Ribbing Pop

Neon Memes • When duty calls―as I was reminded last Friday on a visit to the family farm―my father can answer with the best of 'em. To give my mother an après-Thanksgiving respite, I treated the two of them to lunch at Ste. Genevieve's historic Old Brick House (90 S. Third Street, 573.883.2724). The day's buffet included country-style barbecued ribs, for which my father's long had a fondness. Friday, he returned from the steam table with a plate full of them, and they looked lovely indeed―in the brief time I had to admire them, anyway. Almost immediately, only bones remained―and not a lot of them at that. A second serving vanished as fast as the first. By the time I finished my own (modest) repast and headed to the hostess's counter, that "Where's my La-Z-Boy?" look had started to glaze my father's eyes. "Heh―Pop's already halfway out the door," I remarked to my mother. (Mom, bless 'er, was hovering at my elbow on the outside chance that the Old Brick inexplicably declined my debit card.) To our waitress, who was doubling as cashier, I also confided, "You wouldn't be able to get rid of 'im if you had soft-serve ice cream." ―Bryan A. Hollerbach, Managing Editor