Jamaican Jerk Pork Chops

Summer solstice. June 21. The longest day. Twenty hours of light. The sun refusing to set, circling the horizon like it's looking for a place to land and can't find one, the particular Alaskan summer madness where the light is so excessive it becomes its own kind of darkness — the darkness of too-much, the blindness of abundance, the body's confusion about time when the sun offers no boundaries.

I went to the Solstice Festival downtown — music, food trucks, the midnight sun hanging above the mountains like a lamp someone forgot to turn off. I brought lumpia — a batch of twenty, fried at home, transported in a paper bag, eaten by hand at the festival while a folk band played and the sun sat at 11 PM at a place in the sky that most of the world calls "morning." The lumpia were perfect. The festival was perfect. The light was too much and also exactly right.

Mia was there — Angela brought her, the toddler experiencing her first conscious Solstice Festival, the two-and-a-half-year-old overwhelmed by the noise and the light and the general Alaskan summer chaos. She held my hand and said, "Ate, bright." Bright. The word for the world. The world is bright. For Mia, at two, the world is always bright. The darkness hasn't happened to her yet. The darkness is years away. For now: bright. The bright is the whole vocabulary. The bright is enough.

I made inihaw na bangus on the balcony at 11 PM — the grilled milkfish, the summer classic, charred and stuffed with garlic and tomato, eaten in daylight that shouldn't exist but does, because Alaska, because summer, because the twenty hours of light that are the apology for the four hours of December.

Grilling at 11 PM in full daylight does something to you — it dissolves every rule you thought cooking had, every sense of when things are “supposed” to happen. The inihaw na bangus was already on the grate, charring in that particular way that makes the whole balcony smell like summer and fire, and I kept thinking about how char is its own kind of brightness — loud, unambiguous, unapologetic. These Jamaican Jerk Pork Chops carry that same energy: bold heat, deep smoke, a marinade that doesn’t hedge. Mia would say it’s bright. She wouldn’t be wrong.

Prep Time: 15 minutes (plus 2 hours marinating) | Cook Time: 14 minutes | Total Time: 2 hours 30 minutes | Servings: 4

Ingredients

4 bone-in pork chops (about 3/4 inch thick, roughly 8 oz each)
3 tablespoons olive oil
3 tablespoons soy sauce
2 tablespoons brown sugar, packed
2 tablespoons fresh lime juice
4 cloves garlic, minced
2 green onions, roughly chopped
1 Scotch bonnet or habanero pepper, seeded and minced (use 1/2 for less heat)
1 teaspoon ground allspice
1 teaspoon dried thyme
1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon ground black pepper
1/4 teaspoon ground nutmeg
1/4 teaspoon cayenne pepper
1 teaspoon kosher salt

Instructions

Make the jerk marinade. In a blender or food processor, combine the olive oil, soy sauce, brown sugar, lime juice, garlic, green onions, Scotch bonnet pepper, allspice, thyme, cinnamon, black pepper, nutmeg, cayenne, and salt. Blend until a mostly smooth, thick paste forms, about 30 seconds.
Marinate the pork chops. Pat the pork chops dry with paper towels. Place them in a zip-top bag or shallow dish and pour the jerk marinade over them, turning to coat all sides thoroughly. Seal and refrigerate for at least 2 hours, or up to overnight for deeper flavor.
Preheat the grill. Heat an outdoor grill or grill pan to medium-high heat (about 400°F). Lightly oil the grates to prevent sticking.
Grill the chops. Remove pork chops from the marinade, letting any excess drip off. Grill for 6 to 7 minutes per side, until nicely charred with visible grill marks and the internal temperature reaches 145°F on an instant-read thermometer.
Rest before serving. Transfer the chops to a clean plate and tent loosely with foil. Let them rest for 5 minutes to allow the juices to redistribute. Serve immediately with lime wedges and rice or grilled vegetables.

Nutrition (per serving)

Jamaican Jerk Pork Chops — Char and Light on the Longest Night