Summer grilling is all about the marinades.
Well, unless of course one is doing barbecued chicken or ribs…. then it’s about the barbecue sauce.
Which reminds me…. Here is a quick English lesson:
To an American grilling meat means to cook it outdoors on a barbecue grill, either gas or charcoal.
To the British that is barbecuing. Grilling is to cook indoors, in the oven, under the top element.
Americans call that broiling.
There is not
ever usually a sauce involved in a British barbecue.
So when I told my British neighbor that I made barbecued pulled pork in the slow cooker she was trying to imagine me heating my slow cooker on the Weber…..
Boneless pork chops cook quickly so be careful not to over cook or they will be dry. A wee bit pink in the center is perfect.
Grilled Citrus Pork Chops
Total time: 30 minutes
- 2 pork chops, 12oz (360gr) if boneless
- 2 tbs orange juice
- 2 tbs lemon juice
- 2 tbs olive oil
- 1 tsp chili powder
- 1/2 tsp garlic powder
- 1/2 tsp paprika
- 1/2 tsp celery salt
- 1 tbs fresh chives, chopped
- In small bowl whisk together all ingredients for marinade.
- Pour over chops and let marinate for 15 minutes (or longer…).
- Remove chops from marinade and cook on barbecue 10 – 15 minutes turning once.
- Baste with any remaining sauce before turning.
- Remove and serve.
As I’ve been wandering down memory lane recently I thought I would share a story from way back in the beginning of time….
I grew up in a very small Wisconsin town with no zoning laws, so when our neighbor’s mother decided to move closer to her favorite son and bring her tavern business with her, she did. No problem.
I was about 5 at the time and I thought it was wonderful. Grandma (everyone called her that) kept a freezer in the back with Popsicles in it (ice lollies to the British).
She was a somewhat unconventional tavern owner, even for a small town. She was tremendously old, (late 60’s), notoriously cantankerous and limped on both legs. She looked to be the image of a kindly grandmother: steely gray permed hair, short and chunky.
Her cuddly image was a lie. Grandma didn’t suffer fools gladly – of any age.
She loved flowers and planted them all around the tavern and her house across the street. In summer, the large space in the tavern that, in later years when her grandson took over, had a pool table, acted as her potting shed and nursery, filled with seedlings and plants.
In winter it held her huge quilting frame.
She was open for business when she felt like it: usually early evening for the after-work crowd of 4 or 5 patrons, and afternoons so we kids could get our Popsicles.
If she wasn’t there we’d just help ourselves and leave our nickels on the bar.
If there were no customers in the bar Grandma saw no reason to be there either. She’d be out working in her flowers. If someone had the audacity to stop for a cold beer and found the door closed they could go looking for her or wait until she noticed them.
Sometimes she ignored them.
Sometimes she yelled at them that the door was open and to just go on in and help themselves.
Sometimes she yelled at them to ‘Hold your horses, I’ll be there when I’m done’, at which point she would finish her project, put away her things and slowly waddle across the road, muttering under her breath the entire time.
Sometimes they left.
I don’t think I ever had a legal drink there.
I did buy beer for my parents there once, when I was about 10 years old.
There used to be a local brew that was bottled in quarts called ‘picnics’. One hot summer Sunday my Aunt and Uncle showed up, unexpectedly, for dinner. The adults decided they should have beer with their lunch.
As adults did, in those days, they sent the kid, me, on the errand.
I ran next door to the bar with the money and asked grandma for the beer. She walked over to the window, saw my father on the front stoop and waved to him. She handed me the beer and watched while I ran back home and handed it to my father.