Last night I made the ribs from last week's Nigella column in the NYT.

I don't think I'm ever going to turn the oven on again, at least until October. 400 degrees for over an hour is not pretty. The ribs were alright- sweet, and okay, but very, very fatty. Fatuous, even. (Yes, I know, that isn't what fatuous means. But fatulent isn't even a word, which would you prefer?) The potatoes that she recommended alongside- just cut in wedges and rubbed with oil and cumin and curry powder and roasted for the last 30 minutes of rib-cooking- were the high point of the meal for me. If you are in LA and have a chance to buy your potatoes from the (Russian? Australian? Now I suddenly can't remember) guy who is at the Hollywood and Westwood Farmer's Markets and I'd imagine others, too, you should. Jeff was so delighted and he then slathered sour cream on them, even, which sounds delicious to me right now. I have some leftover so I would think about making some more tonight except, you know, the oven thing. I suspect I could roast potatoes in our guest bedroom, though- when we leave the door closed all day it gets that hot.

Okay, maybe not.