Fried Pork Chops

A couple of weeks ago, I was planning my grocery shopping and asked my husband if there was anything he would like for dinner that night.  After some consideration, he proffered, “Fried pork chops.”

As soon as he said the words I was transported to my early childhood.  I had not yet started living with my grandparents, and on Fridays my Grandma would pick me up to spend the weekends with her.  Almost every Friday night, she would prepare one of my favorite meals: fried pork chops, white rice, and steamed sliced carrots.  Sometimes there would be Sunbeam dinner rolls served on the side.  There would always be a dessert, but they were overshadowed by the chops.  What I remember is how the smell of the pork chops frying would prick at my tastebuds and make my mouth water.  I would bob in and out of kitchen, looking at the bubbling grease and the frying chops, the bowl of flour to bread them.  I would notice how blood rose out of the bones as they fried, but I was not disturbed by this.  Instead, I marveled at the transformative power of cooking.

At last they would be ready, and I would sit at the table waiting to be awarded my plate. I would first grab my pork chop, bits of the crust flaking away.  I would devour every bit of meat and crust on it, suck the bone dry, maybe even try to dig out the gristle or marrow.  The salted crisp of the breading melted on my tongue, preparing the way for the tender pork processional from each bite.  Then I would stick forkfuls of rice into the crumbs so that they wouldn’t be wasted, mashing the sticky rice onto the plate so that no trace of the chop would be wasted.  I ate in a near frenzy of pure pork devotion.  It was one of my very favorite meals.

Years later, fried pork chops aren’t a food I have considered in a long time.  They are homely, and they take a little work.  I haven’t eaten them in over 10 years.  At some point when I was in high school my Grandma quit frying, because she was aging and it was painful for her to stand over the stove.  At that point fried pork chops faded from my gustatory repertoire.  But now, these chops demanded my consideration. I was confronted with the challenge of making them.  I knew it would not be as easy as I remembered.  For one, I have never understood how my Grandma achieved such a crisp crust on her fried foods using only flour.  No eggs, no milk, no soakers — nothing.

Knowing my own limitations, and also what works for me in the kitchen, I decided to change the preparation techniques a bit so that I would have results consistent with memory.  Even though I changed the way they were breaded and fried, I seasoned the chops traditionally.  To do so, I used a staple of my Grandma’s pantry, also a staple of mine:

Lawry’s Seasoned Salt.  In our house it went on pork and beef.  Not french fries, not chicken, not veggies.  Just pork and beef.  It’s the secret to Southern flavor, or at least how I remember it.  After seasoning the chops with Lawry’s, some pepper, and a whisper of cayenne, I soaked them in buttermilk.  Then, I dredged them in a flour and cornstarch blend and fried them in vegetable oil.  I wanted to achieve the salted tang the meat held in memory as well as a perfectly crisped crust.  The technique worked brilliantly.

To serve, I chose traditional veggie sides that would appear on my family’s table in summer.  I skipped the steamed sliced carrots in favor of corn on the cob, sliced cucumbers, and sliced tomatoes.  With veggies so fresh, there’s no need to have anything overcooked or very complex.  In a nod to my Grandma’s meals, I served white rice.

My husband and I ate the meal on our back porch, enjoying the breeze, the summer evening, the food.  We gnawed on pork chops and talked about how we remembered eating them.  His mom served them up with mashed potatoes.  Sounds good for winter.  Because, of course, I am already looking forward to making these again.  Some traditions need to be remembered and continued.

Do you have any homely, everyday family recipe traditions that you would like to continue? I’d like to hear about them. They don’t have to be fancy to be important.

I am submitting this recipe to July’s Family Recipes event, hosted by Shelby of The Life and Loves of Grumpy’s Honey Bunch and created by Laura of The Spiced Life.

Fried Pork Chops

• 4 bone-in pork chops
• Lawry’s Seasoned Salt
• freshly cracked black pepper
• a couple pinches of cayenne
• 1-2 C buttermilk (enough to cover chops)
• 2 C flour
• 2 T cornstarch
• vegetable oil for frying

Season pork chops on both sides with Lawry’s and black pepper.  On one side, sprinkle a pinch or two of cayenne pepper over the chops.  Place the chops in a baking dish that just holds the chops, then pour buttermilk over the chops to cover them.  It should take between 1 and 2 cups.  Let the pork chops rest for about 30 minutes while you prepare the breading and the oil.  Combine the flour and cornstarch on a plate or a shallow dish, stirring together with a fork.  Heat a 1/4″ of vegetable oil in a large skillet to 350º.  When the oil is hot, remove a chop from the buttermilk, shake off the excess liquid, then dredge both sides of the chop through the flour.  Fry the chops in a single layer for 5-7 minutes per side.  The chops will be golden, and the coating will bubble and crisp up.  If you have to fry the chops in two batches, be aware that they will cook a little quicker and darken faster.  Remove the chops to a rack or paper towel lined plate to drain.  Serve hot.  Leftover chops are delicious cold from the fridge and will keep for up to three days.  However, they are best eaten the next day.

Serves 4.

Fried Green Tomatoes

Late autumn at the farmers market may mean the end of heirloom tomatoes and the beginning of winter squash.  But, it also means lots and lots of green tomatoes that will never ripen.  I can’t resist fried green tomatoes.  Even though I grew up in the South, I never had a fried green tomato until I was in college.  They weren’t something that my family made.  Odd.  Well, I tried them at the first chance I got, and they are fantastic.  Very tangy and toothsome, with a crunchy exterior.  I love to serve them with Vidalia onion marmalade.  More good stuff there.  

When choosing green tomatoes, get the greenest, firmest tomatoes you can.  While even a yellow, half-ripe tomato will fry up nicely, the really green ones have the best texture and flavor.  Allow one tomato per person when meal planning – you’ll just have to fry in batches and make a little more batter.

Fried Green Tomatoes

 

• 4 green tomatoes, sliced 1/4″ – 1/2″ thick.
• canola oil for frying
• sea salt and freshly ground black pepper
• 1 1/2 C flour
• 1 egg
• 1/4 C milk
• 1/2 C corn meal
• 1 tsp pimentón (smoked paprika)

Slice the tomatoes between 1/4″ and 1/2″ inches thick, to get three or four slices out of each tomato.  Season them with salt and pepper and lay aside on a plate.  Now, set up your frying station.  Lay three bowl out on your counter, near your stove.  In the first bowl, add a cup of flour.  In the second, whisk the egg and the milk together.  In the third, add the remaining flour, the cornmeal, and the paprika.  Stir this last mix together with a fork to combine well.  Also place a wire rack with a couple paper towels under it to the side of the burner.  Heat 1/2″ of canola oil in a large skillet over medium-high heat.  While it heats, go ahead and dredge each tomato in the plain flour.  When the oil is hot, dip the tomato slices in the egg mixture, then dredge in the corn meal mix.  Lay in the pan.  Continue until you have a single layer of tomatoes in the pan, but do not overfill so the oil stays hot.  Fry until the tomatoes take on a light golden color.  Flip and fry just a bit longer until both sides are a light golden color.  Remove to the rack to drain.  Continue frying until all the tomatoes are done.  Season with a dusting of salt and pimentón.  Serve with a fresh tomato chutney or salsa or sweet onion marmalade.

Serves 4.

Zesty Fried Okra

Growing up in the South with a Grandma who ran a traditional kitchen, I had the pleasure of eating a lot of fried vegetables.  In fact, most veggies either got the breaded-and-deep-fried treatment or the boiled-to-a-khaki-mush business.  Clearly, I preferred the former.  Now, however, I have learned that my arteries will really hate me later on if I continue to enjoy all these fried delights.  I generally abstain from frying, but sometimes I crave fried foods.  It’s comfort food.  In moderation, there’s no reason not to enjoy fried veggies once in a while.  However, I’ve wanted to shift the focus from the fried veg as an integral part of the meat-and-three combo to a small first course.  A small amount of fried okra, say, with a lovely tomato and onion chutney served on the side makes a great appetizer for sharing.  It also satisfies that craving for crunchy-delicious fried food!

A general note about this batter: I don’t like to cook with eggs, but I gave in when preparing the batter for this okra.  Let me say I am converted.  If you avoid eggs, use egg beaters, but don’t gip this batter.  It’s perfect and incredibly crunchy.

Zesty Fried Okra

 

• 2 C okra, in 1/4-1/2 inch slices
• 1 C buttermilk
• 1 egg
• 2 T Louisiana hot sauce
• 1/2 C panko (Japanese bread crumbs)
• 1 C flour
• 1 T paprika
• 1/2 tsp. garlic powder
• sea salt and freshly ground pepper
• Canola oil, for frying

In a bowl, whisk the egg into the buttermilk and hot sauce.  Add the okra, and let is soak for 20-30 minutes.  In a separate bowl, mix together the panko, flour, paprika, and garlic powder.  Season with salt and pepper.  In a large skillet, heat 1/2 inch of canola oil.  When the oil is hot, remove okra from the buttermilk with a slotted spoon.  Toss them in the panko mixture, then add them to the skillet.  You may have to fry in batches – be careful not to overcrowd the skillet or the temperature of the oil will drop, making the okra greasy.  The okra should fry for about 3-4 minutes.  Remove from the skillet when they okra have taken on a light golden-brown color.  Drain on a wire rack with paper towels underneath.  Sprinkle lightly with salt and serve with tomato and onion chutney.

Serves 6.

Country Captain: A Southern Classic

Recently, I enjoyed a meal at Mama’s Boy – a new-ish local restaurant specializing in Southern fare.  Jeremy ordered the Country Captain with tofu, and it was certainly different than I expected.  Instead of the zesty, tomato-ey goodness of what I’m familiar with, it was creamy and sweet.  It was warm with curry, but the flavor was softened with coconut flakes and milk.  Good, but not for me.  Since he had never enjoyed the original version of the dish, I dug out my old recipe for it and made mine tonight.  This is a very traditional dish, and when it cooks I remember the aromas that would waft out of my grandmother’s kitchen.  As the onions and bell peppers cook together with the tomatoes, I remember summers in which every meal featured those vegetables from our garden.  The frying chicken, the white rice – these are all flavors that recur throughout my memories of Grandma’s cooking.  This is a little spicier than most of her fare, but it doesn’t fail to remind me of some of my favorite meals.  Even though the dish is served hot, is a little spicy, and a little stewed, the fresh ingredients and flavors make it a summer dish through and through.  

This recipe is very versatile.  Once you’ve learned the technique (fry lightly floured chicken, saute veggies to make a sauce, simmer chicken in sauce), you can make substitutions to accomodate your tastes.  Jeremy prefers white meat chicken, so rather than fry up a cut-up chicken with skin (chicken thighs alone would also be dreamy in this dish) I opt for boneless-skinless breast meat.  I really can’t imagine eating this without tomatoes, but you could add squash or zucchini instead of bell peppers.  Heat is adjustable, so play with curry powder, garam masala, cayenne, hot sauce.  No currants?  No problem!  Just use sultanas or raisins.  

Country Captain

• 1 C flour
• 2 T paprika
• 3 boneless, skinless, chicken breasts (about 1.25 lbs of chicken)
• sea salt and fresh ground black pepper
• extra virgin olive oil
• 1 white onion, chopped
• 1 green bell pepper, seeded and chopped
• 2 garlic cloves, chopped
• 1 4.5 oz jar sliced mushrooms, drained
• 1/2 T curry powder
• 1 T thyme, stripped from stems and chopped
• 1 T parsley, chopped
• 1 28 oz can diced tomatoes
• scant 1/4 C dried currants
• chicken stock
• 2 C white rice
• 4 C water
• 1 T butter
• sliced almonds 
• 2 scallions, sliced

Cut chicken into bite size chunks and season with salt and pepper.  Combine flour and paprika in a shallow dish.  Coat chicken with flour mixture.  Heat 2-3 tablespoons of oil in a large skillet over medium-high heat.  When oil is hot, add chicken and brown on all sides.  When chicken is browned, remove to a plate.  Add 2-3 more tablespoons of oil to the pan, then stir in the onion, bell pepper, garlic, and mushrooms.  Salt and pepper to season the veggies and keep them from sticking to the pan.  Reduce heat slightly, and cook until tender – about five minutes.  Add curry, thyme, parsley, tomatoes, and currants.  Mix thoroughly, then add the chicken back to the pan.  Add chicken broth until the liquid in the pan covers the chicken.  Cover and reduce heat to low.  Simmer for thirty minutes, or until chicken is fork tender.

Meanwhile, add four cups of water to a medium saucepan.  Season with salt and add butter.  Bring to a boil, add the rice, and reduce heat to low.  Cook for 20 minutes, or until all liquid is absorbed. (While everything simmers away, make a salad, some cornbread, or some sweet tea).  To serve, mound rice into a shallow bowl or a plate.  Spoon the Country Captain over and around the rice, making sure to get veggies, some sauce, and plenty of chicken.  Garnish with scallions and sliced almonds.  

Serves 4, or 2 with wonderful leftovers.

Spaghetti with Cherry Tomatoes, Garlic, and Fresh Herbs…plus Southern Table Wine.

 

I’m quite serious about this.  In the time it takes to cook spaghetti al dente, you can create a simple, uncooked sauce for it that requires about the same amount of effort as opening the phonebook, ordering takeout, and paying the delivery guy when he finally arrives an hour later.  This is another great meal for cleaning out the pantry: while tonight I used spaghetti, I often use spaghettini or angel hair.  I also used some Greek oregano from my herb garden, but any fresh herb that you enjoy will work well (the basil in the fridge was a little too wilty).  Marjoram is my favorite, and basil comes in third behind the oregano.  Parsley would be OK, too.  You could use garlic or chili infused oil instead of extra-virgin olive oil, toss in some olives – there are dozens of possible variations.  The idea is to keep the sauce simple, flavorful, uncooked, easy….So easy, that I decided to satisfy my sweet tooth by whipping up a pitcher of the table wine of the South – recipe included, also.

Spaghetti with Cherry Tomatoes, Garlic, and Fresh Herbs

 

• 1/2 pound of spaghetti
• 12 oz. cherry tomatoes
• 1 T fresh oregano, marjoram, or basil
• 1 clove garlic, peeled but not crushed
• ~ 6 T extra virgin olive oil
• ~ 2 T red wine vinegar
• sea salt and fresh ground pepper, to taste

 

Fill pot with water, and cook spaghetti according to directions in salted water.  While waiting for the water to boil, get on with your sauce.  Working into a shallow pasta serving bowl, slice the cherry tomatoes in half.  Next, slice the garlic as razor thin as you can get it.  You want the flavor but no overly sharp flavor as the sauce is raw.  Tear the leaves of your herb of choice off their stems.  If they are large, rip them into smaller pieces – bruise them a bit to get the oils working.  Dress the tomatoes, garlic, and herbs with the olive oil and vinegar, then sprinkle over your salt and pepper.  When the spaghetti is al dente, drain it well in a colander, and then quickly transfer it to your serving bowl.  Toss it well with your sauce, and serve with slices of a crusty baguette.  Serves 2, with not a bite left over.

Sweet Tea

 

• 2 family-size iced tea bags (my family uses Tetley, so I can’t imagine deviating from this plan)
• 2 C water, plus more to fill your pitcher
• 1 C sugar (you could reduce this a bit, even down to 1/2 C, but we’re talking perfection here)

Great tea is all about technique, and every family has their own way of making it.  As I’ve been taught, and I assure you this stuff is magnificent, you begin by making a strong syrup.  In a small saucepan, combine the cup of sugar, two cups of water, and the tea bags.  Heat over high heat, stirring occasionally to dissove the sugar, until it arrives at a rolling boil.  If you add the sugar after you have a pitcher of tea, it will never dissolve properly, and you will end up using far more sugar than is necessary.  Immediately remove from heat and allow the bags to steep for 5 to 10 minutes.  Remove the tea bags, and press them against the side of your pitcher, allowing all the syrupy goodness to run out.  Pour the remaining syrup into the pitcher, then fill with cold water.  Stir to mix well, and refrigerate.  Or pour over ice and guzzle.  Just don’t ruin it with mint or lemon.  

Makes 2 quarts of pure nectar.  

I will probably be excommunicated from the South by publishing our secret.