By I turned thirty-five on Tuesday. Brandon got the cake from the bakery, a chocolate mousse with raspberry jam between the layers, not what I would have chosen but chosen with intention, with the strawberry on top that he knows I will eat first, always, and which he asked the bakery to put there. He is a man who pays attention to small details in the form of strawberries on cakes. I ate the strawberry first. I ate two slices. The kids sang in the kitchen with the volume of five people who have not yet discovered that multiple volumes exist.
Grace would have been turning two in the fall. September or October, somewhere in there. I sat with that number for a few minutes in the kitchen after the kids were in bed, the way I sit with numbers that need sitting with, and then I went to bed because thirty-five is a year I intend to use well and grief does not have to own the whole evening. It got what it gets: a few minutes, the quiet, the photo above the stove. Hi, baby. Then the kitchen light goes off, and tomorrow is already in the freezer.
For birthday dinner I made Brandon's choice: his mother's pot roast in the slow cooker, a five-pound chuck roast with eight hours of patience, roasted potatoes, a garden salad, and the rolls I made and froze two weeks ago, pulled out the night before, proved overnight, baked fresh that morning. The birthday dinner was exactly right. The house smelled right. Everyone ate together. Brandon said: happy birthday. I said: thank you. That was all, and it was enough.
Noah gave me a hug in the morning and said: happy birthday Mama, you are so old. He meant it entirely as a compliment. I said thank you. He asked if we could have birthday cereal, regular cereal with a birthday candle, a tradition he invented last month. We had birthday cereal for breakfast. The candle went out when he breathed too hard on the first try. He tried again. It went out again. He ate the cereal. He was satisfied. I was thirty-five and satisfied, and that is enough.
The pot roast was Brandon’s pick for my birthday, and I’d make it again tomorrow, but if you’re looking for something with the same slow-cooker patience and that same fill-the-whole-house warmth, these San Francisco Chops are what I’d point you toward. Same idea — season it, set it, let the hours do the work — and at the end of the day you sit down to something that tastes like someone cared enough to plan ahead. That’s the kind of cooking I want more of at thirty-five.
San Francisco Chops {Slow Cooker}
Prep Time: 15 minutes | Cook Time: 8 hours | Total Time: 8 hours 15 minutes | Servings: 6
Ingredients
- 6 bone-in pork loin chops, about 1 inch thick
- 1 teaspoon salt
- 1/2 teaspoon black pepper
- 1 tablespoon olive oil
- 1 large onion, sliced into rings
- 1 green bell pepper, sliced
- 1 can (14.5 oz) diced tomatoes, undrained
- 1/3 cup ketchup
- 2 tablespoons brown sugar
- 2 tablespoons apple cider vinegar
- 1 tablespoon Worcestershire sauce
- 1 clove garlic, minced
- 1/2 teaspoon dry mustard
Instructions
- Season the chops. Pat pork chops dry and season both sides with salt and pepper.
- Sear the meat. Heat olive oil in a large skillet over medium-high heat. Brown the chops for 2–3 minutes per side until golden. Work in batches if needed. Transfer to the slow cooker.
- Layer the vegetables. Arrange onion rings and green pepper slices over the chops in the slow cooker.
- Mix the sauce. In a bowl, stir together diced tomatoes, ketchup, brown sugar, apple cider vinegar, Worcestershire sauce, garlic, and dry mustard. Pour evenly over the chops and vegetables.
- Cook low and slow. Cover and cook on low for 7–8 hours or on high for 4–5 hours, until the pork is tender and pulls easily from the bone.
- Serve. Plate each chop with a generous spoonful of the sauce and vegetables. Pairs well with roasted potatoes, rice, or crusty bread.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 320 | Protein: 30g | Fat: 14g | Carbs: 18g | Fiber: 2g | Sodium: 680mg