Craig Cooks Pork Chops 2: Electric (Stove) Boogaloo
If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again. Unless you’ve failed to appear in court. Then flee the country.
Failure is a powerful force. My personal hero, Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi once said, “The Force is what gives a Jedi his power. It’s an energy field created by all living things. It surrounds us and penetrates us; it holds the galaxy together.” I think the force he was talking about is failure.
Another personal hero, Soulja Boy, once declared, “Superman dat ho.” I don’t know what the shit he was talking about.
Failure is everywhere, and looks and feels different to all of us. Some use it as motivation. Some let it destroy them. Others embrace it as a cornerstone of their identity. We call these people Juggalos.
For me, failure looks like pork chops. My first attempt to make Pan-Seared Pork Chops with Maple-Bourbon Glaze was abruptly halted by the shrill laugh of the evil Dr. Smoke Detector, Destroyer of Meat Products and Awakener of Neighborhood Hounds. This week I vowed revenge; served hot and full of pork. Don’t Google that at work.
The Food Lab’s Pan-Seared Pork Chops with Apple Cider Pan Sauce were my chance at redemption. The last time I attempted pork chops several unfortunate incidents occurred:
- I set off every smoke detector in my apartment.
- I overcooked the chops until they could have bounced off the floor.
- I ate a frozen pea. I don’t know why. I was in hysterics.
- I cried—but only a little.
In order to prevent a second Death Star-type repeat failure, I did what the Imperials never seemed to—developed a decent strategy. Seriously, building an entire space station as a plan to lure one person into a trap? What a massive waste of resources. Tax dollars went towards that space station and they left a giant undefended hole in the side of it? That’s gross incompetence. It’s indicative of party leadership that doesn’t understand fiscal responsibility on behalf of the taxpayers. No wonder they were facing a rebellion.
My foolproof plan:
- Never leave the stovetop when the cast iron is on it. It will smoke. It will catch fire. You will cry. You will die.
- The stovetop burner never gets set on “High”—which on my stove should read “Scorch with the fires of Satan.”
- As Guns N’ Roses once put, “All we need is just a little patience.” As Axl has a habit of going on stage several hours late for concerts, I assume this lyric is directed at his fans.
- All attention is on the pork chop. There is only the pork chop.
The first two are simple hard-and-fast rules, easy enough for me to follow. The third and fourth require that I completely change my core identity.
One of the main ingredients in the sauce is apple cider. It’s July. Cider, pumpkins and corn mazes are a little tough to dig up right now. So, I just got the thickest-looking organic apple juice I could find and discovered that in the juice industry, “organic” is actually shorthand for “somewhat unappealing.”
I chopped up a granny smith apple (the Katherine Heigl of apples), and combined the “somewhat unappealing” apple juice with the apple cider vinegar, brown sugar, cinnamon and cloves. I don’t know what cloves are, but they sound contagious.
Now it’s time for the star of our show.
The pan was prepped and the stove turned on. I opened the window hoping it wouldn’t be necessary, but preparing for a Batman vs. Superman-level disaster in my kitchen. I turned away to check The Food Lab one last time. I smelled smoke.
Son-of-a-bitch. I turned on the wrong burner. Strong start. I then turned on the correct burner, front-right.
The pork chop goes into the pan. This baby is much bigger than last time, hopefully giving me more leeway to make mistakes. All my focus was on the cast iron pan. There was no apartment. There was no kitchen. There was only me, the pan and my pork chop, that I named Wilbur because Charlotte’s Web is full of lies. There are no happy endings and spiders are not friendly, they are scary.
Looking good through flip one, but this is one thick slab o’ pig. I could not lose focus. Every flip is an attempt to prove my smoke detector wrong. I discovered something zen, almost meditative, through cooking focus. Flip. Wait. Flip. Wait. Flip. Wait. Temperature check. Repeat as necessary. Remain patient. Don’t turn up the heat to get done quicker. Flip. Wait. Flip Wait. Remove when it hits 125o for medium-rare and looks kinda like this. You have achieved enlightenment.
My confidence was soaring. It looked incredible, but this was no time to make mistakes. Apples and butter go in the pan for a few minutes while Wilbur takes a well deserved rest. The cider mixture went into the pan shortly after and was cooked down to a syrup. Then Wilbur goes on the plate and into my mouth—how Charlotte’s Web should have ended.
This might be the most beautiful thing I’ve ever made–and I drew a colored-pencil portrait of Oakland Raiders Quarterback Rich Gannon when I was 11, so the bar is pretty high.
Flavor-wise the crispness of the apple plays very well with the heartiness of the pork, creating a sweet and salty meat-splosion on the plate. The pork is a deep brown on the outside, but not dried out. I’m way into it.
By sticking to the strategy I was able to defeat dastardly Dr. Smoke Detector. There’s a lot that went right here, and I’ll try to take these learnings forward. The four rules are here to stay. But most importantly, I learned something about failure.
It tastes goddamn great.
Recipe: 56/63
Did I do the Dishes? Yes. Like I said, enlightenment achieved.
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