With all of the home renovations I have found myself in quite the nesting mode. With the fifth season of Top Chef well underway, the cooking bug has bit me on the ass. My culinary skills are not too consistent, you won't be seeing me on season 6. This has all been compounded by our new found interest in expressing our Judaism. We have started having Shabbat dinner, since Thing 1 has started Hebrew school. We figure that no matter what, it is a nice family tradition. Not Zac thinks of it as a new food group to obsess about, Challah, too this too that. I now spend all Friday running around in preparation for the big event. Candles, Challah, blah, blah, blah.
What to make, what to create? I started a new tradition, each child gets to pick out what they want from the cook book.
Thing 2 goes first, salmon and noodles an Asian flair. Ok this seems doable. I've only made salmon once before but I will give it a whirl. The result is a moderate success. Couldn't really ask for more. Thing 2 thinks I'm awesome, yippee!
Thing 1 gets to pick. He flips through the magical cookbook as if the pages are speaking the magical words of Moses that helped him part the red sea. What does he land on, my 100% Hebrew school attendance child. PORK TENDERLOIN, with pineapple. Ok, now what? Does he understand what he is asking of me. I eat roast pork fried rice, spare ribs, chorizo, etc. I have never sat down and dove into a full sized piece of pork. I am not kosher, yet there are certain unwritten rules that I have never defied. I decide to give it a try, what's the worst that could happen? Grandma Yetta puts the fat thigh curse on me, already got it.
I need a butcher, this is not a supermarket purchase. I have multiple questions and requirements, I need the experience of the old country. I go to the place that Not Zac likes the hot dogs (his summer obsession). I scope out the display cabinets, I have no idea what I am looking for, the little signs aren't helpful. Finally its my turn, after the butcher finishes flirting with the elderly lady in front of me and complaining about some UES bitch on the phone. I ask for my pork tenderloin. The words barely make it past my lips. Am I really going to do this?
I head home with my well trimmed 2 pounds of the forbidden food. I start to prepare the marinade, I'm still ok. The time has come to rinse the pork loin. I repeat my can do it mantra, over and over and over. The room starts to spin, bile rises in my throat. I CAN DO THIS!!!!! Pork, its the other white meat. I coat the now cleaned by my own hands pork with the marinade. I put it on the the broiling pan that came with my stove 10 years ago. Now I have to turn on the broiler. This is where the big problem comes in. HOW? I push the button, nothing. I push it again, nothing. What the hell am I supposed to do, push more buttons. Finally I turn it on. The pork is supposed to be 4 inches from the flame, does that mean the pan or the actual pork? Crap! I decide to split the difference. What's that smell, oh that would be the smoke flames that are coming off of the devil's pork. All I can think of are my ancestors setting ablaze the evil meat.
After successfully charring the pork, I am ready to serve. I can't seem to get past the pork word. Spare ribs are spare ribs, fried rice the same, chorizo a different language. This is flat out, can't dress is up PORK.
My presentation is quite lovely, I used the top of the pineapple to plate, a trick my mother taught me. We dive in. Everyone keeps commenting on the pork. Do you like the PORK? I've never had PORK? Isn't it the other white meat? Is it healthy? That's it, I can't take it anymore. Can we stop talking about the PORK!!!!
The guilt of this meal is more than I can stand. I try to convince myself that it is ok, Thing 1 is beyond the moon that I made his pick. Inside I am pretty impressed that I actually pulled it off. I pray that the next pick is a non offensive pasta with olive oil. Thing 2 thinks if Pork challenge for a quick fire, I would do AWESOME!
It must be the devil's food, because I was tryign to read this post from my iPhone ... and it kept crashing it. Maybe Steve Jobs is Jewish and prohibits the word 'pork' on all iPhones?
Posted by: longwayfromny | February 16, 2009 at 01:52 PM
I cannot actually believe that you made PORK! That's a no, no in our family. Spare ribs and roast prok don't look like pig but PORK?
Well how was it? Did it taste good or did you gag? All I can think about is the 6 foot pig with the apple in it's mouth at Helen Eng's restaurant. We were grossed out by it.
Make sure that Avery doesn't go to Hebrew school and tell them he ate Pork for Shabbat. You'll b e banned from the temple.
Posted by: Mom | February 08, 2009 at 03:45 PM