The Rib Man
The first time I saw Mark Gevaux I thought his ribs couldn’t possibly be as good as people said. How could they be. He’s got one leg, a dead eye, and a look that makes you instinctively distance yourself. You know the type—the creepy uncle everyone’s got, the one people stop talking about when you walk in the room.
But Mark makes the best ribs in London.
He’s The Rib Man now. Used to be a butcher before an accident took his leg, before he couldn’t work the way he’d always worked. So he found something else to do. Something that still meant understanding meat, the skill, the care—all the things that made him good at the first job.
These days he’s out on the London streets with family and friends, and the line never stops. People come back. The ribs taste like he’s spent years perfecting them, thinking about nothing but this one thing, and maybe he has.
There’s something about it that lands different. Not the neat redemption story, not the movie where a broken man becomes unbreakable. But the real one, where you lose something essential and instead of folding you just figure out another way to do what you’re actually good at. Same hunger, different stage.
If you’re in London, find him. And maybe leave the creepy uncle at home.