Weeknight Dinner: Pork Chops with Mustard and Tarragon

When I first started writing Weeknight Dinner, it was because I knew that few areas of content were as of interest to readers as an answer to the perennial question of what to make for dinner tonight. From the first word, I’ve tried to write Urban Home Blog in its own distinctive voice. Among the things that has meant is that if I’ve lived or am living it, I write it. For me this is the essence of lifestyle writing. It was natural to write Weeknight Dinner, because I myself had, and have, to address the question every night. Now, with a second household, John and I often have to fend for ourselves at dinnertime. As our lives are evolving, so is Urban Home Blog. We still have to contend with weeknight dinner, and while I have no intention of retiring this popular feature, a new area has emerged on Urban Home Blog: Cooking for One.

Whoever you’re feeding, what to have for dinner is among the fundamental questions not just of homekeeping but of existence. It hit me, as it hits so many of us, when I first got out on my own. I had been a cook for a while -- albeit with those skills having rusted through years of grad school and work when I was often too busy to eat, let alone cook -- but still the sight of my first kitchen was as much of a shock to me as it is to any newly minted grown-up. That kitchen was in the back of a classic five on the top floor (five flights if you counted the stoop which, as they quip in Barefoot in the Park, we counted) of a Brooklyn brownstone. This was at a time when living in Brooklyn was just beginning to have cachet and we who were starting homekeeping there did so because it was accessible and affordable. For several months as we managed with two folding chairs, a thrift shop table, and a boxed kitchen set from Ikea, I re-taught myself how to cook.

Thanks to my grandmothers, I had a good background with which to step into the kitchen, but among the pleasures of city living is exposure to the span of culture, and that certainly includes food and drink. I still remember the first time I tried sushi, and curry, and pierogi, and a martini. I navigated the city from restaurants when I could afford them to bars as both a patron and an entertainer. And the markets! Then as now, being in the know about ingredients was a badge a New York City cook earned as they navigated the streets from specialty market to specialty market. To this day I buy pasta from Rafettos, chocolates from Li-Lac, cheese from Murray’s, coffee from McNulty’s, bagels from Bagels on the Square.

Learning about food at the hands of both chefs and shopkeepers is a great way to learn to cook, especially if you position some gifted home cooks in their proper place at head of the class. I tried to turn each bite or sip I had in the playground (plateground?) of New York City into a lesson for my own kitchen. I doubt I would have so articulated it at the time, but I was positioning myself to learn from the best. A restaurant called Euzkadi – still one of my favorites -- hired a bunch of us art students to paint the wall décor and provided us food and wine in exchange for the work. Those tapas made me want to learn how to cook Basque food. A boss at an early job took me for my first power lunch at Keens, where both the experience and the beef were rare pleasures. From that, I was inspired to learn how to grill beef and cream spinach. To this day, both of these places remain New York City favorites.

I also learned that those home cooks who had been teaching their willing student had served me well. Aside from John, a Southern boy right down to the breakfast grits and holiday ham, liking my cooking, I found that few things brought guests to the table like American home cooking. Here there is no more fortunate turn of events than having an Oklahoma farmstead grandmother and actually paying attention to what she has to teach. I made Salisbury steak and banana cream pie and chicken tenders and meatloaf and macaroni and cheese and sheet cakes and mashed potatoes and my own ice cream. When I invited people over there wasn’t a scraping left in any bowl, a crumb left on any plate. Both having this repertoire and its popularity at table is why American home cooking is so well represented at Urban Home Blog; just look for the Grandma’s Kitchen tag.

This brings us to this month’s weeknight dinner, for no meal more exemplifies the classic American dining room than the pork chop. We eat them pan fried with a crispy coating, roasted with apple stuffing, braised with onions and peppers, grilled with bacon, slow-baked in milk. We eat them with everything from applesauce to fennel salad, from glazed carrots to buttered green beans. Whether it is a Jersey-thick landing on a diner’s blue plate or Mom’s Tuesday night special, pork chops are the official mascot of American mid-week dinnertime.

It turns out that the humble pork chop’s role as star of the (presumably foolproof) weeknight dinner is somewhat ironic, for pork is a quality meat and while it is not difficult to cook a good pork chop, it requires a deftness of touch. As I learned how to prepare pork chops, I ran into the same trouble that home cooks often do: meat that is too dry and sinewy to be edible or too moist and pink for comfort. I tried everything. I brined pork chops in anything from apple cider to salt water. I flash fried pork chops and then finished them in the oven. I bought a counter-top grill and a cast iron skillet and an electric frying pan, all in support of landing a good-tasting pork chop onto a plate.

As one might expect, both John and I liked my Oklahoma grandmother’s method of preparing pork chops, which was to have the butcher cut them thin, dredge them in seasoned flour, fry them up quickly, and serve them by the stack with cream gravy. I remembered that my French grandmother prepared pork chops so that they were served beautifully seared and golden but moist. After investigating family notes and French cooking literature, I pieced together my interpretation of “la méthode parfaite.” Pork chops are quickly seared in the skillet and then slowly braised in wine, to be served with a quick mustardy pan sauce and a flourish of fresh herbs. Variations on this preparation are common in French home kitchens, and like all French home cooking, it is simultaneously elegant and satisfying. Most importantly, it is simple and special, and that is how weeknight dinner should be. For if all of those meals from card table to a continent between us has taught John and I anything, it is the pleasure and privilege of being together at dinnertime.

PORK CHOPS WITH MUSTARD AND FRESH HERBS

Any number of cuts will be labeled “pork chop,” so whether you’re at the grocery store or the butcher, ask for pork loin or pork top loin chops. They should be of uniform thickness, typically ¾ inch, with firm, pink flesh that displays no discoloration or off odor. In our urban home we prepare this recipe with bone-in chops, but it will work for boneless if you adjust both the searing and the braising times accordingly. For Urban Home’s recommendation on a non-stick skillet, click here.

2 center-cut pork chops or pork fillets, 6 – 8 ounces each
1 bunch fresh thyme
Freshly ground black pepper
¼ cup dry vermouth
Granulated sugar
Extra virgin olive oil
2 tablespoons Dijon mustard
1 bunch fresh tarragon
Coarse salt for the plate (gray sea salt works well)

1. Place a non-stick skillet on a back burner of the stove top. Add a two count of extra virgin olive oil and a pinch of granulated sugar. Turn the heat to low. Swirl the oil and sugar across the bottom of the pan and place the pan on the burner. Preheat the pan on low while you prepare to cook.
2. Rinse the tarragon and set aside to drain on a double layer of paper toweling.
3. Unwrap the pork chops and pat them dry with a paper towel. Place the chops on a plate. Season both sides of the chops with several grindings of fresh pepper. Cover the plate and set aside while the skillet continues to heat, typically ten minutes.
4. After ten minutes, use heat-safe plastic tongs to gently lay the chops onto the surface of the hot oil, being careful of possible flare-ups. Use the handle to gently shake the pan side to side so that the chops move side to side in the oil. Cook the chops, uncovered and undisturbed, on low heat for 7 minutes.
5. Measure out the vermouth and place it with the mustard near the stovetop.
6. After 7 minutes, use the heat-safe plastic tongs to gently lift the chops for inspection. The surface that just cooked should be golden brown and fragrant; if it is not, cook for an additional minute or two.
7. Carefully use the heat-safe plastic tongs to turn the chops so that the uncooked surface is now contacting the hot oil. Gently distribute the thyme across the pan.
8. Carefully pour the vermouth in a thin stream down one side of the pan. It will bubble and steam but should settle fairly quickly.
9. Cover the pan with a tight-fitting lid.
10. Braise the chops, undisturbed (no peeking unless you smell something burning) for 10 minutes.
11. While the chops braise, place the chopped tarragon on a clean cutting board reserved for vegetables. Beginning with the top of the bunch and working downwards, use a sharp knife or an herb chopper to chop enough fresh tarragon to nicely dress two plates. Wrap the remainder of the tarragon in a paper towel and place the wrapped tarragon in a plastic bag. Refrigerate the remaining tarragon for another usage.
12. After ten minutes, remove the lid. The chops should be very fragrant with a shiny caramelized surface. Use the tongs to gently gather and discard the thyme. Use the tongs to transfer the chops, caramelized side up, to dinner plates.
13. Working quickly, turn the heat to high. The pan juices should bubble and steam. Measure the mustard into the pan and swirl it into the pan juices using a silicon spatula. The sauce will thicken almost instantly; stir until it silken, and then turn off the burner and remove the pan from the heat.
14. Spoon sauce over each chop; decant any left over for the table.
15. Finish the plate with a light sprinkling of coarse salt and minced tarragon. Serve immediately.