These weren’t really ‘chops’ as we know them. And, to be honest, they weren’t called chops.
This is from the batch of pork we bought from a local farmer a few weeks ago. In the bag were sausages, a roast of some sort (which I cut up), chunks that I would use for a stew or a tagine, and steaks.
As the term ‘pork steak’ is not as common as pork chops – and these were about the same size as boneless pork chops, that is what I’m calling them.
They were very good…..
We made 3 chops – they were cut rather thinly and had more fat than I like so 2 were not enough for the 2 of us. Guapa was also happy. The crispy fat around the edges was hers.
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Grilled Miso Pork Chops
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.
- Prep Time: 5 minutes
- Marinating Time: 15 minutes
- Cook Time: 15 minutes
- Total Time: 35 minutes
- Yield: 2 servings 1x
- Category: Pork
- Method: Grilling
- 2 – 3 pork chops, 12oz (360gr) total weight if boneless
- 2 tbs miso
- 2 tbs ketchup
- 1 tbs olive oil
- 1 tbs sherry vinegar
- 1/2 tsp garlic powder
- 1/2 tsp paprika
- In small bowl whisk together all ingredients for marinade.
- Spoon over chops and let marinate for 15 minutes.
- Remove chops from marinade and cook on barbecue grill 10 – 15 minutes turning once.
- Baste with any remaining sauce before turning.
- Remove and serve.
Substitute 1 tbs soy sauce for the 2 tbs miso.
- Serving Size: 1/2 recipe
- Calories: 346
- Sugar: 5.2 g
- Sodium: 902.1 mg
- Fat: 15 g
- Saturated Fat: 3.6 g
- Trans Fat: 0 g
- Carbohydrates: 10.3 g
- Fiber: 1.2 g
- Protein: 40.6 g
- Cholesterol: 107.1 mg
Keywords: miso pork, grilled pork chops
I haven’t told a story in awhile….. Given all that is going on in the world I thought a childhood memory was due.
Something that may make you smile.
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 (pub) 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) for the kids.
She was a somewhat unconventional tavern owner, even for a small town. She was tremendously old, (at least 60), notoriously cantankerous and limped on both legs. She looked to be the image of a kindly grandmother: steely gray permed hair, short, chunky, and always wore an apron over her dress. Sensible shoes, of course.
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, Sunday mornings for the after-church crowd, 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 have a beer with my dad occasionally when I was a teenager but it wasn’t legal…. Just accepted in a small town.
It was also accepted that I could buy beer for my parents. The first time 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. 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.