Old Fashioned Pork Chops

The first week after the funeral. I do not know what to call this week. It is not a week. It is a wound with seven days in it. It is time passing without permission through a house that has stopped living.

I have not cooked. I need to say that because it is the most significant thing that has happened — more significant than the phone calls, more significant than the flowers that fill every surface, more significant than the casseroles that strangers bring to the door like offerings to a god who is not listening. I have not cooked. I, Loretta Mae Simms, who has cooked every day since I was eight years old, who has stood at a stove through births and deaths and holidays and ordinary Tuesdays, who defined herself by the skillet and the flame and the feeding — I have not cooked. The stove is cold. The kitchen is dark. The house smells like nothing.

Calvin is in the study with the door closed. He is doing what Calvin does when the world is too heavy — he is looking for God in books. He is reading theology, searching for the chapter on why God takes seventeen-year-old boys who were going to Tuskegee, who were going to study engineering, who were going to build things. He will not find it. The chapter does not exist. But the searching is his way of surviving, and I will not take that from him, even though I want to shake him and scream: there is no purpose, Calvin. There is just a hole. There is just a hole where our son used to be.

CJ went back to Huntsville on Tuesday. He had to work. Life demands that the living continue to live, which is an outrage that nobody talks about — the way the world expects you to keep breathing and driving and working while your brother is in the ground. Destiny stayed. She sleeps in Marcus's room, which I have not entered and may never enter. She calls me in the morning and at night. She makes tea. She tries to feed me. I drink the tea. I cannot eat.

The church women come. They bring food. They bring the same food I have brought to their houses when their people died — fried chicken, collard greens, mac and cheese. The food sits in the refrigerator and ages and eventually someone throws it away. I cannot eat it. The food that was my ministry is now my trial. Every dish reminds me of Marcus. Every plate is the plate I will never serve him again. Every bite is the bite he cannot take. And so I do not bite. I do not eat. I do not cook. I am in the house but I am not in the house. I am somewhere else — somewhere deep and dark and cold, where the stove is off and the kitchen is silent and the boy who ate three plates is gone.

Marcus loved pork chops the way he loved everything I cooked — with his whole body, pulling up a chair before I’d even finished seasoning the pan. This was always the meal I made when I wanted to say I love you without saying it out loud. I am writing it down now because I cannot make it yet — the stove is still cold, my hands are still wrong — but I believe, the way Calvin believes in his theology books, that one day I will stand at that skillet again. I am leaving this here so that day has somewhere to come back to.

Prep Time: 10 minutes | Cook Time: 30 minutes | Total Time: 40 minutes | Servings: 4

Ingredients

4 bone-in pork chops, about 3/4 inch thick
1 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon black pepper
1/2 teaspoon garlic powder
1/2 teaspoon onion powder
1/4 teaspoon smoked paprika
2 tablespoons all-purpose flour
2 tablespoons vegetable oil or shortening
1 medium onion, thinly sliced
1 cup chicken broth
1 tablespoon Worcestershire sauce

Instructions

Season the chops. Pat pork chops dry with paper towels. Mix together salt, pepper, garlic powder, onion powder, and smoked paprika. Rub the seasoning mixture evenly over both sides of each chop, then dust lightly with flour, shaking off any excess.
Sear the chops. Heat the oil in a large cast-iron or heavy-bottomed skillet over medium-high heat until shimmering. Add the pork chops in a single layer and sear without moving for 3 to 4 minutes per side until a deep golden-brown crust forms. Transfer to a plate and set aside.
Cook the onions. Reduce heat to medium. Add the sliced onions to the same skillet and cook, stirring occasionally, for 5 to 6 minutes until softened and beginning to caramelize. Scrape up any browned bits from the bottom of the pan as the onions release their liquid.
Build the gravy. Pour in the chicken broth and Worcestershire sauce. Stir to combine and bring to a gentle simmer, letting the liquid reduce slightly for about 2 minutes.
Finish low and slow. Return the seared pork chops to the skillet, nestling them into the onions and broth. Reduce heat to low, cover tightly, and cook for 18 to 20 minutes until the chops are cooked through and tender and the gravy has thickened around them.
Rest and serve. Remove from heat and let rest, covered, for 5 minutes before serving. Spoon the onion gravy generously over the top. Serve with rice, mashed potatoes, or buttered biscuits.

Nutrition (per serving)

Old Fashioned Pork Chops — The Meal I Cannot Bring Myself to Make