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Pork Chops Normandy — The Ham Hock That Carried Us Into the New Year

New Year 2021. Black-eyed peas. Cabbage. The ritual. But this year, Rémy made the black-eyed peas. By himself. With his cookbook open on the counter and his cast-iron skillet and a ham hock from the Christmas ham. He soaked the peas overnight (I reminded him — he would have forgotten) and simmered them all day and seasoned them with the instinct that doesn't come from cookbooks but from standing next to your father and your grandmother for four years of slow, patient, roux-by-roux apprenticeship.

2020 was the worst year and the best year, which is impossible and true. The worst: COVID, Mama's illness, the shutdown, the fear. The best: Rémy's dark roux. Mama's "bon." The cookbook journal. The therapy that is slowly, slowly, draining the Katrina room of its water. The business surviving. The family surviving. The gumbo surviving. Some years break you. Some years break you and then hand you a roux made by your nine-year-old son, and the roux is dark and perfect, and the breaking was worth it.

The ham hock Rémy used in those black-eyed peas came from the Christmas bone, and watching him work around it—patient, deliberate, like he’d been doing it for years—made me think about all the other ways pork anchors a Southern table. This Pork Chops Normandy recipe is what I turned to in the days after New Year’s, when the ritual had passed but the need for something slow and grounding had not. The apples and cream are a long way from a ham hock, but the cast iron and the patience are exactly the same.

Pork Chops Normandy

Prep Time: 10 minutes | Cook Time: 35 minutes | Total Time: 45 minutes | Servings: 4

Ingredients

  • 4 bone-in pork chops (about 3/4 inch thick)
  • 1/2 teaspoon salt
  • 1/4 teaspoon black pepper
  • 2 tablespoons butter
  • 1 tablespoon olive oil
  • 2 medium apples, peeled, cored, and sliced 1/4 inch thick
  • 1 medium yellow onion, thinly sliced
  • 2 cloves garlic, minced
  • 1/2 cup apple cider or dry white wine
  • 1/2 cup chicken broth
  • 1/2 cup heavy cream
  • 1 teaspoon fresh thyme leaves (or 1/4 teaspoon dried)
  • 1 tablespoon Dijon mustard

Instructions

  1. Season the chops. Pat pork chops dry with paper towels and season both sides generously with salt and pepper.
  2. Sear in cast iron. Heat butter and olive oil together in a large cast-iron skillet over medium-high heat until shimmering. Add pork chops and sear without moving, 3 to 4 minutes per side, until deep golden brown. Transfer to a plate and set aside.
  3. Soften the aromatics. Reduce heat to medium. Add onion slices to the same skillet and cook, stirring occasionally, until softened and translucent, about 5 minutes. Add garlic and cook 1 minute more.
  4. Add the apples. Nestle apple slices into the onion mixture and cook, stirring gently, until the apples begin to soften at the edges, about 3 minutes.
  5. Deglaze the pan. Pour in the apple cider (or wine) and scrape up any browned bits from the bottom of the skillet. Let it reduce by half, about 2 minutes.
  6. Build the sauce. Stir in the chicken broth, heavy cream, thyme, and Dijon mustard. Bring to a gentle simmer and cook, stirring occasionally, until the sauce thickens slightly, about 5 minutes.
  7. Finish the chops. Return the seared pork chops to the skillet, nestling them into the apples and sauce. Reduce heat to low, cover, and cook until the pork is cooked through and registers 145°F on an instant-read thermometer, 8 to 10 minutes.
  8. Rest and serve. Let the chops rest in the pan for 3 minutes before serving. Spoon apples and sauce over each chop.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 480 | Protein: 38g | Fat: 28g | Carbs: 16g | Fiber: 2g | Sodium: 420mg

Tommy Beaumont
About the cook who shared this
Tommy Beaumont
Week 191 of Tommy’s 30-year story · Baton Rouge, Louisiana
Tommy is a Cajun electrician from Thibodaux, Louisiana, who lost his home to Hurricane Katrina four months after his wedding and rebuilt his life one roux at a time. He grew up on Bayou Lafourche, fishing with his father Joey at dawn and eating his mother's gumbo by dusk. His crawfish boils draw the whole neighborhood, his boudin is made from scratch, and he stirs his roux the way Joey taught him — dark as chocolate, forty-five minutes, no shortcuts. Laissez les bons temps rouler.

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