Pork Chops, Mushrooms, Roquefort Sauce, Broiled Figs

When last we spoke, dear reader, it was summer. I was posting about tarts topped with berries from Paziols and looking forward to going back to the States for a month. Well, summer is over now. I’m back in Paris, and it’s undeniably autumn.

I don’t really know what’s kept me so long. It’s a combination of things, really. I haven’t been cooking much. I’ve been traveling a lot. I’ve been busy. I haven’t had much to say.

But then last night, over dinner of pork chops and mushrooms with blue cheese sauce, the Country Boy asked me how I decided to start cooking. And as I told him the story, I remembered Tomato Kumato. And then I thought maybe, just maybe, those of you out there who are still reading (I don’t blame those who have given up after my spotty posting for the past few months) might be interested in the answer. After all, it has to do with this blog.

When I was growing up, I had the good fortune to be raised by someone who loved cooking. Her favorite moment of the day was preparing the meal that we would all enjoy together in the evenings, talking about our days. When I visited friends and saw that not everyone ate dinner as a family, I felt disoriented and dépaysée. And while I was jealous of others’ Gushers and Dunkaroos snacks, when I finally made it out on my own at Toronto and saw that most people my age were eating frozen pizza and pasta with jarred sauce, I realized I would have to learn how to cook.

Unlike many, who learned to cook at their mother’s elbow, my cooking knowledge didn’t come from the woman who inspired me to cook. I always loved participating in the kitchen, but the small tasks I was assigned only gave me glimpses of the big picture. When it came to making an actual meal, I had to rely on what little I knew from being in the kitchen and the half-recipes my mother gave me over the phone. After a few tomato sauces that tasted more like burnt garlic than anything else, I abandoned the idea of cooking like my mother and resigned myself to cooking like everybody else… starting with Giada de Laurentiis.

I had received one of Giada’s books for my birthday, just before starting school, and so I pulled it off the shelf and tried her recipe for spinach lasagna. It worked. I made little else for a month.

But slowly, I realized that even if I couldn’t cook like my mother, reaching for things to add to the pot seemingly at random, I could follow a recipe. And there were a lot of recipes out there to follow. I started making lists, collecting links from Epicurious, being a regular at Kensington market, and setting off my fire alarm 3 times a week.

Over the course of my two years at Toronto, I tried a little bit of everything, but I didn’t really become good at making anything. Worse, I was a horrific grocery shopper. I had bottles of oyster sauce and hot sauce that I used for one recipe and never touched again. I bought a pound of chicken, made one thigh and accidentally let the rest go bad. I marinated tofu and forgot about it for a week. I was disorganized… but I was learning.

When I moved to France, a combination of having a tightened budget, a smaller fridge and a bitty baby blog that I was just starting to fill with recipes, helped me learn how to cook. Not just to follow a recipe, but to get to the point, now — the Country Boy loves to watch me do it — where I can open a seemingly empty fridge, pull out things at random, and make dinner. I’ve become my mother… I’ve never been happier.

One of the recipes I tried when I was living in Toronto was a fig recipe. The figs were stuffed with blue cheese and wrapped in prosciutto. If I had to guess, I’d say it was this one. I didn’t consciously remember it, but I do know that when I went to the butcher to order pork chops, which I knew I’d be making with a sauce from the leftover roquefort in the fridge, that day, that recipe, that kitchen experiment is what made me know, even subconsciously, that figs would go with it. The Country Boy asks me how I know things will go well together… and all I can say is, I know it now, but I didn’t always know. Those days of trying in the kitchen may not have been the most fruitful, from a culinary standpoint, but they’re part of what made me the home cook I am today.

All this to say… yes I’m still cooking. Yes, I’m hoping to post more often now that I’m back into the swing of things. And yes, even if I’m not here quite so often, this blog will always be an important part of who I am in the kitchen.

Pork Chops with Mushrooms, Roquefort Sauce and Roasted Figs (serves 2)

For the mushrooms:

250 grams mushrooms
1 Tbsp. butter
1 tsp. olive oil
1/2 onion, minced
salt and pepper, to taste

De-stem the mushrooms and wipe them clean. You can rinse them if they’re really dirty; just be sure to dry them well. Slice them thinly.

Heat the butter and olive oil together in a heavy skillet over high heat. When the butter stops foaming, add about two handfuls of sliced mushrooms. Spread them out in the pan, and then let them brown. Stir occasionally until they’re browned, then push them to the edges of the skillet. Add more mushrooms.

Continue until all of the mushrooms have been browned. Push them to the sides, and add the onion. Season with a heavy pinch of salt. Sauté until lightly browned. Mix in with the mushrooms. Taste for seasoning and season to taste. Remove from the pan and keep warm.

For the pork chops:

1 tsp. olive oil
2 pork chops
salt

In the same pan, heat a teaspoon of olive oil. Season the pork chops on both sides with salt. Sear them about a minute on each side. We’re not looking to cook them here; just to sear them. Reserve on a plate.

For the sauce and the figs:

1 glass white wine
2 oz. blue cheese
6 Tbsp. crème fraiche
1 Tbsp. butter
black pepper
4 figs, halved

Preheat the broiler.

Deglaze the pan with white wine. Reduce the heat to low. Add the blue cheese and cream. Stir to combine. When the cheese has melted, add the pork chops back to the sauce, presentation side up. Cover the pan and cook for 10 minutes.

Meanwhile, place the figs in a baking dish lined with foil, cut side up. Place under the broiler to heat through and caramelize the tops a bit. This will take between 3 and 7 minutes, depending on your broiler. Reserve and keep warm.

When the pork chops are cooked through, turn off the heat. Place a mound of mushrooms on each plate. Top with the pork chop. Add the remaining tablespoon of butter to the sauce and stir it in until it melts. Season with a bit of black pepper. Drizzle some of the sauce over each plate, and serve the rest on the side. Garnish with fig halves.