction since then, seeing as I moved to the UK about three weeks later. But whenever I can – within reason – I throw a pork butt into the slow cooker and we feast on the leftovers for a week.
But can you believe it, I’ve never had ribs?! Ribs – probably the font of the whole finger-lickin’ business – cry out to me from the pork aisle basically on a weekly basis, but my inexperience with them as a consumer and chef always make me turn away. And I do this in shame, I might add. What self-respecting amateur barbecue lover picks boneless chicken thighs over ribs?
So when I saw four lonely ribs sitting in the reduced basket at the end of my shop on Saturday, I knew what I had to do.
Mm, mm, mm.
Finger lickin’ good.