Wednesday, October 02, 2002

Cotes de Porc Poelees et Poireaux Braises au Beurre.  The folks are still in town, and I am determined not to impose the agonies of the Julie/Julia Project too heavily upon them.  Mom’s been worried enough about my sanity or lack thereof, and does not need to witness one of my typical mid-week breakdowns.  So we keep it simple.  The pork chop recipe is one of her stand-bys – “Mom’s pork chops.”  The leeks seem easy enough, and we’ll just roast potatoes with the pork.  I’m having a miraculously easy time at work, and can get off by 5, so we arrange to meet in front of the Food Emporium at Union Square at 5:30.  There are kinks, of course.  The first is that the Food Emporium actually has two entrances, and since I’m a cell phone-less freak, there’s a tad of back-and-forthing before we manage to find each other.  The second is that my parents are clearly exhausted.  They’ve spent the afternoon gallery hopping in west Chelsea, and they’re about to fall over.  Having both sets of parents in town is a vivid reminder of just how grueling living in (or proximate to) the city really is.  Of course, I don’t spend my days gallery hopping in west Chelsea.  Anyway, so with the exhaustion there’s a bit of time pressure.  So we get the shopping done as quickly as possible ($7.99 a pound for pork chops, though I must admit they look good, good and thick.)  Then we set mother down with the groceries and head over to Union Square Wines, where we’re politely bullied into two bottles of Spanish garnacha (“don’t miss it!!!) on top of my parents’ usual, a bottle of Jack Daniels (in the absence of Weller) for Dad, Tanqueray for Mom, and some Smirnoff for Eric and me.  It’s just like old times.  I set Dad down beside Mom while I go to the Petco for Zuzu feed, and then we’re off. Long Island City may be lack in some of the fancy amenities like properly running water, but it sure is a hell of a lot more convenient than Bay Ridge.  We’re home in something like fifteen minutes. Cooking is a little slow getting off the ground, what with the feeding of the snake and Mom playing with the new white noise machine she picked up (“’Train’ should be right for this place.  It’ll fit right in.”)  Mom trims and washes the leeks – monster leeks, these leeks, the thickest one is as big around as my wrist, and my wrists are nothing to sneeze at.)  I rub the dry marinade of salt, pepper, thyme, ground bay leaf (well, crumbled up bay leaf) and garlic into the chops.  Here, as usual, there’s a bit of a time crunch, because Julie is once again not thinking with her head and planning ahead.  The pork chops should have been marinating for a good long time, since this morning, even, and the leeks have to simmer on the stovetop for twenty minutes before going in the oven for half an hour.  Ah well.  While the chops sit and the leeks boil, we watch Buffy, the pleasures of which I have rigorously been trying to expose my parents to.  But the new show is sort of flat, weirdly, and for some reason makes extensive reference to the movie “Tremors” which is great and all, but it’s kind of odd, and of course my parents are totally lost.  I keep saying things like, “see, she’s a demon, a vengeance demon, she wasn’t for a while but then he left her at the altar, so now she’s back at it, and she slept with that guy, but he’s in love with that one, only he tried to rape her, but now he’s gotten his soul back.”  They nod and ask when dinner’s going to be ready. I scrape the marinade off the pork chops – not really sure that I have to do it, but JC knows best – and brown them in oil over the stove.  (JC also suggests using lard for that, but you know, I’m already risking my life and cholesterol levels for this thing, so I’ll back off on the lard just this once.)  I take the leeks out of the skillet and into a loaf pan, pour the cooking liquid (six tablespoons of butter, anyone?) over, and stick it in the oven.  The potatoes, just scrubbed and quartered, go in to the casserole on top of the chops, and then that goes in the oven too.  I mix myself another drink and go back into the living room to finish Buffy.  (So okay, we also watch the third episode from the first season on DVD.  I’m obsessed, I’m going to come out and say it.  My parents are very patient with me, and with the first season the befuddlement factor is much reduced.)   Dinner, once it’s ready, is eaten off plates balanced on our laps in the living room.  Not very respectful of the dinner ritual, I’ll grant you, but very respectful of family tradition, and with us, TV-watching is a pleasurable communal event.  The pork chops came out just great.  They do taste just like Mom’s, only the meat itself is better – the chops are a good inch thick, and they’re moist and yummery.  The leeks are great too, very buttery, and since my folks don’t much eat leeks, there is the added pleasure of introducing them to something.  I’ve had a couple of vodka tonics and probably don’t appreciate the granacha (“don’t miss it!!!”) as much as I should, and of course JC would not recommend a red wine with pork, but it seems good enough.  It’s a perfect simple meal, produced with an absolute minimum of stress.  My mother says it’s the best pork chop she’s ever eaten.  Thanks mom. I am nearly as exhausted as my parents when we’re done, so we pull out the air mattress and get the train noise up and running.  I fall into bed a little drunk, not too full, and very pleased.  If only this part of my life was the paying part, I would be a very content girl. (Any food writing powerhouses or eccentric foodie millionaires who happen to be tuning in should feel free to take this as a hint....) 7:57:59 AM    comment []