Culinary Voyeur

This past weekend I had the privilege to be a guest in a friend’s kitchen.  Not a guest chef, just a guest.  What a great time!  It is not often I am the recipient of such an invitation.  I brought the ingredients for a new cocktail experiment.  I call it a “Pomegranade”.  The name is borrowed from one of Paula’s poems.

A Pomegranade is pomegranate juice, vodka and a squeeze of lime.  I have added some club soda to make it a little lighter and for some effervescence.  When I arrived, I made a round of drinks in varying strengths.  I find this cocktail to be a refreshing contrast of sweet and sour with the slight burn of the alcohol.  Adding the club soda makes it dance on my tongue. 

Everyone else having been served, I made a nice strong drink for my self and the cook.  I would call Linda a chef, but she refers to herself as a “dump cook”.  I think that title sells herself a bit short, as any of her dishes I’ve ever tried have been fantastic.  I had been looking forward to this particular dinner since she invited me.

After we enjoyed our first cocktail, it was time to start the dinner.  She had a good portion of it underway.  The menu was breaded pork chops, garlic mashed potatoes, creamed peas and steamed broccoli.  The pork chops were in honor of her friend, Barb, visiting from up north and the creamed peas a nod to my gravy-loving Oklahoma roots.

I selected a chair from the dining room and found a spot in the kitchen that seemed to be the most out of the way.  Feeling a bit like a culinary voyeur, I sat down, got comfortable and prepared for a wonderful experience.  Linda moved gracefully and with confidence.  This was her kitchen and the dance began.  It was obvious to me this meal had already been choreographed in her imagination.

The potatoes were peeled, chopped and in pots of water, ready for the stove.  Linda pulled a small plastic bag out of the refrigerator.  It held a combination of herbs from the kitchen garden at her regular job.  There was parsley, chives and dill.  She described the garden to me as she chopped the herbs with a deft hand of experience.  I am truly envious.  I really want a kitchen garden, but don’t have the proper area for it.  She combined the chopped herbs, garlic powder and a stick of butter together in a small sauce pot.  She then placed the pot on the stove over low heat to infuse the flavors.  This would be used for the mashed potatoes later.

We talked of many things that day.  Linda shared fond memories of her child hood with Barb.  We marveled at how much we had heard about each other before we ever met.  We have become good friends, this fellow chef and me.  A friendship blossoming from similar life experiences past and present.  The conversation never interrupted her singular preparation of the upcoming feast.

The broccoli was all ready to go in a vegetable steamer on the counter next to the stove.  She is definitely an organized cook, with an organized kitchen.  She added several peeled cloves of garlic to the pots of potatoes and put them on to boil then turned her attention to the pork.  I was again struck by the ease with which she moved from one task to another.  She had a package of boneless pork loin chops she cooked first and then kept in the oven to stay warm.  The star, though, was the porterhouse pork chops that came next.

These cuts of pork were a beauty to behold.  They were a good inch thick and perfectly shaped.  Her breading was very interesting.  She used a combination of saltine crackers and chow mein noodles reduced to crumbs. I’m sure she used some seasoning, but that will remain “Linda’s little secret”, as the breading mixture was completed before my arrival. The chops began their journey with a dredging of flour, then on to a dip in the pool of egg wash and finally being pressed into the cracker/noodle mixture.  By this time, my mouth was watering and my anticipation of this meal heightened.  I made another drink.

The ruby red cocktail was beautiful with the fresh green lime wheel floating on top and only added to the sensory delight of the moment.  The aroma of the herb infused butter mingling with the crusty pork chops being fried was almost too much to bear.  My patience was running thin as the rumbling in my belly reminded me that I had skipped lunch for this feast. 

I never thought the chops would fit into the skillet, but like a master jigsaw puzzler, she arranged them perfectly.  As they were frying, she drained the potatoes and whipped them with butter and milk, adding the infused butter throughout.  She put them back into the pot to keep warm and left a bit for me the mixing bowl.  That bite was so good I almost melted right into it.  The herbs added a brightness to the otherwise extreme richness of the butter and potato.  They were so light and fluffy. I imagined floating away on a cloud of mashed potato.  Another friend came into the kitchen just then.  I begrudgingly shared with him.  Now I was starving.

She turned the chops and grumbled a bit about the puzzle pieces not quite fitting.  She made it work and started on the creamed peas.  Finally dinner was ready.  Normally I’m the one at the end of the line, waiting on everyone else to fill their plates.  I tell you, this night, I was first in line.  I chose my chop, a healthy mound of potatoes, a couple of stalks of broccoli and finally a spoonful of creamed peas cascading down one side of the potatoes onto the crispy browned pork chop.  Ok, maybe two spoonfuls of peas.

I was first to the table.  The other guests were slowly drifting into the kitchen as I was already cutting into my chop.  It was so tender and juicy, crispy and brown on the outside and slightly pink in the center.  Perfect.  I ran my first forkful of pork and potato through the creamed peas.  I put it in my mouth, finally.  I closed my eyes and I know I moaned.  I opened my eyes and was happy to see that there were just a few folks at the table, and they were just as enthralled with their plates, so no embarrassment.

That was perhaps the best pork chop I’ve ever had.  The perfection of the food along with the wonderful conversation made for a completely nourishing evening.  I left my friend’s house being nourished body and soul.