“Spare ribs,” my father said, about twenty minutes into the episode. “Some spare ribs would go down good right now. How do some spare ribs sound to you guys?”
No one said answered. We weren’t sure if he was being serious.
“You feel like some spare ribs?” he asked my mother.
“It’s kind of late,” my mother said.
“If I found some spare ribs, would you have some?”
“I don’t know. I guess so.”
“How about you two?” my father asked.
My brother nodded. “I could eat some spare ribs.”
“Chris?”
“Why not?” I said.
“Wait here,” my father said.
We heard him get out the phone book and get on the phone. We acted like were paying attention to the next show on TV, but instead we were listening to him talking to the people at the restaurants. We could tell they were telling him it was too late, their kitchens were closed, or that they didn’t even have spare ribs on their menus to begin with.
“It’s fine, Jack,” my mother called in after he hung up the phone for the fifth or sixth time. “We don’t need spare ribs tonight. We’ll get them over the weekend.”
“No,” my father yelled back, his voice angry now. “I’m in the mood for spare ribs.”
Finally after three or four more calls he poked his head out from the kitchen. It must have been 9:30 by now, well past my brother’s and my usual bedtime. “I found someplace. They’ll stay open for us, but we have to leave right now. Chris, you come with me.”
We didn’t speak during the ride. I was too sleepy, and my father was tense, concentrating on his driving. He was driving pretty fast: we made it to Vail’s Gate in record time. The Chinese restaurant where we stopped was empty. I felt a little guilty for making them stay open, but the Chinese man who sat there alone behind the counter didn’t seem to mind. He was watching TV, too, a little portable black and white. He smiled as he handed us the red and white bag, took my father’s money. “Did you see MASH tonight?” my father asked, pointing at the television.
The Chinese man nodded no.
“There were spare ribs on MASH. That’s why we needed spare ribs.”
The Chinese man smiled, but I could tell he had no idea what we were talking about.
The spare ribs were warm on my lap during the ride home. All of a sudden, I was ravenously hungry for them. I couldn’t believe how much I was looking forward to eating those ribs.
My father seemed to read my mind. “It’s funny, isn’t it? An hour ago, we didn’t even know we wanted these spare ribs. And then we had to have them. And now we do. Isn’t that amazing?”
I wanted to say something sarcastic—I was getting good at saying sarcastic things, it was a new talent for me—but I couldn’t. Part of me thought he was weak, for giving in to an impulse, and continuing to chase it even after it wasn’t fun anymore. But another part couldn’t help being impressed that he’d somehow managed to make his impulse happen, that out of nowhere and completely unpredictably here I was at 10:00 at night in a car with warm spare ribs in my lap. There was something amazing in that.
We were home by then. We put the spare ribs on a big plate and brought them into the living room and watched a detective show. I didn’t eat that many. I wasn’t as hungry as I’d thought I was. But the ones I did manage to eat were delicious. My brother and my mother, though sleepy-eyed, seemed to be thoroughly enjoying them, too.
“Hit the spot, don’t they?” my father asked us all.
