Like Hollywood, the food world has plenty of storied marriages, some of which hold up better than others. Peanut butter and chocolate? Like Jessica Tandy and Hume Cronyn. Chocolate and garlic? More like Pam and Tommy Lee.
And pulled pork and mango? Like Paul Newman and Joanne Woodward: love at first sight to last the ages. And this photo, taken by Kevin at Closet Cooking, helps to explain why. These jerked pulled-pork wraps with mango and banana relish look like lusty testaments to this savory-sweet match made in heaven. As scenes from a marriage go, this is an indisputably happy one.
As much as I adore my job, I tend to get the Sunday evening blues and have found as of late that labor-intensive cooking projects prove to be wonderfully soothing. It might be a bread knead, a painstakingly crimped lard crust pie, or, as it's manifested for the second week in a row, a unexpectedly soul-stirring risotto. Emphasis is on the "stirring" part, I assure you, as two times now, I've darned near sprained a forearm muscle with the non-stop drag of the wooden spoon through the ever-thickening starch. It's worth it, though -- the constant, meditative motion -- when it suddenly, palpably, audibly even, transforms the individual rice grains into a sumptuous, silken mass. It's the sort of culinary alchemy that transforms me from a solitary kitchen wretch into someone who suddenly wants to feed everyone she's ever met.
Last week's Acorn Squash Risotto from Mario Batali's Molto Italiano cookbook was a rousing success with my husband, as evidenced by this habitual leftover-snubber's willingness to dig back in on subsequent weeknights. This week's pulled pork variation, made on a whim, was a hearty treat tonight, and I've got a sneaking suspicion the flavors will meld well over the next few days.
Try for yourself. My Pulled Pork Risotto recipe is after the jump, and if you've got any soothing cooking rituals you'd like to share, I'd be more than grateful to hear about 'em.
There's an extra-stabby brand of self-recrimination that comes about when one comes home, mouth slavering for the vegetable stew, several-bean chili or pulled pork shoulder that's occupied one's thoughts all day, only to come home to an air redolent of exactly nothing. No warm waft, no indicator light all a-wink with the tease, nay, promise of a hearty, slow-cooked dinner because (shudder....sob...sigh...) one neglected to actually engage the Crock Pot's "ON" button.
Is there a term for this happenstance and/or the all-day nagging feeling that one's forgotten to flip it on, but is too far from home to remedy the situation? If not, howzabout we put it to a vote? Cast it below, or suggest a better one in the comments.
And lest anyone fret, Jeff later reported that he in fact came home to a lovely, fully-cooked chicken cacciatore.
UPDATE: Commenter Jenna has suggested "crock blocked," which I'm entirely jealous I failed to coin.
My personal favorite cold weather, no barrel smoker, slow-cooker pulled pork recipe is after the jump.
We're being a little lazy this Sunday afternoon because we're anxiously watching the two conference championship games on TV, but that hasn't stopped us from doing the research we need to do to get ready for THE Sunday afternoon of pro football, the Super Bowl.
Yes, the Super Bowl is two weeks away, and we're trying to put together our menu. We came across Alabama Pulled Pork Sandwiches, as made by Recipe Girl from an original recipe in Cooking Light magazine. The recipe is slightly different from a traditional pulled pork because it uses pork tenderloin. Additionally, the sandwiches are made with sweet potato biscuits rather than rolls or buns, but perhaps the most surprising thing is that the barbecue sauce is white.
As many of you know, I'm a huge fan of both White Castle and barbecue. So when I read that the Castle was experimenting with pulled pork on a bun, my reaction was a, long-drawn out "Nooooooo!!"
Is nothing sacred? Seems to me that two great American traditions, the State's first hamburger chain and barbecue, would be sullied by the Castle's introduction of pulled pork. That's not to say I have anything against pulled pork on a miniature bun. Done right, it's tasty as hell and a more healthful portion than the gigantic sandwiches one usually eats at barbecue joints.
Sadly I don't think the Castle is going to do justice to pulled pork. And I'm not just saying that because I want to lump their new product in the McRib category. Further reading of the article in Nation's Restaurant News (registration required) reveals that it will arrive at the store's frozen. I can't help but feel that it will also be saturated with liquid smoke and have the consistency of cat food.
I hope my suspicions about the quality of the Castle's pulled pork are wrong. All of a sudden, I'm craving a pulled pork slyder topped with an onion ring.
You leave the house in the dark. You come home in the dark. It's winter, and you yearn for a
lovingly-cooked meal. Why not have it ready when you get home? Why not fill your house with the rustic aromas of slow
cookery?
But I have a job, or, at least a life, I can hear you murmuring to yourself, shaking your head. I
don't have a personal chef. I'll just throw a Lean Cuisine in the oven.
No! Stop! Put away that freezer meal. Freezers are for summer, when you eat ice cream and whir up smoothies with
fresh fruit and yogurt. Winter is for slow cookers, for Crock-Pots and baking at low, low heat and, oh, the bountiful braise. Monday,
January 23, we'll be celebrating all that is slow - all our recipes will cook at low heats for several hours.
Nearly all of them can be mixed early in your day and set cooking, and the flavors will combine throughout
the afternoon as the dish gets more, and more, and more tender, until it is meltingly delectable, until it sings
on your tongue.
Classic slow-cooked meals were invented long before the Crock-Pot trademark was ever registered. Dishes like cassoulet and baked beans and Beef Bourguignonne hearken from centuries ago. Once,
everything was cooked slow. We honor our culinary heritage. We long for food that has nothing "fast"
about it.
You leave the house in the dark. You come home in the dark. It's winter, and you yearn for a
lovingly-cooked meal. Why not have it ready when you get home? Why not fill your house with the rustic aromas of slow
cookery?
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