By A new year. 2020. The year sounds significant in a way that numbers sometimes sound significant before you know what they mean—a round number, a doubling of tens, a year that seems to announce itself as important just by existing. I am not superstitious about numbers but I am attentive to them, the way a cook is attentive to temperature and time without being enslaved by the clock. Pay attention. Adjust. Trust the process.
The black-eyed peas went on New Year's Day in the tradition that does not allow exceptions. CJ was still here—he stayed through New Year's Day, which was unexpected and welcome—and Destiny came for the day, and Travis came with Destiny, and I made the New Year's Day meal that Bernice made every New Year's Day of my life: black-eyed peas, collard greens, cornbread, ham. The peas for luck, the greens for money, the cornbread for gold, the ham because it's January and January needs ham. Travis ate everything and said his family made black-eyed peas the same way, which I took as a sign of something—of convergence, of the way the traditions of Black Southern families are not individual property but communal inheritance, the same meal eaten in a thousand kitchens for the same reasons.
My resolution this year, which I don't make as a New Year's resolution because I don't believe in those, but which I am making as an intention in the first week of January: to get Bernice's Table to fifty people. I said thirty would be impossible. I said forty would be impossible. Sister Agnes says I have a gift for setting impossible goals. I say the goals are possible, the obstacles are what seem impossible, and the obstacles are not, in the end, as permanent as they appear. Fifty. This year. This table. Fifty people fed on a Tuesday evening in Birmingham in the name of Bernice Simms. That's the intention. Watch me.
Bernice always said the ham was not negotiable—not a side note, not a suggestion, but the anchor that held the whole New Year’s plate together. Travis eating everything without hesitation, recognizing the meal the way you recognize a hymn you learned in a different church, reminded me that this food carries meaning beyond any one kitchen. I don’t always have a whole ham on hand, but pork in January is still the rule, and these herbed pork chops—juicy, savory, no-apology simple—are how I keep that tradition alive on an ordinary Tuesday when the fifty need feeding and the intention is set and the year is just getting started.
Moist Herbed Pork Chops
Prep Time: 10 minutes | Cook Time: 20 minutes | Total Time: 30 minutes | Servings: 4
Ingredients
- 4 bone-in pork chops (about 3/4 inch thick)
- 2 tablespoons olive oil
- 1 teaspoon dried thyme
- 1 teaspoon dried rosemary, crushed
- 1/2 teaspoon dried sage
- 1/2 teaspoon garlic powder
- 1/2 teaspoon onion powder
- 1/2 teaspoon salt
- 1/4 teaspoon black pepper
- 1/2 cup low-sodium chicken broth
- 1 tablespoon unsalted butter
Instructions
- Season the chops. Pat pork chops dry with paper towels. In a small bowl, combine thyme, rosemary, sage, garlic powder, onion powder, salt, and pepper. Rub the mixture evenly over both sides of each chop.
- Sear. Heat olive oil in a large skillet over medium-high heat until shimmering. Add pork chops in a single layer and sear without moving for 4–5 minutes until a golden crust forms. Flip and sear the other side for 3–4 minutes.
- Deglaze and finish. Reduce heat to medium-low. Pour in chicken broth and add butter. Cover the skillet and cook for 8–10 minutes, or until the internal temperature reaches 145°F, basting the chops once or twice with the pan juices.
- Rest before serving. Transfer chops to a plate and let rest for 5 minutes. Spoon the herbed pan drippings over the top before serving.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 310 | Protein: 32g | Fat: 18g | Carbs: 1g | Fiber: 0g | Sodium: 370mg