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Easy Grilled Pork Tenderloin — When the Fire Is the Only Thing You Can Control

Memorial Day. The third one since Clay enlisted. The first one with my son in a combat zone. The holiday hits differently when it's personal, when the flag on your porch isn't symbolic but specific, when the silence at noon isn't a moment but a prayer and the prayer has a name and the name is Clay.

I went to the cemetery again. The one in Lexington. Same rows, same stones, same dash between dates. But this year I wasn't just reading. I was bargaining. I was walking through the rows and saying, silently, to no one in particular: not my son. Not this name. Not this year. I know that every parent of every soldier in every grave had the same prayer. I know the prayer doesn't always work. I know the stones are evidence of its failure. But I prayed anyway because prayer is not about probability. Prayer is about necessity.

No cookout this year. Connie and I had a quiet day. I grilled steaks — two ribeyes, simply seasoned, because Memorial Day deserves good meat and because I needed the act of grilling, the fire and the sizzle and the direct, controllable production of something good. Steaks are satisfying because the outcome is clear: sear, rest, slice, eat. No ambiguity. No waiting. No seven-thousand-mile distance between the cook and the person he wants to feed.

Amber started her first nursing job this week. UK Hospital, medical-surgical floor. She's a registered nurse. RN. The letters after her name that Earl never had, that Betty never had, that I never had. The first Hensley with professional credentials. She called on Monday — her first shift — and she sounded exhausted and alive in the way that people sound when they're doing what they were made to do. She said "Dad, I saved a man from choking today. My first day. I saved a life on my first day." I said "That's my girl." She said "That's Betty's girl." She's not wrong.

I didn’t grill ribeyes this year because I wanted complexity — I grilled because I needed simplicity, and this grilled pork tenderloin is the same kind of recipe: direct heat, clean seasoning, a clear result. When everything else in your life is waiting and distant and out of your hands, there’s something right about standing over a fire and producing something undeniably, visibly good. Clay can’t eat it. Amber’s working nights. But Connie and I sat down together, and we ate, and the food was honest, and that was enough.

Easy Grilled Pork Tenderloin

Prep Time: 10 min | Cook Time: 20 min | Total Time: 30 min | Servings: 4

Ingredients

  • 1 1/2 lbs pork tenderloin (about 2 small tenderloins)
  • 2 tablespoons olive oil
  • 1 teaspoon kosher salt
  • 1 teaspoon black pepper
  • 1 teaspoon garlic powder
  • 1 teaspoon smoked paprika
  • 1/2 teaspoon onion powder
  • 1/2 teaspoon dried thyme

Instructions

  1. Preheat the grill. Heat your gas or charcoal grill to medium-high heat, around 400°F. Clean and lightly oil the grates.
  2. Prepare the pork. Pat the tenderloins dry with paper towels. Trim any excess silver skin. Rub all sides with olive oil.
  3. Season. Combine salt, pepper, garlic powder, smoked paprika, onion powder, and thyme in a small bowl. Coat the tenderloins evenly on all sides with the spice rub.
  4. Grill. Place tenderloins on the hot grill. Sear for 2–3 minutes per side, rotating to develop color on all sides, about 12–15 minutes total.
  5. Check for doneness. Remove from heat when an instant-read thermometer inserted into the thickest part reads 145°F.
  6. Rest. Transfer to a cutting board and tent loosely with foil. Rest for 5 minutes before slicing — this is not optional. The rest is what keeps it juicy.
  7. Slice and serve. Cut into 1/2-inch medallions on a slight diagonal and serve immediately.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 220 | Protein: 34g | Fat: 8g | Carbs: 1g | Fiber: 0g | Sodium: 480mg

Craig Hensley
About the cook who shared this
Craig Hensley
Week 165 of Craig’s 30-year story · Lexington, Kentucky
Craig is a retired coal miner from Harlan County, Kentucky — a man who spent twenty years underground and seventeen hours trapped in a collapsed tunnel before he was twenty-four. He moved his family to Lexington when the mine closed, learned to cook his mama Betty's Appalachian recipes from memory because she never wrote them down, and now he's trying to get them on paper before they're lost. He says "reckon" and "fixing to" and means both. His bourbon-glazed ribs are, according to his wife Connie, "acceptable" — which is the highest praise she gives.

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