I pulled pork chops out of the freezer. Thin cut things that have been hiding out behind a box of pot-pies for longer then necessary. I was determined to make dinner and these darling little chops would be just perfect. They would be even more perfect with a little of the fig and ginger jam I had left in the fridge. The fig and ginger jam was a bit of a quandary. I imagined serving it with goat cheese on some delicate cracker but that never happened and it never really seemed quite right for chicken. Thanksgiving, exhaustion and a little too much Sophia Champagne finally needled my inspiration to shout at the top of it’s gluttonous lungs, “Put it on the ham!!!”
I’m never one to question inspiration. As a writer with a temperamental muse, I grab at it when it arrives, like a favorite aunt at a miserable family gathering…I’m no fool and my aunts are pretty damn cool to boot. So I did it. I popped the lid of that thick, dark jam and with about as much class as a broke hooker I dug my fingers into it and smeared it all over the top of my Thanksgiving ham. Let me pause for a moment and make this admission:
Yes I had a pet pig and most of the time I do refrain from eating pork, if only in her memory, but lately I have been loving ham…since I will most likely already be burning in hell, I figure this is a slight transgression worth some brimstone in the after life…or at least until Lent when I will undoubtedly give up the other white meat in honor of the only Catholic tradition this former altar boy still holds dear.
Now that that is out of the way let me continue on this path of porcine indulgence. The ginger fig jam was met with raucous delisciousness on top of the glistening ham. It was delightful and although this was certainly enough flavor to knock your socks off, I did not stop myself from splashing some ginger ale on the beast just for all the gluttons out there. I told you I had been drinking…I did cintinue this bubbly indulgence into the next day when almost as recklessly I smeared some slices of ham with the jam and threw it under the broiler, practically kicking shut the oven with the verve of a 1960′s host. I was not to be messed with, I knew what I was doing and knew it would be delicious, and it was. the jam practically turned the ham into candy. It was syrupy and dangerously hot. I may have lost a layer of skin when my greedy fingers attempted a all to quick grasp at the lava like sizzling ham pieces.
But I digress. I recently attended a Christmas Party where to my horror and delight a huge plate of ham was laid out like an offering to Dionysus, surrounded by any number of side dishes, sauces and even a vibrant red jello salad. The ham stood out like, I admit I stared longingly at it, even when I was offered a sliver of juicy roast chicken it was really the ham I was thinking about. There was some sort of gourmet mustard by its side. I hoped it was spicy or even better, sweet and spicy. The thing that really did it for me though was this ridiculously sweet and crunchy glaze, nay, crust that had somehow magically transformed the ham into something altogether different and lovely. I found out later that it was a Honey Baked ham and may I say the glaze for which they are apparently famous, is definitely not hype. I didn’t eat as much as might imagine and even as I write this I can completely draw the flavors of the mustard, (which was spicy) and the ham which was sweet. I am going to Hell in a handbasket or a ham basket.
So how does this relate to the porkchops? Well, sadly, as sometimes happens, I had to work! I couldnt make the porckchops! You cannot really imagine my sadness as I tenderly pulled the defrosted porckchops from their package and gently placed them into one of the fabulous Food Network containers I got for last Christmas and placed them with much misgiving just behind the eggnog. I decided then and there, well maybe a few minutes later while driving through horrendous LA traffic that I would stay home tomorrow night and make dinner! Do I stuff the chops? I do have Stove Top…yes I know, but my better half is just that kind of dude and I must indulge him, painful as it is to eat Stove Top…NOT! Or, do I break out the fig and ginger jam and just pan fry them, throw some of the stuff on top and hit them with the broiler for a few minutes right before serving? There is MY DILEMMA.
I could also pound them out EVEN thinner dredge them in some flower then dip them in a little egg and finish them off in some seasoned breadcrumbs…hmmm…There are so many paths to choose from that it’s almost like a choose your own adventure, although I am pretty sure I won’t be turned into a Chimera at the end. Although, how cool would that be?
I recently helped a crack hooker buy a vibrator and some batteries, no doubt she was working at the cheap hotel by my work…this exchange did nothing to deter me from my porckchop dilemma, although I certainly have regained a new appreciation for the depths of human vacancy. I am surrounded by proverbial pigs. Humans who wallow in the filth of the world and are simply existing for their own pleasure, present crack hooker excluded. I find it funny to think that there is a subculture that identifies themselves as pigs when frankly, my pig, my real pig had more class, manners and dignity then many human pigs I know, and she smelled better.
So while you may believe you can’t put lipstick on a pig, believe me when I say, a fig ginger jam is an altogether better accessory.
So from my kitchen to yours, I send you…hookers, jams and pigs of all sorts. It will be up to you, dear rearder to decide which pig is which.
I’m never one to question inspiration. As a writer with a temperamental muse, I grab at it when it arrives, like a favorite aunt at a miserable family gathering…I’m no fool and my aunts are pretty damn cool to boot. So I did it. I popped the lid of that thick, dark jam and with about as much class as a broke hooker I dug my fingers into it and smeared it all over the top of my Thanksgiving ham. Let me pause for a moment and make this admission:
Yes I had a pet pig and most of the time I do refrain from eating pork, if only in her memory, but lately I have been loving ham…since I will most likely already be burning in hell, I figure this is a slight transgression worth some brimstone in the after life…or at least until Lent when I will undoubtedly give up the other white meat in honor of the only Catholic tradition this former altar boy still holds dear.
Now that that is out of the way let me continue on this path of porcine indulgence. The ginger fig jam was met with raucous delisciousness on top of the glistening ham. It was delightful and although this was certainly enough flavor to knock your socks off, I did not stop myself from splashing some ginger ale on the beast just for all the gluttons out there. I told you I had been drinking…I did cintinue this bubbly indulgence into the next day when almost as recklessly I smeared some slices of ham with the jam and threw it under the broiler, practically kicking shut the oven with the verve of a 1960′s host. I was not to be messed with, I knew what I was doing and knew it would be delicious, and it was. the jam practically turned the ham into candy. It was syrupy and dangerously hot. I may have lost a layer of skin when my greedy fingers attempted a all to quick grasp at the lava like sizzling ham pieces.
But I digress. I recently attended a Christmas Party where to my horror and delight a huge plate of ham was laid out like an offering to Dionysus, surrounded by any number of side dishes, sauces and even a vibrant red jello salad. The ham stood out like, I admit I stared longingly at it, even when I was offered a sliver of juicy roast chicken it was really the ham I was thinking about. There was some sort of gourmet mustard by its side. I hoped it was spicy or even better, sweet and spicy. The thing that really did it for me though was this ridiculously sweet and crunchy glaze, nay, crust that had somehow magically transformed the ham into something altogether different and lovely. I found out later that it was a Honey Baked ham and may I say the glaze for which they are apparently famous, is definitely not hype. I didn’t eat as much as might imagine and even as I write this I can completely draw the flavors of the mustard, (which was spicy) and the ham which was sweet. I am going to Hell in a handbasket or a ham basket.
So how does this relate to the porkchops? Well, sadly, as sometimes happens, I had to work! I couldnt make the porckchops! You cannot really imagine my sadness as I tenderly pulled the defrosted porckchops from their package and gently placed them into one of the fabulous Food Network containers I got for last Christmas and placed them with much misgiving just behind the eggnog. I decided then and there, well maybe a few minutes later while driving through horrendous LA traffic that I would stay home tomorrow night and make dinner! Do I stuff the chops? I do have Stove Top…yes I know, but my better half is just that kind of dude and I must indulge him, painful as it is to eat Stove Top…NOT! Or, do I break out the fig and ginger jam and just pan fry them, throw some of the stuff on top and hit them with the broiler for a few minutes right before serving? There is MY DILEMMA.
I could also pound them out EVEN thinner dredge them in some flower then dip them in a little egg and finish them off in some seasoned breadcrumbs…hmmm…There are so many paths to choose from that it’s almost like a choose your own adventure, although I am pretty sure I won’t be turned into a Chimera at the end. Although, how cool would that be?
I recently helped a crack hooker buy a vibrator and some batteries, no doubt she was working at the cheap hotel by my work…this exchange did nothing to deter me from my porckchop dilemma, although I certainly have regained a new appreciation for the depths of human vacancy. I am surrounded by proverbial pigs. Humans who wallow in the filth of the world and are simply existing for their own pleasure, present crack hooker excluded. I find it funny to think that there is a subculture that identifies themselves as pigs when frankly, my pig, my real pig had more class, manners and dignity then many human pigs I know, and she smelled better.
So while you may believe you can’t put lipstick on a pig, believe me when I say, a fig ginger jam is an altogether better accessory.
So from my kitchen to yours, I send you…hookers, jams and pigs of all sorts. It will be up to you, dear rearder to decide which pig is which.
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