pork tenderloin

It is ridiculous to use expensive Brittany sea salt for brining but it is all that I have right now. Presently I am out of kosher flake salt, which is my preference. The advantage of the sea salt is its mineral content which you can actually see with your own eyes. These minerals will contribute significantly to the final brined meat. 

Ordinarily one heats the brine to dissolve the salt, but I do not like doing that because the liquid must then be cooled. Instead I whirl it violently at top speed with an immersion blender to knock it into dissolution. It is more fun. This was to see if it would actually dissolve without heating, before the flavor seeds were added. That was fun too. 

Cumin seeds on the left ↑ and fennel seeds on the right. They look identical, but, boy, do they ever taste different. I like the weirdness of fennel. It is an unusual thing to include. As described in an earlier post, each coriander ball is actually two seeds. Those balls can be broken apart to speed germination. It is a survival technique of the plant to spread germination over seasons. Lots of plants do this, protect the seed with a extra hard coating that takes seasons to deteriorate and allow water to enter. 

The silver skin is removed. It will not dissolve no matter how long it is cooked. It is the stuff of violin bows, or was at one time. There is an elegant way to do this by aiming the blade upward and scraping the silver skin, not cutting the meat, as you can see ↓ I am a total spaz at this. Always have been. There is no hope for me. 

The Joy of Brining Nearly anything can benefit from brining: shrimp, pork, and particularly poultry. Molecularly, brining introduces a disequilibrium in concentrations between two solutions separated by semipermeable membrane. One is highly concentrated with NaCl, the other is not. Here is my explanation to brining, do with it what you will. And when you are done if you should bother at all, make up your own explanation, see if I care. The two solutions attempt to equalize all on their own by chemical reaction. That means the salty solution dilutes naturally by pulling less salty water out of the meat through the membrane, so at the very beginning this chemical tug-of-war water is drying the meat being brined, but that causes an immediate pressure differential between sides of the membrane so water is pulled right back in. Salty water is pulled back in. Salty water with extra junk in it. Flavor agents that you put in there on purpose. This back and forth continues, speeded by the pathways established by molecular activity, and by the pure magic that is osmosis which is made possible by the cohesiveness of the H2O molecule. That molecular cohesiveness has all to do with the different strengths of atomic bonds, covalent, ionic among others not important to this discussion. (Confused? Allow me to recommend web search [+"atomic bonds" +"for dumb asses who didn't pay attention in class"] no offense intended). This is the same impressive cohesiveness that allows water molecules to enter a plant's root system and be drawn upward through its trunk and stems via its xylem and phloem, its veins if you like, outward to its upper branches and twigs and leaves, even plants so tall as California redwood, and then finally, exit by evaporation through its tippy-topmost needle or leaf. It is a thing of real beauty, it is. But here, with brining, water is merely going back and forth through meat membrane in a dish, nothing so poetic as trees and nature and the stunning California coastal landscape. So what? So salty water goes back and forth, BFD. Why does that make a difference in tenderness and moisture retention in cooked meats? Here is the key to understanding brining. When salt enters the meat it destroys the meat fibers, and a bit like a rag mop, it changes the meat to hold more water, more salt, more flavor agents. The meat does lose moisture when it cooks, but it is holding more to begin with than it otherwise would have without brining, and it has become more tenderized in the process. It also tastes saltier. You can correct that in large degree by soaking the meat in clear water briefly so that reverse brining occurs. At that point, the meat is already damaged and already holding more water than normal, so the salt concentration will attempt to equalize without sacrificing water volume inside the meat fibers. Beware, one can go too far with this. Ta daaaaaaaaaaaaaa. * salaams elaborately*  Curtain closes.

Phase One is complete. The tenderloin roast has brined for hours. It could have benefitted with more time in the brine, but today it was rushed. This will protect the roast from drying even if it is slightly overcooked, but best to not overcook it at all. An internal temperature of 150℉ / 65℃ is a good target temperature for this sort of thing. (This roast went slightly beyond that.) 

I still do not have the blade glued yet on the coffee grinder so I dug out this mini Cuisinart. It is not a very useful little machine but it did an admirable job in processing rosemary and sage together. It screams obnoxiously. 

Herbs mixed with olive oil in a bread pan, the roast is rolled in the oil. 

The roast is seared before baking. 

Onions and carrots is what I had on hand. Plus packaged dried fruit; cherries, cranberries, dates, and smoked sun-dried tomatoes. The roast is covered with aluminum foil and the moisture under the makeshift lid rehydrates the dried fruit and vegetables. 

Closeup before the pan went into the oven ↓.

Fruit and vegetables separated after roasting ↓.

The pan was already deglazed from the moisture released by the roast and contained by the aluminum foil lid. The remainder of the tiny bottle of white zinfandel was added anyway to supplement the liquid in the pan. The dates virtually disintegrated but not entirely. 

The combination of excessive spices mixed with the concentrated flavors of dried fruit and vegetables is outstanding, exotic, and intense. This might not be for everybody. I can hear objections. The thing is, there is not time enough for the flavors to amalgamate homogeneously, and I wouldn't want that anyway.  There is a unifying flavor, but no single reliable taste to trust. Each forkful does taste a little bit different so one doesn't quite know what to confidently expect with the next forkful. I happen to love that, but I can see (and hear) how others might (and do) object.  If I were to make this for company, and I have, then I would tone it down a bit by sticking to a single herb, a single fruit, and common ordinary knowable vegetables. This by contrast is a rather sophisticated but still riotous carnival in the mouth.