The pork chop and I.
I rarely make pork chops. The word tough comes to my mind when I think of pork chops.
But on Wednesday, on a whim, I picked up three beautiful looking pork chops at Whole Foods.
I remember sister Sue making the most delicious pork chops on the grill when she was but a college girl.
I figured the grill was the secret weapon.
So I fired up the grill,
Googled grilling times and seasoned the chops.
The grill was hot. 500 degrees. (It was ready. I preheat the grill with the top down but
I grill with the top open.)
I carefully placed the pork chops in the best place for perfect cooking, turned and went back in the house to check the time.
Five minutes later I went out to turn them over.
To my great distress the top was down.
I quickly lifted the cover and was greeted with flames and black chops.
I can not remember how much my pork chops cost.
I consider this a mercy.
It would torture me if I remembered, I'm afraid.
I can't remember a time I burnt the dinner to a crisp.
My chop with the lemon pepper was especially black.
Patrick salvaged some meat from the other two chops and was able to make a meal with other things in the house.
Katie ate yogurt.
I can't remember what I ate....
it seems that THAT memory has flown away with the memories of closing the grill top and how much they cost.
C'est le vie,