Category Archives: Dinner
Pork Chops!
I was recently reminded of the lowly pork chop while watching Rachael Ray perpetrate some sort of atrocity on a pork roast – it involved ginger snaps and red cabbage and was intended to mimic some kind of wurst, though really why anyone would want to cook, let alone eat, German food (or even a reasonable facsimile) is beyond me. I know I should find Rachael endearing – millions do – but the combination of hyperactivity, that voice and the revolting food she puts out is, frankly, more than I can bear. She exhausts me. And for some reason every time I look at her I am inundated with long-repressed, terrifying memories from my childhood. I wonder why?
Moving forward, I think the pork chop is often overlooked these days, probably because so many people, like myself, were subjected to overcooked pork in their youth when the fear of trichinosis was second only to the Red Menace. Since then I have tried, on many occasions, to cook up a chop that is moist and delicious without posing a health hazard, and until recently I have failed consistently and at times rather spectacularly, I don’t mind telling you. What to do? What to do?
Saturday night is bean night!
wicked good beans!
In Maine, back in the Bronze Age when I grew up, it was traditional to have Boston baked beans on Saturday night, and by this I mean every Saturday night. Now, there were families that just heated up a can of B&M, dumped some coleslaw from Shaw’s into a bowl, steamed up the brown bread and called it a night. Not mine. For us, baked beans represent serious tradition. Grammie Sue baked her own, as do my parents, and so do I. In the past, I have even made my own brown bread, but I cannot in good conscience urge you to do so; just buy the can. Making brown bread is a pain in the bean shoot.
Why Saturday night?, I’ll bet you’re wondering. Well, I can only guess, but my hunch is that it has something to do with the Puritan mania for mortification of the flesh. Let me explain.
Go ahead. Roast a chicken. What are you scared of?
courtesy Epicurious
Who doesn’t love roast chicken with gravy and potatoes? The sight of a whole bird emerging brown and sizzling from the oven scratches a deeply primal itch. As a dinner, it’s both profoundly satisfying and ridiculously easy.
What’s that you say? Your bird’s thighs are always undercooked while the breast is as dry as packing foam? You don’t have three hours between now and dinner? Gravy, are you for real?
Faugh, that’s right I said faugh. You are obviously working way too hard. Turning the bird? Madness. Stuffing the bird? Eww, plus I hate anything that involves wet bread. Hours to cook? Ninety minutes tops and you can bake the potatoes at the same time. Gravy? Child’s play.
The secret is using small, unstuffed birds cooked at high heat.
Kitchen Slattern 