(Hey does this qualify for x2 media cash? Part 1 was already processed, I think. Plz lemme know)
(Also, this is a real rib recipe, restaurant tested, IRL I'm a chef. Try it! )
Inside Wasrabi "Warpath" Gleel's Worshop, Part Two: Kickin' Ribs
written by Pam Pringle
I must admit, I was impressed with what I saw from Gleel's workout. His passion and intensity have always been on display on the field, but seeing it in person was exciting, to say the least. When he'd finished his last set of weighted dips, he changed into a dry shirt and ushered the rest of the camera crew and I upstairs to join him for breakfast. It was still early. Really early.
"Oh, we couldn't possibly join you for breakfast. It's not even six yet, and I don't usually have breakfast until eight." I tried to let him down easy, but he smiled and shook his head.
"Don't worry, that gives us just enough time." He said as he reached beneath a kitchen island to retrieve a large aluminum hotel pan.
"Enough time for what?" I asked as he began grabbing an assortment of bottles from an ornate wooden spice cabinet. He spoke without looking at me, instead heading to the fridge where he pulled out--to my surprise--three large racks of vacuum sealed baby back ribs.
"Enough time to cook the ribs, Ms. Pringle. Two hours is all you need. Can I get anyone a coffee?" As he said that, he glanced around at the rest of the crew. One by one, they all nodded. Honestly, I thought it was about time for another cup as well.
"Uh, yes, thank you. But really, we should be getting back on the road. There is another prospect here in Vermont that we're supposed to be meeting with later. How far is Burlington from here?"
"It's close enough you'll be there before lunchtime. I insist you stay for breakfast. Besides," He set down a small porcelain bowl next to the bottles of spices before giving me a sudden look in the eye. I'm not sure why, but I suddenly felt as if my spine stiffened at his glance. "You wouldn't rob me of my opportunity to play the doting host, would you, Pam?"
There was a beat of silence. I looked back at my Co-Editor, who cowardly glanced at Wasrabi and then back to me before shrugging noncommittally. Suddenly Gleel's barking laugh broke the tension in the kitchen.
"I'm just playing with you guys. The door is open if you must go, but I have a feeling you wont regret staying. My grandma was a hell of a cook, and this is her recipe. I don't get a chance to test it out on strangers often, so if you'd indulge me I would be very appreciative." He smiled charminly and before I knew it, we were all sitting at the dining room table, cups of coffee in hand, watching this odd spectacle play out before us.
To be honest, it was very amusing to see Gleel in the kitchen. He narrated every step of the process as if the cameras were still rolling and he was a TV chef--He may have a career outside of football when all is said and done.
"... Okay, the oven is preheated to 350 degrees. Let's get started with the rub, shall we? Here we have chili powder, ground cumin, red chili flakes, onion powder, garlic powder, cayenne, salt and pepper, and most importantly: Brown Sugar. Mix these together, don't need to worry too much about the ratio, just be sure to not skimp on the salt! We've got our beautiful racks of ribs here, and we're just going to liberally rub them down with this rub."
"Wasrabi, don't you think it's a little odd to have ribs for breakfast?" I asked long after wondering.
"Yeah, well. . ." He smirked as he walked backwards to the fridge to get orange juice. "It's high in protein and fats, low in carbs, and besides--it includes two traditional breakfast additions: Orange Juice," He said as he poured a couple cups of OJ over the seasoned ribs, "And coffee." He said as he grabbed the carafe and poured an equal amount over the ribs as well. The liquid partially submerged the ribs in the pan.
"Coffee? Why coffee?"
"Coffee contains tannins, which tenderizes the meat and speeds up the cooking process," He wrapped the pan in aluminum foil and slid it into the oven. ". . So that in less than two hours, these bad boys will be falling off the bone." He smiled again, wiping his hands off on his apron. The whole thing was incredibly surreal and comedic. Here stood this giant of a man, with soft and gravelly voice and intense dark eyes, but when it comes to food he is a regular Julia Child!
He set the timer and joined us at the table where the conversation naturally returned to football and the upcoming DSFL draft.
"Is there anyone in this draft class you admire?" I asked him as he topped off my cup with fragrant black coffee.
"Ah man, I used to watch Richard Leaking play at Stanford all the time. I admire his tenacity, but really, it's his whole story on how he grew up being raised by Mongeese. Gooses? Mongooses? Hell, I don't know, but as someone who spent his youth cutting his teeth on training out there in the woods, I respect the hell out of anyone who can survive out there. And that interception he had against Wameis Jinston! Wameis is a hell of a QB and Dick just dove right in front of it. He's gonna be a great player in this league and the ISFL."
I was a bit taken aback by this different, humble side of Wasrabi. On the football field he earned the nickname "Warpath" for burying QBs in the dirt and bullying offensive linemen. His approach to the game was nothing less than clinical psychopathy, and yet here we were sitting comfortably and quietly in his dining room, listening to him wax poetic about not just another player, but another linebacker whose been projected to go before him.
"C'mon, Wasrabi, I know you're more competitive than that, but I'll try to coax some of that fire out of you: Whose the better player: You or Leaking?"
"Tsssssss," He exhaled through his teeth and looked around coyly. "I think we both offer something different. His speed might be better than mine, but I feel like I'm the stronger 'backer. I'm a downhill thumper, he's probably more rangy than I am, but at the end of the day we're both just prospects right now and I'd like to wait until the season begins to start drawing these kinds of comparisons, y'know?"
The ribs were beginning to envelop the kitchen and dining room with the pleasant savory aroma of braised pork, cumin, and garlic. My mouth began watering. He must have noticed my interest because he smiled before saying, "Twenty minutes until they're ready to sauce. Take them out of the oven after an hour and fifty minutes, sauce them, and put them back in the oven on a sheet pan uncovered to let the sauce bake on."
Sheepish about my noticeable excitement, I steered the conversation back to football.
"Right uh, so! Have any scouts or GM's reached out to you yet? Is there a personal favorite team you're hoping to end up playing for?"
"Oh yes, there has been a good deal of interest in me so far. I feel like I've been flying under the radar a bit in some of the mock drafts, but I've had scouts from each team reach out, and even a GM or two. What excites me most about that is that there is a real chance multiple teams think I'm gonna be a steal for them. I don't anticipate going in the first three rounds, not that I doubt my skill or commitment, but there is a lot of talent in the draft this year and I'm honored to be a part of it. I just hope that whichever team gets me knows the kind of warrior they'll be getting."
"I see you deftly avoided answering my second question. . . " I teased as I took a long audible sip from the delicious coffee. I couldn't believe this was the same person I saw on the highlight reels throwing the opposing QB's helmet into the crowd before shooting the bird in the QB's face--an action that cost a one game suspension during his time at Dartmouth.
"Ha, I guess I can't sneak a sunrise past a rooster, can I? Well, I do have a team I'm hoping takes a shot on me, but really," He leaned forward and lowered his voice. His eyes shone with the same intensity I saw earlier downstairs in his gym. For a moment I was taken aback, and leaned backwards a little in my chair. ". . There really isn't anything to be gained by telling anyone, right, Ms. Pringle?"
A beat of silence was truncated by the oven timer. The ribs were ready to be sauced.
He smiled and got up from the chair and made his way to the oven. After removing the pan from the oven, he peeled back the foil and a burst of delicious savory steam pervaded the kitchen. He transferred the three racks to a sheet pan and began brushing them with Sweet Baby Ray's Original Sauce, ("This is the best BBQ sauce out there, Pam, I swear to God. . .") and returned them to the oven.
Ten minutes later the ribs were done, and two of the racks were split among myself and the crew. Wasrabi took the third for himself. He gingerly seperated one bone from the rack and held it aloft--The meat was perfectly tender and he slowly pulled it away from the bone in its entirely before tossing it into his mouth. He closed his eyes and smiled. He barely had to chew.
"Oh yeah, these babies are fire. Just like Grandma Gleel used to make. Try one."
I thought about asking for a fork, but decided against it. Never one to be timid, I picked up a bone and bit into the meat glistening with sauce.
Oh my god, these are the greatest ribs I've ever had in my life!!
Much to my embarrassment, I made audible noises of contented yumminess. When I finished the first bone, I grabbed another--then another--followed by another. The pinnacle of enjoyment manifested in us all eating in silence for the next five minutes until every last bone was picked clean. I finished my coffee and patted my stomach before saying,
"Well Wasrabi Gleel, I now know this much to be true: Whichever team gets you will be getting a hell of a football player, as well as a damn fine personal chef. Who knew you could make Ribs this delicious in the oven and in two hours, no less!"
He stood up and began collecting the bone-laden plates before saying, "Well, like I said earlier, Pam,
See it, and believe it."
And that, ladies and gentlemen, was the first time I ever ate ribs for breakfast with a DSFL prospect, and one of the most unique I've had the pleasure to meet.
(1845 words)
(Also, this is a real rib recipe, restaurant tested, IRL I'm a chef. Try it! )
Inside Wasrabi "Warpath" Gleel's Worshop, Part Two: Kickin' Ribs
written by Pam Pringle
I must admit, I was impressed with what I saw from Gleel's workout. His passion and intensity have always been on display on the field, but seeing it in person was exciting, to say the least. When he'd finished his last set of weighted dips, he changed into a dry shirt and ushered the rest of the camera crew and I upstairs to join him for breakfast. It was still early. Really early.
"Oh, we couldn't possibly join you for breakfast. It's not even six yet, and I don't usually have breakfast until eight." I tried to let him down easy, but he smiled and shook his head.
"Don't worry, that gives us just enough time." He said as he reached beneath a kitchen island to retrieve a large aluminum hotel pan.
"Enough time for what?" I asked as he began grabbing an assortment of bottles from an ornate wooden spice cabinet. He spoke without looking at me, instead heading to the fridge where he pulled out--to my surprise--three large racks of vacuum sealed baby back ribs.
"Enough time to cook the ribs, Ms. Pringle. Two hours is all you need. Can I get anyone a coffee?" As he said that, he glanced around at the rest of the crew. One by one, they all nodded. Honestly, I thought it was about time for another cup as well.
"Uh, yes, thank you. But really, we should be getting back on the road. There is another prospect here in Vermont that we're supposed to be meeting with later. How far is Burlington from here?"
"It's close enough you'll be there before lunchtime. I insist you stay for breakfast. Besides," He set down a small porcelain bowl next to the bottles of spices before giving me a sudden look in the eye. I'm not sure why, but I suddenly felt as if my spine stiffened at his glance. "You wouldn't rob me of my opportunity to play the doting host, would you, Pam?"
There was a beat of silence. I looked back at my Co-Editor, who cowardly glanced at Wasrabi and then back to me before shrugging noncommittally. Suddenly Gleel's barking laugh broke the tension in the kitchen.
"I'm just playing with you guys. The door is open if you must go, but I have a feeling you wont regret staying. My grandma was a hell of a cook, and this is her recipe. I don't get a chance to test it out on strangers often, so if you'd indulge me I would be very appreciative." He smiled charminly and before I knew it, we were all sitting at the dining room table, cups of coffee in hand, watching this odd spectacle play out before us.
To be honest, it was very amusing to see Gleel in the kitchen. He narrated every step of the process as if the cameras were still rolling and he was a TV chef--He may have a career outside of football when all is said and done.
"... Okay, the oven is preheated to 350 degrees. Let's get started with the rub, shall we? Here we have chili powder, ground cumin, red chili flakes, onion powder, garlic powder, cayenne, salt and pepper, and most importantly: Brown Sugar. Mix these together, don't need to worry too much about the ratio, just be sure to not skimp on the salt! We've got our beautiful racks of ribs here, and we're just going to liberally rub them down with this rub."
"Wasrabi, don't you think it's a little odd to have ribs for breakfast?" I asked long after wondering.
"Yeah, well. . ." He smirked as he walked backwards to the fridge to get orange juice. "It's high in protein and fats, low in carbs, and besides--it includes two traditional breakfast additions: Orange Juice," He said as he poured a couple cups of OJ over the seasoned ribs, "And coffee." He said as he grabbed the carafe and poured an equal amount over the ribs as well. The liquid partially submerged the ribs in the pan.
"Coffee? Why coffee?"
"Coffee contains tannins, which tenderizes the meat and speeds up the cooking process," He wrapped the pan in aluminum foil and slid it into the oven. ". . So that in less than two hours, these bad boys will be falling off the bone." He smiled again, wiping his hands off on his apron. The whole thing was incredibly surreal and comedic. Here stood this giant of a man, with soft and gravelly voice and intense dark eyes, but when it comes to food he is a regular Julia Child!
He set the timer and joined us at the table where the conversation naturally returned to football and the upcoming DSFL draft.
"Is there anyone in this draft class you admire?" I asked him as he topped off my cup with fragrant black coffee.
"Ah man, I used to watch Richard Leaking play at Stanford all the time. I admire his tenacity, but really, it's his whole story on how he grew up being raised by Mongeese. Gooses? Mongooses? Hell, I don't know, but as someone who spent his youth cutting his teeth on training out there in the woods, I respect the hell out of anyone who can survive out there. And that interception he had against Wameis Jinston! Wameis is a hell of a QB and Dick just dove right in front of it. He's gonna be a great player in this league and the ISFL."
I was a bit taken aback by this different, humble side of Wasrabi. On the football field he earned the nickname "Warpath" for burying QBs in the dirt and bullying offensive linemen. His approach to the game was nothing less than clinical psychopathy, and yet here we were sitting comfortably and quietly in his dining room, listening to him wax poetic about not just another player, but another linebacker whose been projected to go before him.
"C'mon, Wasrabi, I know you're more competitive than that, but I'll try to coax some of that fire out of you: Whose the better player: You or Leaking?"
"Tsssssss," He exhaled through his teeth and looked around coyly. "I think we both offer something different. His speed might be better than mine, but I feel like I'm the stronger 'backer. I'm a downhill thumper, he's probably more rangy than I am, but at the end of the day we're both just prospects right now and I'd like to wait until the season begins to start drawing these kinds of comparisons, y'know?"
The ribs were beginning to envelop the kitchen and dining room with the pleasant savory aroma of braised pork, cumin, and garlic. My mouth began watering. He must have noticed my interest because he smiled before saying, "Twenty minutes until they're ready to sauce. Take them out of the oven after an hour and fifty minutes, sauce them, and put them back in the oven on a sheet pan uncovered to let the sauce bake on."
Sheepish about my noticeable excitement, I steered the conversation back to football.
"Right uh, so! Have any scouts or GM's reached out to you yet? Is there a personal favorite team you're hoping to end up playing for?"
"Oh yes, there has been a good deal of interest in me so far. I feel like I've been flying under the radar a bit in some of the mock drafts, but I've had scouts from each team reach out, and even a GM or two. What excites me most about that is that there is a real chance multiple teams think I'm gonna be a steal for them. I don't anticipate going in the first three rounds, not that I doubt my skill or commitment, but there is a lot of talent in the draft this year and I'm honored to be a part of it. I just hope that whichever team gets me knows the kind of warrior they'll be getting."
"I see you deftly avoided answering my second question. . . " I teased as I took a long audible sip from the delicious coffee. I couldn't believe this was the same person I saw on the highlight reels throwing the opposing QB's helmet into the crowd before shooting the bird in the QB's face--an action that cost a one game suspension during his time at Dartmouth.
"Ha, I guess I can't sneak a sunrise past a rooster, can I? Well, I do have a team I'm hoping takes a shot on me, but really," He leaned forward and lowered his voice. His eyes shone with the same intensity I saw earlier downstairs in his gym. For a moment I was taken aback, and leaned backwards a little in my chair. ". . There really isn't anything to be gained by telling anyone, right, Ms. Pringle?"
A beat of silence was truncated by the oven timer. The ribs were ready to be sauced.
He smiled and got up from the chair and made his way to the oven. After removing the pan from the oven, he peeled back the foil and a burst of delicious savory steam pervaded the kitchen. He transferred the three racks to a sheet pan and began brushing them with Sweet Baby Ray's Original Sauce, ("This is the best BBQ sauce out there, Pam, I swear to God. . .") and returned them to the oven.
Ten minutes later the ribs were done, and two of the racks were split among myself and the crew. Wasrabi took the third for himself. He gingerly seperated one bone from the rack and held it aloft--The meat was perfectly tender and he slowly pulled it away from the bone in its entirely before tossing it into his mouth. He closed his eyes and smiled. He barely had to chew.
"Oh yeah, these babies are fire. Just like Grandma Gleel used to make. Try one."
I thought about asking for a fork, but decided against it. Never one to be timid, I picked up a bone and bit into the meat glistening with sauce.
Oh my god, these are the greatest ribs I've ever had in my life!!
Much to my embarrassment, I made audible noises of contented yumminess. When I finished the first bone, I grabbed another--then another--followed by another. The pinnacle of enjoyment manifested in us all eating in silence for the next five minutes until every last bone was picked clean. I finished my coffee and patted my stomach before saying,
"Well Wasrabi Gleel, I now know this much to be true: Whichever team gets you will be getting a hell of a football player, as well as a damn fine personal chef. Who knew you could make Ribs this delicious in the oven and in two hours, no less!"
He stood up and began collecting the bone-laden plates before saying, "Well, like I said earlier, Pam,
See it, and believe it."
And that, ladies and gentlemen, was the first time I ever ate ribs for breakfast with a DSFL prospect, and one of the most unique I've had the pleasure to meet.
(1845 words)
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