The Pat Conroy Cookbook (33 page)
Read The Pat Conroy Cookbook Online
Authors: Pat Conroy
“We had the creek,” Terry said, winking at me. Then we heard wild, hyenalike laughter coming from the house.
“Bernie found the pig,” I said.
We learned all the secrets of barbecuing a pig that night from Terry Kay. After the pig had cooked for three hours, he began to sop the slow-browning meat with a mixture of water, apple cider vinegar, and salt. With his country-boy knowledge, Terry had made a sop mop by tearing up an old T-shirt and tying the strips around a broomstick. Terry proved to be a vigorous and relentless sopper.
“You’ve got to keep the meat moist, boys,” he said to us. “The rest of the night is going to be dip and sop, dip and sop.”
“This is the most boring thing I’ve ever done,” Bernie said.
“I think this might have been the worst idea any of us ever had,” Frank said. “I vote that we throw Kay out of the group. All in favor?”
All four of us raised our hands in favor while Terry dipped and sopped to his heart’s content. We raised our glasses of red wine and toasted each other and made promises that the group would gather in Italy for a reunion. For an hour, we talked about what our group had meant to us, and the pleasure we took in one another’s company and conversation and the respite it gave us from families and jobs and the great pressures of modern life.
“It hasn’t been all roses,” Bernie said. “This group has had its share of rough times.”
“Name them,” Cliff said.
“There was that time you found a pig in your bathtub,” Bernie said.
“Yeah, and it’s been agony listening about Terry’s deprived childhood,” I said.
“The pain of it,” Bernie said. “I don’t know how any of those poor Kay kids survived.”
“They got by like they always did—dipping and sopping. Just dipping and sopping,” Frank said.
“I get weepy when I think of Terry and his poor family,” I said.
“It’s enough to break a man’s heart,” Bernie added.
Terry roared at us in his gruff, theater-trained voice: “You boys leave my family be.”
“They were godlike people. Godlike Southerners,” Cliff said.
At midnight, I stood up and announced, “Boys, this has been a pleasure, and I have enjoyed every moment of it. But I went to college so I didn’t have to stay up all night barbecuing a hog. If you need me, you can find me in Cliff’s guest bedroom.”
“Why am I sitting against a tree when I could be sitting in a nice armchair in Cliff’s house?” Bernie asked, rising to join me.
“I’m Jewish,” Cliff said. “I’m outraged to find a Methodist cooking treyf in my backyard.”
“In solidarity with Cliff, I’m going to the house, too,” Frank said.
Terry Kay spent the night cussing and turning the pig all by himself. When the hundred guests gathered the next evening, we fed them the best barbecue I have ever eaten. I have never been praised with as much promiscuous gusto as I was for that moist, vinegar-anointed meat from that barbecue in Atlanta over twenty years ago. I found friends moaning over their paper plates, and people returning for seconds and thirds. A sensitive man, Terry Kay, who was not talking to any of us because of his justifiable anger at our defection, left the party early. I heard a woman ask Bernie who cooked the pig, and was not surprised when he answered, “I did. Pat and Frank and Cliff helped.”
Cliff caught the spirit quickly, and said, “I’m exhausted. We were up all night.”
“None of us have slept for twenty-four hours,” Frank added.
“Terry Kay told me that he cooked the pig,” the woman said.
The four of us laughed and shook our heads. Then I said, “Give Terry credit, boys. It was his idea, but we stayed up to cook the pig. Terry Kay went to bed.”
PORK—PIECE BY PIECE
There are five major sections of a pig:
Leg, where the
fresh ham
comes fromLoin, where almost everything else meaty and tender comes from, roasts and chops and tenderloin strip
Side, source of bacon and spareribs
Shoulder/butt, provides shoulder roast (sandwich meat) and smoked butt
Picnic shoulder, the smoked picnic roast and smoked hocks
STUFFED PORK CHOPS
I was not a great and fervent fan of pork chops until I used this recipe. I discovered I loved these pork chops when I gussied them up and sent them to finishing school.
Four 1½-inch-thick rib pork chops (about 1 pound each)
Stuffing (see below)
1 tablespoon unsalted butter
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 cup white wine or chicken stock
¼ cup tangy grainy mustard
½ cup heavy cream
1. With a small sharp knife, make a horizontal pocket in the meat side of each chop, deep enough to hold the stuffing without puncturing the top or bottom of the chop. (The pocket should be almost to the bone.) Fill with just enough stuffing to keep the pocket slightly open (¼ to ⅓ cup per chop; the stuffing should be compressed so that it sticks together).
2. In a large skillet with a tight-fitting lid over medium-high
heat, melt butter and oil until foamy. Brown the chops, turning only once, for about 3 minutes on each side.
3. Reduce the heat to low, cover the skillet, and cook the chops until medium well done, about 8 minutes per side. (Or brown the chops on top of the stove and finish the cooking in a preheated 350°F oven for 15 to 18 minutes.) To check for doneness, make a small slit near the bone with the tip of a paring knife and peek inside, or check with an instant-read meat thermometer inserted near the bone; it should read 115°F.
4. Transfer the pork chops to serving plates, letting them rest for about 5 minutes to let the natural juices redistribute. While chops are resting, deglaze the pan with the wine, stirring well to scrape up any browned bits. Bring to a low boil and reduce by half. Stir in the mustard and slowly whisk in the heavy cream until well incorporated and sauce is thick enough to coat the back of a wooden spoon.
5. Spoon the sauce over the chops and serve, passing extra sauce on the side.
Stuffing
•
Makes about 2 cups
4 thick slices smoky bacon, coarsely chopped
2 shallots, finely chopped
2 tablespoons olive oil (optional)
2 cups cleaned greens, such as mustard greens, kale, or collard greens, cut into long, thin strips
½ cup Pepperidge Farm Corn Bread stuffing
1. Warm a heavy skillet over moderate heat. Add the chopped bacon and cook until fat is rendered and bacon is almost crisp, about 10 minutes. Remove and reserve bacon (leaving behind as much bacon fat in the pan as possible).
2. Sauté the shallots in the bacon fat (if there is not enough, add
olive oil). When the shallots are soft but not yet browned, about 2 minutes, add the greens. Cook over medium-high heat until greens are wilted, 3 to 5 minutes for collard or mustard greens, up to 10 minutes for kale.
3. Remove from the heat and add the reserved bacon and the stuffing. Stir to combine.
CANDIED BACON
One cannot make bacon in a way that I could not like it. This recipe brings elegance and sweetness to an already fabulous product. The recipe approaches decadence, like putting perfume on a pig.
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SERVES 2
6 thick slices bacon
1 tablespoon light brown sugar
1 teaspoon Dijon mustard
1. Preheat the oven to 375°F.
2. Arrange the bacon on a sturdy baking sheet. Place a smaller baking sheet on top of the bacon: the weight of the top pan will keep the strips flat while they cook.
3. Bake until almost crisp, about 20 minutes.
4. In a small bowl, mix the sugar and mustard together into a lumpy paste.
5. Remove the bacon from the oven and transfer (draining the grease) to a clean baking sheet. Using the back of a spoon, coat the top of each bacon strip with the mustard mixture. Return to the oven for 5 more minutes. Remove the bacon, turn the slices over, and repeat. Bake until the bacon looks brown and lacquered, about another 5 minutes.
6. Using tongs, remove the bacon and set on a rack over paper towels to drain. Serve warm.
COLLARD GREENS
Collard greens are soul food pure and simple. In 1971, while living near San Francisco, I had a car cut me off and wave me down while I was driving through the Presidio. A huge black man got out of his car and approached my own. Oh, oh, I thought, he saw my South Carolina license plate and has decided to kill me because of the crimes my people committed against his people. But he surprised me with his large magnetic smile. I got out of the car and we shook hands.
“Where you from in South Carolina, man?” he said.
“Beaufort,” I answered.
“Man, I’m from Charleston. Don’t you miss the Low Country?”
“More than I can tell you.”
“I saw your license plate and I just had to talk to someone from home.”
We talked for fifteen minutes and he told me the names of three soul food restaurants that served good collard greens, fried chicken, and pot likker—two in Oakland and one in San Francisco. He told me he prayed every day for a good-paying job to open up in Charleston and that he was worried about raising his children among the “hippies and wackos.” He missed fishing for bream in the Edisto River and going after blue crabs with string and a chicken neck. Everything I loved about the South was contained in this ebullient homesick man. He told me the name of two Baptist churches in San Francisco. “The old-time religion. Man, these people believe some weird shit out here.” He embraced me when we said goodbye, and as he drove off I regretted not getting his name and address. I would have liked to have been his friend for the rest of my life. This recipe is dedicated to him.
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SERVES 4
4 ounces salt pork, diced
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 medium onion, coarsely chopped (about ¾ cup)
One 1-pound smoked ham hock or country ham bone
4 pounds collard greens, picked over and cleaned, with stems removed and leaves cut into 1-inch strips
One 35-ounce can whole tomatoes, preferably San Marzano, broken up into small pieces and drained
1. To make the pork stock: In a medium, at least 8-quart stockpot over moderate heat, sauté the salt pork in the oil until lightly browned, 6 to 8 minutes. Add the onion and cook until the salt pork is crisp and the onion is well colored, 8 to 10 minutes. Add 3 quarts water and the ham hock. Bring to a boil, turn down the heat, and simmer slowly (so the surface of the liquid has some movement) until the water is infused with flavor, at least 1 hour or up to 2. Remove ham hock, cool, and strip the meat from the bone (reserve the meat for Pot Likker Soup, page 226). (The pork stock can be cooled to room temperature, transferred to a storage container, and refrigerated overnight.)
2. Add the collards and tomatoes to the pork stock and cook on medium heat until the greens are wilted, 30 to 40 minutes. Serve hot.