Fourth of July. The holiday that is both the best and worst day of the year in the Abernathy house.
Best because: America. We are a military family. The flag is not decoration; it's what Dad served under for twenty-two years, what his father served under, what his grandfather served under. We fly it on the front porch and it's not performative. It's personal.
Worst because: fireworks. We don't do fireworks. We haven't done fireworks since Dad came back from Kandahar. The sound — the sudden boom, the crack, the whistle — sends him somewhere we can't follow. The first Fourth after he came home, someone in the neighborhood set off a mortar-style firework and Dad hit the ground in the backyard. Just dropped. Muscle memory from a place where loud booms meant people were about to die.
So we adapted. We close the windows. We turn up the TV. Dad wears noise-canceling headphones that Mom bought him — the good ones, Bose — and they help, but you can see him flinch when a big one goes off. You can see the effort it takes him to stay in the present, in the living room, in Norfolk, Virginia, and not go back to the road outside Kandahar where two of his friends died.
I hate the Fourth of July and I love it. I hate what it does to my father. I love what it means to my family.
We barbecued. Dad grilled ribs — his spareribs, which are the one thing he insists on cooking himself. He has a rub: brown sugar, paprika, chili powder, garlic powder, onion powder, cumin, salt, pepper. He mixes it in a bowl and rubs it into the meat with his hands and then slow-grills them over indirect heat for three hours, basting with a sauce that's ketchup, apple cider vinegar, brown sugar, and Worcestershire. The ribs are stupid good. I mean it — stupid good. The meat falls off the bone and the outside is caramelized and slightly charred and the sauce is sweet and tangy and my father stands at the grill with his tongs and his noise-canceling headphones and he looks peaceful, which is not a word I associate with Dad often.
Grilling is his version of what cooking is for Mom. It's the place where the world gets small enough to manage. You can't control the fireworks. You can't control the memories. But you can control the temperature of the grill and the timing of the baste and whether the ribs are done.
Mom made coleslaw and baked beans and cornbread. We ate on the back porch. The neighbors' fireworks started at dusk and Dad went inside, headphones on, and watched a baseball game. Mom went with him. I stayed on the porch and watched the sky explode with color and thought about all the families in all the base housing all over the country sitting just like this — celebrating and accommodating, barbecuing and coping, loving their country and carrying its costs.
Happy Fourth. Pass the ribs.
Dad’s spareribs are his, and I would never try to replicate them — that rub, that baste, those three slow hours belong to him and no one else. But when I cook for my own family on the Fourth, I reach for something that carries the same spirit: pork, a sweet and tangy sauce, and something warm and bready on the side to soak it all up. This pork tenderloin with strawberry-plum sauce and herbed biscuits is my version of that back-porch meal — a little dressed up, a little summery, and made with the same intention Dad brings to his grill every year. It’s not his recipe. It’s the one I make while thinking of him.
Pork Tenderloin with Strawberry-Plum Sauce and Herbed Biscuits
Prep Time: 20 minutes | Cook Time: 35 minutes | Total Time: 55 minutes | Servings: 4
Ingredients
- For the Pork Tenderloin:
- 1 1/2 lbs pork tenderloin (1 large or 2 small), trimmed
- 1 teaspoon kosher salt
- 1/2 teaspoon black pepper
- 1/2 teaspoon smoked paprika
- 1/2 teaspoon garlic powder
- 1 tablespoon olive oil
- For the Strawberry-Plum Sauce:
- 1 cup fresh strawberries, hulled and halved
- 2 ripe plums, pitted and roughly chopped
- 2 tablespoons brown sugar
- 1 tablespoon balsamic vinegar
- 1 shallot, finely minced
- 1 teaspoon fresh thyme leaves
- Pinch of salt
- For the Herbed Biscuits:
- 2 cups all-purpose flour
- 1 tablespoon baking powder
- 1/2 teaspoon salt
- 6 tablespoons cold unsalted butter, cut into small cubes
- 3/4 cup cold buttermilk
- 1 tablespoon fresh rosemary, finely chopped
- 1 tablespoon fresh chives, finely chopped
Instructions
- Preheat & prep. Preheat your oven to 425°F. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper for the biscuits and set a cast-iron skillet or oven-safe pan over medium-high heat.
- Season the pork. Pat the tenderloin dry with paper towels. In a small bowl, combine the salt, pepper, smoked paprika, and garlic powder. Rub the mixture evenly over all sides of the pork.
- Sear the tenderloin. Add olive oil to the hot skillet. Sear the tenderloin for 2–3 minutes per side until browned on all sides, about 8 minutes total. Transfer the skillet to the oven and roast for 18–22 minutes, or until an internal thermometer reads 145°F. Rest for 5 minutes before slicing.
- Make the biscuits. While the pork roasts, whisk together flour, baking powder, and salt in a large bowl. Cut in the cold butter using a pastry cutter or your fingertips until the mixture resembles coarse crumbs. Stir in the rosemary and chives. Add the cold buttermilk and stir just until the dough comes together — do not overmix. Turn out onto a lightly floured surface, pat to 3/4-inch thickness, and cut into rounds with a 2 1/2-inch biscuit cutter. Place on the prepared baking sheet and bake at 425°F for 12–14 minutes, until golden on top.
- Cook the strawberry-plum sauce. In a small saucepan over medium heat, combine the strawberries, plums, shallot, brown sugar, balsamic vinegar, thyme, and salt. Cook, stirring occasionally, for 10–12 minutes until the fruit has broken down and the sauce has thickened slightly. Taste and adjust sweetness as needed.
- Slice and serve. Slice the rested pork tenderloin into 1/2-inch medallions. Spoon the warm strawberry-plum sauce generously over the top and serve alongside the fresh herbed biscuits.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 540 | Protein: 39g | Fat: 19g | Carbs: 50g | Fiber: 3g | Sodium: 680mg
About the cook who shared this
Rachel Abernathy
Week 15 of Rachel’s 30-year story
· San Diego, California
Rachel is a twenty-eight-year-old Marine wife and mom of two who has moved five times in six years and learned to cook a Thanksgiving dinner with half her cookware still in boxes. She married young, survived postpartum depression, and feeds her family of four on a junior Marine's salary with a freezer full of pre-made meals and a crockpot that has never let her down. She writes for the military spouses who are cooking dinner alone in base housing and wondering if they're enough. You are.