Pork Chops and Noodles

The week after James. I've been floating. Not metaphorically — my body feels lighter, my cooking feels different, the apartment feels less empty even when I'm alone in it. This is infatuation and I know it's infatuation and I don't care, because infatuation is the beginning of something and beginnings are my specialty. I've been beginning for three years. I began Korean cooking, Korean language, Korean identity, Korean community. Now I'm beginning something else: a person. A person who makes soup and listens and didn't flinch.

We texted all week. Not constantly — we're both working adults with demanding jobs — but consistently. The texts were about food (mostly), work (some), and life (increasingly). I sent him a photo of my kimchi jjigae. He sent me a photo of his lu rou fan (Taiwanese braised pork over rice). I sent him a photo of my onggi pots. He sent a photo of his grandmother's tea set. We're communicating in the language of food, which is the most honest language I know.

On Wednesday he sent: "I want to cook for you again. What's your favorite Korean dish?" I said, "Kimchi jjigae." He said, "Challenge accepted." A Taiwanese man making kimchi jjigae for a Korean woman. The cross-cultural cooking. The bridge between two Asian cuisines, between two Asian-American identities, between two people who grew up between cultures and are now finding each other in the space between. The between is where we live. The between is where the good soup is.

Dr. Yoon asked about James. I told her — the meetup, the soup, the noodles, the five hours of talking. She said, "How does it feel?" I said, "Terrifying." She said, "Good terrifying or bad terrifying?" I said, "Good. The terrifying of opening a door you want to walk through but you're not sure the floor is solid." She said, "The floor has been solid for three years. You built it. Trust it." Trust the floor. Trust the three years of building. Trust the identity that is solid enough to hold another person. I trust it. I'm terrified. I trust it anyway.

This week's cooking was inspired by James: I made a fusion dish — kimchi lu rou fan. Korean kimchi stir-fried with Taiwanese braised pork, served over rice. The combination was extraordinary — the sour heat of the kimchi cutting through the rich sweetness of the braised pork, the two cuisines meeting in a bowl and discovering they were neighbors all along. Kimchi and lu rou fan. Korean and Taiwanese. Stephanie and James. The fusion is natural. The bridge was always there. We just needed to find the person standing on the other side.

Saturday: Bellevue. I didn't tell Karen and David about James. Not yet. It's too new, too fragile, too much mine to share yet. I brought japchae and smiled more than usual and Karen said, "You seem happy." I said, "I am happy." She didn't ask why. She just smiled back. The smile-to-smile exchange of a mother and daughter who trust each other enough to let happiness be uninterrogated. I'm happy, Mom. Just happy. Just beginning. Just kimchi jjigae and beef noodle soup and a man who didn't flinch. Just that.

Making kimchi lu rou fan this week felt like the truest thing I’d cooked in months — two cuisines reaching across a bowl and finding each other. This pork chops and noodles recipe is the dish I keep coming back to when I want that same feeling: rich, savory pork braised down into something tender and honest, ladled over noodles that soak up every bit of the sauce. It’s not Korean, it’s not Taiwanese, but it lives in that same between-space where the best cooking happens — the place where comfort doesn’t need a passport.

Prep Time: 10 min | Cook Time: 40 min | Total Time: 50 min | Servings: 4

Ingredients

4 bone-in pork chops (about 3/4 inch thick)
1 tablespoon neutral oil (such as avocado or canola)
1 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon black pepper
1/2 teaspoon garlic powder
1 medium yellow onion, thinly sliced
2 cloves garlic, minced
2 cups low-sodium chicken broth
1 tablespoon soy sauce
1 teaspoon Worcestershire sauce
1 teaspoon cornstarch dissolved in 2 tablespoons cold water
8 oz wide egg noodles, cooked according to package directions
2 tablespoons fresh parsley, chopped (for garnish)

Instructions

Season the pork. Pat pork chops dry with paper towels. Season both sides evenly with salt, black pepper, and garlic powder.
Sear. Heat oil in a large skillet or Dutch oven over medium-high heat. Add pork chops and sear 3–4 minutes per side until golden brown. Transfer to a plate and set aside.
Sauté aromatics. Reduce heat to medium. Add sliced onion to the same pan and cook, stirring occasionally, for 4–5 minutes until softened. Add minced garlic and cook 1 minute more, until fragrant.
Build the braise. Pour in chicken broth, soy sauce, and Worcestershire sauce, scraping up any browned bits from the bottom of the pan. Stir to combine.
Braise the pork. Return pork chops to the pan. Reduce heat to low, cover, and simmer 20–25 minutes until pork is cooked through and tender (internal temperature of 145°F).
Thicken the sauce. Remove pork chops. Increase heat to medium. Stir in cornstarch slurry and cook 2–3 minutes, stirring constantly, until sauce thickens to a glossy gravy.
Serve. Divide cooked egg noodles among four bowls. Lay a pork chop over each portion and spoon sauce generously over the top. Garnish with fresh parsley.

Nutrition (per serving)

Pork Chops and Noodles — The Bridge Between Two Cuisines