It’s pretty hard to get primal about your precious din-dins when you live a comfortable suburban existence. But grabbing sticky, fiery drumsticks and ripping asunder; licking tacky fingers, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand and going back for more is about as close to being a caveman as you can get.
But then those cavemen didn’t have sweet chilli jam and Cashel blue cheese; napkins and hand wash…so on the whole I’ll plug for being a Suburban Cave
man person just so I can eat these beauties in the comfortable surroundings of my home.
Roaring open fire is optional. Heavenly enjoyment is compulsory.