I seasoned a rack of spare ribs with the pork rub I keep around in the pantry (a usual suspects, home made pork rub, plus some fennel and coriander seed), on top of a mayo/ dijon/ worcestershire slather.
The ribs went into the smoker, running at 250, over pecan. After a couple of hours, Linda asked when, if ever, I was going to do the things I'd said I would. (The power of speech isn't always a friend.)
So after two hours at 250, they came out of the smoker, and went into a roasting pan with a little mango nectar on the bottom. The pan was covered tightly with foil, and set in a 250 oven. Set the timer for 4-1/2 hours total to check and baste.
Made some honey-bourbon barbecue sauce.
Baked some skinny-@$$ ruby yams in the toaster oven.
Ignored the timer's buzzer while watching March Madness. Finally got off my rust-dusty to baste at around 4-3/4 hours total. Uh oh. They were way too tender already. Oven was not set at 250F but 275F. I blame George, the dog. Basted, covered, and let them rest.
Ran the oven heat up to over 415F (this time I checked), mixed up some thyme - sage - rosemary biscuits. Made a salad with a few "spring greens" from the Russian market, and a balsamic vinaigrette.
Split the yams, cross-hatched them, then butter, salt and pepper. Blood orange marmalade on the biscuits. Plenty sauce on the ribs.
Everything was good but the meat texture. For some reason people of the female persuasion seem to favor "fall off the bone" tender ribs, and Linda loved them. She insists it's the first time I ever cooked them enough. Mushy says I; worse, I can never claim ignorance again.