Pork Loin Roast — Progress on the Table, Same as Every New Year’s

New year. 2017. I woke up on Monday the same way I've woken up every Monday for thirty-six years: at 5 AM, body stiff, knee protesting, mind already on the route. The new year doesn't change the mail. The mail is indifferent to calendars and resolutions and the arbitrary human decision that one particular Monday is more significant than any other. The mail just needs to be delivered, and I am the man who delivers it, and 2017 will be the same as 2016 in this regard: I will walk the route because the route needs walking.

Rosetta, however, has resolutions. She has a list — written in her precise handwriting on the magnetic notepad on the refrigerator, because Rosetta's lists are always on the refrigerator, which is the Johnson household's official notice board and the place where all laws are posted. Her resolutions include: Earl will eat more vegetables (unlikely), Earl will see Dr. Barker about the knee (inevitable), Earl will consider retirement (absolutely not), and Rosetta will run the Memphis half-marathon in April (certain, because Rosetta does not write down things she doesn't intend to do).

I looked at the list and said, "These are mostly resolutions for me." She said, "Your resolutions are more important than mine." I said, "What about the half-marathon?" She said, "That's not a resolution, that's a fact." I married a force of nature, friend, and the only appropriate response is admiration and occasional surrender.

New Year's Day I made black-eyed peas and collard greens — the traditional Southern New Year's meal, a requirement as binding as any law and more important than most. Black-eyed peas for luck. Collard greens for money. Cornbread for gold. Pork for progress. This is not superstition. This is cultural inheritance, and the distinction matters: superstition is fear dressed as tradition, but cultural inheritance is love dressed as food, and I will eat black-eyed peas on January 1st until the last January 1st I have, because Mama ate them and her mama ate them and someone before that ate them, and the chain doesn't break on my watch.

The peas I made the slow way — dried peas soaked overnight, simmered for two hours with a ham hock (New Year's exemption from Rosetta's ham hock ban, which she grants annually with the magnanimity of a queen pardoning a peasant), onion, garlic, bay leaf. The greens were collards, simmered with smoked turkey neck (no exemption needed, greens and turkey neck are in the permanent rotation) until they were dark and silky and the pot liquor was a treasure that I saved in a jar because pot liquor is the broth of the gods and wasting it is a sin more serious than most things churches preach about.

Walter Jr. and the family came for dinner. Marcus and Angela. Tyrone — alone, Shirley already gone, proving my point about Tyrone and women. Charlie was back in Nashville, already working the second day of the new year because healthcare administration apparently doesn't observe the new year with the same reverence as the postal service.

After dinner, the men played dominoes and the women sat in the living room and talked about whatever women talk about when men aren't listening, which Rosetta says is "important things," implying that what we talk about during dominoes is not. She may be right. Our dominoes conversation was entirely about whether the Grizzlies could make the playoffs (Walter Jr. says yes, I say who cares, Tyrone says maybe, and none of us knows anything about basketball but we all have opinions, which is the foundation of American sports fandom).

2017. Here we go. Same route, same smoker, same family, same life. I don't need a new year to be new. I just need the old things to keep being true: fire, smoke, family, faith, and the daily practice of showing up. Everything else is commentary.

That New Year’s night, with dominoes on the table and the family finally all under one roof, I wanted something on the smoker that matched the mood—steady, unfussy, and good enough to make the whole house smell like intention. A pork loin roast is exactly that: no drama, no shortcuts, just fire and time doing what they do best. Here’s how I put it together.

Southern Pork Loin Roast

Prep Time: 15 minutes | Cook Time: 1 hour 30 minutes | Total Time: 1 hour 45 minutes (plus 1 hour resting at room temperature) | Servings: 8

Ingredients

• 3 to 4 lb boneless pork loin roast, trimmed
• 2 tablespoons olive oil
• 1 tablespoon kosher salt
• 1 teaspoon black pepper
• 1 teaspoon smoked paprika
• 1 teaspoon garlic powder
• 1 teaspoon onion powder
• 1/2 teaspoon dried thyme
• 1/2 teaspoon dried rosemary, crumbled
• 4 cloves garlic, minced
• 1 medium yellow onion, roughly chopped
• 1 cup low-sodium chicken broth
• 1 tablespoon apple cider vinegar

Instructions

1. Bring to room temperature. Remove the pork loin from the refrigerator 1 hour before cooking. This ensures even roasting all the way through—cold pork going straight into a hot oven is how you end up with a dry outside and an underdone center.
2. Preheat and prepare. Preheat your oven to 425°F. Pat the pork loin completely dry with paper towels. Moisture on the surface works against a good sear.
3. Mix the rub. In a small bowl, combine the salt, black pepper, smoked paprika, garlic powder, onion powder, thyme, and rosemary. Rub the pork all over with the olive oil, then press the spice mixture firmly into every surface.
4. Sear the roast. Heat an oven-safe skillet or Dutch oven over medium-high heat. Sear the pork loin on all sides until deeply browned, about 2 to 3 minutes per side. Do not rush this step—the crust is where the flavor lives.
5. Build the base. Scatter the chopped onion and minced garlic around the pork in the pan. Pour in the chicken broth and apple cider vinegar. The liquid keeps the drippings from scorching and becomes your pan sauce.
6. Roast. Transfer the pan to the oven. Roast at 425°F for 15 minutes to lock in the crust, then reduce heat to 350°F. Continue roasting until an instant-read thermometer inserted in the thickest part reads 145°F, approximately 60 to 75 minutes more depending on the size of your roast.
7. Rest before slicing. Remove the roast from the oven and tent loosely with foil. Rest for 15 minutes—this is not optional. Slicing too soon sends all the juice straight to the cutting board instead of staying where it belongs.
8. Slice and serve. Slice against the grain into 1/2-inch medallions. Spoon pan drippings over the top. Serve alongside black-eyed peas and collard greens. That is the meal. That is the tradition.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 310 | Protein: 42g | Fat: 14g | Carbs: 3g | Fiber: 0g | Sodium: 520mg