Asian Pork Medallions

March. The final phase of the taper. The dose is 5mg — one quarter of the original — and next month it will be zero. The zero is the goal. The zero is the cliff. The zero is the place where the net disappears and the practice must hold me alone, without the chemistry, without the 20mg that has been my co-pilot for twenty-four years. The co-pilot is being dismissed. The pilot must fly solo. The metaphor is exhausting. The exhaustion is the taper.

I made sakura mochi for the spring equinox — the pink rice cakes, the cherry blossom leaves, the hope that is the season's default emotion. The hope was needed. The hope was genuine but thin, the way hope is thin when it is hope-despite-anxiety rather than hope-instead-of-anxiety. The anxiety is present. The anxiety has been my companion since I was fourteen years old and the medication has been the translator between us, making the anxiety's language comprehensible, reducing the volume from screaming to murmuring. Without the medication, the volume is increasing. The murmur is becoming a mutter. The mutter will become — what? A shout? A scream? A panic attack? I do not know. The not-knowing is the experiment. The experiment continues.

Cherry blossoms. Miya. The mouth open to petals. The annual gesture. The annual beauty. This year I stood under the trees and the beauty hit me harder than usual — the colors more vivid, the petals more beautiful, the tears closer to the surface — and the harder-hitting was the taper, the brain without its buffer, the emotions unfiltered, the world arriving without the chemical cushion that twenty-four years of medication had provided. The world is louder. The world is more beautiful. The world is more frightening. All three things. Simultaneously. The simultaneously is the being-alive without a net.

The sakura mochi was the ceremonial food — the pink, the petals, the ritual of the season. But after I made it, I needed something that would carry me through dinner without ceremony, something savory and grounding that asked nothing of me emotionally but still felt intentional. Asian Pork Medallions were exactly that: the flavors were familiar enough to be comforting, complex enough to keep my hands and my mind occupied, and — maybe most importantly — they tasted like something a person who was managing was capable of making. I needed to feel like a person who was managing.

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 20 min | Total Time: 35 min | Servings: 4

Ingredients

1 1/2 lbs pork tenderloin, sliced into 1-inch medallions
3 tablespoons soy sauce
2 tablespoons hoisin sauce
1 tablespoon sesame oil
1 tablespoon rice vinegar
2 teaspoons fresh ginger, grated
3 cloves garlic, minced
1 tablespoon honey
1/2 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes
2 tablespoons vegetable oil, for searing
2 green onions, thinly sliced, for garnish
1 teaspoon sesame seeds, for garnish

Instructions

Make the marinade. In a small bowl, whisk together soy sauce, hoisin sauce, sesame oil, rice vinegar, grated ginger, minced garlic, honey, and red pepper flakes until combined.
Marinate the pork. Place pork medallions in a shallow dish or zip-top bag. Pour half the marinade over the pork, turning to coat. Reserve the remaining marinade. Let the pork marinate for at least 10 minutes at room temperature, or up to 2 hours in the refrigerator.
Sear the medallions. Heat vegetable oil in a large skillet or cast iron pan over medium-high heat. Remove pork from marinade (discard used marinade) and sear medallions 3—4 minutes per side, until a deep golden crust forms and the internal temperature reaches 145°F.
Glaze and finish. Reduce heat to medium-low. Pour the reserved marinade into the pan and let it simmer 1—2 minutes, turning the medallions to coat them in the glaze as it thickens slightly.
Rest and serve. Transfer medallions to a plate and let rest 3 minutes. Spoon any remaining pan glaze over the top. Garnish with sliced green onions and sesame seeds. Serve over steamed rice or alongside stir-fried vegetables.

Nutrition (per serving)

Asian Pork Medallions — Cooking Through the Taper, One Equinox at a Time