My good friend and fellow food writer Jan Norris gave me a shout this morning to hip me to the fact that today is the 50th anniversary of the Flintstones. So aside from having that theme song running through my head all day, I’ve been thinking about those glorious ribs that they got at the Bedrock Drive-In.
One of the great things about that restaurant was that the fact that there was no need to use words: just hold up as many fingers (from one to four) as racks of bronto ribs you’d like, and the skinniest, strongest, sexiest cartoon waitress around brought your order right out and flipped your car with it.
The Flintstones were a huge influence on me; not only am I still hunting for ribs that large (why, just the other night some friends and I were just discussing the possible existence of an Eastern European beef creature that may have ribs close to that size), but I like to drive around with an animal’s head poking out of my sunroof and I always let my daughter ride up front. On the dashboard.
If I ever find that storied bronto-sized beef creature, I’ll be sure to cook its ribs and let you know. In the meantime, I suppose I’m just stuck longing for a restaurant where a simple gesture brings an auto-flipping order of barbecue.
Happy Anniversary, Flintsones!