They will be baked instead. But I never did that before so this is all virgin territory for me, which is fine since I'm a virgin. Shut up, I am. I evaded being bum-raped by that gang of marauding cowboys with guns bent on taking their pleasures and doing me carnal harm. Oh! Hang on, I remember now, I got out of that by waking up. That's right, thank God that was just a dream, a very upsetting dream. But then those ugly brutish cops that roughly knocked me around and cuffed me and tore down my pants and then had their sinister ways with me don't count because nightsticks do not make a proper bum-raping, so just drop it, I'm still quite upset about that. Oh wait, that wasn't me at all. I read that somewhere. Sorry. The false memory is so vivid for a minute there I thought that actually happened.
Man, I have got to lay off the ginkgo biloba.
The mixed panko and fresh homemade bread crumbs are seasoned unusually. They are loaded up with dry mixed Italian herbs, the cheap bulk kind that restaurants use, along with quite a lot of coriander because that is one of my favorite things, cayenne pepper, salt and cracked pepper, and brown sugar,which is the thing that I think makes it unusual.
I became fixed on the idea there should be a little oil in the breadcrumbs to assist in browning, but I do not know how much of the breadcrumb mixture will be used and the surplus cannot be stored if it has been oiled. So here's what is done: some of the breadcrumb mixture is lightly oiled, but not all of it. The amount of pork chops covered will help determine the of amount bread crumbs oiled for the second batch, thus minimizing waste of valuable breadcrumb resources with its mixture of dry herbs and brown sugar. As it turned out, there was no waste at all. See? That there is what you call foresight.
The chops are dried. Lightly dusted with flour to help the drench adhere, then dredged in the bread crumbs, then baked.
edit: D'oh. This photo was skipped.
I nailed this like a picture frame. No wait, nailier than that. I nailed this like a carpenter's cabinets. No wait, wait, wait, I nailed this like a dry-wall hanger nails paneling up in a Senator's library. No, wai, wai, wait, this is how I nailed it, I nailed this like Martin Luther's Ninety-Five Thesis. Bang! Nailed.
Okay, now that I've handled them and eaten one, these were not pork chops, but rather something closely resembling pork chops. I should dig out the package from the trash and look at it but I can't be arsed. These are unlike any chop-like pork thing I have ever eaten. I do believe it was the serious brining that cinched it. They are unbelievably moist and tender, and that uncharacteristic pork-chop texture is contrasted with delightfully light and crunchy coating that hits the mark precisely.
Originally I was going to spray the bread coating with Pam™, an aerosol vegetable oil marketed in the U.S., to help ensure browning of the bread coating, but I am glad I decided on drizzling oil in the breading instead. I never heard of anyone doing that but it seemed like a good idea. Like breaking cold butter pieces in a streusel topping.
I urge you to brine your pork chops next time around, and do consider coating them. I think the coating might help protect the meat but I am not certain about that. The difference here is that all the pork chops that I've ever had, the meat had seized during cooking, always fried. The meat fibers tighten to near jerky from intense heat. I've always liked them anyway. Occasionally I would have a tender bit, what would be the equivalent of the tenderloin portion of a t-bone steak if the pork chop were a beef t-bone, but then the other side, what would be the sirloin strip side, was inevitably much more tough. I never minded though. I always thought that is the nature of pork chops . One had to have a good set of teeth and a sturdy jaw to chow down on them. But now everything is changed. A whole new world of tender moist pork chops has opened before me.
If this plate, with its celeriac and shrimp salad, it's pineapple and mixed dried fruit compote topped with this tender and moist and yet crispy pork chop were served in a restaurant, the diners would be compelled to stand and applaud. The chef would be called out and kissed. The waiters would be tipped a handsome bonus.
Did I ever mention that once in the tumultuous days of my impetuous youth my mad cheffery skillz was actually applauded? I was twenty-two years old and all my friends are at least a decade my senior. That has ever been the pattern. There I was enjoying the hell out of myself messing around in the kitchen preparing veal scallopini, my compatriots milling about back and forth helping here and there then disappearing again back into the party while I stayed busy. My entire memory is of a few hours in the kitchen during the party and then finally enjoying the meal at the table with my friends. Mind, cooking is not my job and not my hobby. It is just something I wanted to learn, like a language. I never made scallopini before so it was fun trying it. It amazed me how fast it is. Just a dusting of seasoned flour and seconds in hot butter on each side. With a few broad pans going simultaneously within minutes there is a big pile of finished veal scallopini ready to be plated. Homemade icecream was the next major thing. The icecream was freezing outside. It was winter. I recall melting a chocolate bar onto a baking tray, chilling the tray in the snow to speed it and to keep pace with the dinner, then scraping the chocolate off the tray with a spatula into chocolate curls to top the ice cream. Never did that before either, nor since, come to think of it. There was also a very simple gravy from fond left in the pans and wine consolidated into one pan, and I made an ordinary tossed salad but with a few interesting unusual things, marinated artichoke hearts, orange pieces and the like, but with my own dressing which these individuals were not accustomed to seeing, and I suppose amusingly presumptuously daring from their point of view, coming from a capricious bloke like myself. I forget now what other vegetable was on the plate, undoubtedly something plain. When dinner was finished, if I'm remembering correctly, when the icecream was served, the diners at the table broke into spontaneous applause. They stood and cast their charmed and admiring gazes upon my scrawny frame. I turned red as a beet for I could not handle the burning warmth of glowing encomium and everyone all together looking at me. <--- ¶ = 100% of true. Now I could though, I've changed since then, I'd be inclined to go, "What? Is that all you got? All that for this?"
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