This past weekend, we traveled to Tennessee for a nephew’s wedding — my husband and I in our car (and then our younger son, too, when we picked him up at the Park & Ride along the highway), and the rest of the kids in my older son’s pickup. My husband and I, tanked up on glazed cake doughnuts and coffee, and then settled in for a long day. 

We had no idea just how long it would be.

A few hours into the trip, my husband accelerated to pass a semi that was weaving back and forth, and then — pooffff — the car felt . . . I don’t know, different. We pulled over, but unable to detect the source of the problem, we continued to the next exit. 

At Advance Auto, a couple friendly guys cheerfully helped my husband dig around in the motor and troubleshoot, and then made calls to their buddies on our behalf. (I am convinced mechanic wannabees hang around auto parts stores in hopes of random cool repair opportunities.)

As per their recommendation, we drove another mile to a dealership. While the mechanics hoisted the car up in the air to gander her bits, we hung out in the waiting room, where fellow waiter-ers — a grandfather and his elementary son — started throwing things at me when my son and husband left for a bit. At first it was a gum wrapper, a he-did-it, no-he-did-it joke, but then a wad of trash (or money?) hit the wall by my head, and then shoes started getting tossed, though not directly at me. It was strange. 

The other kids back-tracked their 20-mile lead to met us, and when we learned that the problem was much bigger than a quick fix (the turbo intercooler had come apart), we all piled into the truck (with two kids in the back) and zipped over to a rental, arriving right before closing.

The place had one little, and very uncomfortable, car, which we snatched right up, and then promptly drove off without my husband’s license. After we backtracked for the license, we got back out on the road for realsies. 

And then, with signs for Buc-ee’s flashing past with increasing frequency, I suggested we stop. I could care less about the place — I hate the whack spelling and call it Boochies instead — but my husband has been begging to go to ever since we got one on the south side of town. Since this particular day, a day that was shaping up to be a record travel day (and did I mention it was my birthday?), had already been shot to pieces and then some, adding Consumer Central to the chaos felt like the right choice.

My verdict? I was impressed, but not smitten. For sure, the place was An Event, and the beaver chips were (better than) good, but it might take a few more visits to make me a convert.

The next day was full of wedding delights — A brunch! A wedding! Family!

The bride and groom . . . of two weeks before.

And then we packed into our cars once again and trundled our way back up the east coast.  

As we approached the lot where our injured car awaited, the truck family contingency detoured to pick up a u-haul car trailer, and then they met us at the dealership where we loaded the car before continuing on.

There was only one other major mishap — or potential mishap. As we were zipping up the interstate in the left lane, a car suddenly pulled onto the highway from the median turnaround directly into the lane in front of us. My husband yelled, and our car rocked from side to side as he braked hard. No one was beside us, fortunately, and at the last second he whipped around the car. 

We were quiet for a long time after that.

It’s good to be home.

This same time, years previous: our new names, sky nest, wanna place bets?, wedding buns, church, sunflowers, you’re invited…, welcome home to the circus, the myth of the hungry teen, a different angle, a lesson I’d rather skip, the quotidian (10.1.12), because reading books is dangerous, dumping: a list, a lot of babble and some cookies.

This fall we slaughtered two beef (picking them up from the butcher this afternoon, whoop!), and in the next several months we’ll butcher two pigs, so to clear out freezer space, I’ve been working my way through hunks of lesser-known meats: beef cheeks, beef heart, oxtail, and pork fish. 

I never knew what the fish of the pork was, but I always ordered it because the internet said it was good. But then I never cooked it because I didn’t know what to do with it. So a few nights ago I pulled four packs to thaw — and to force myself to figure it out — and it turned out to be an exercise in Surprise & Delight. 

The fish is the tail end of the tenderloin (so says Google). It’s tapered like a fish (thus the name) and quite lean, so you’re supposed to take care not to overcook it, a warning that always strikes terror into my heart — because I have a track record. 

The random recipe I rustled up looked like it might be complicated but wasn’t. Working with the meat, I felt fancy and rich, like I was dealing with some high-end steak, and then it browned up fast and pretty, and then roasted to perfection in just minutes. The marinade’s final stove-top simmer transformed into a salty and tangy river of sweetness that smelled like heaven and tasted of magic.

And the pork? It was bonkers good. Tender, candied, and caramelized, the meaty bits were pure perfection. 

I didn’t take any photos — I was too busy a) thinking it wouldn’t be great, and then b) being euphoric — so the next day when I fixed a plate of leftovers for my lunch, I snapped a few.

The photos don’t look that great, sorry. The microwave reheat killed the meat’s pretty pink center, but don’t be fooled — the deliciousness factor was not in any way compromised.

And then I scraped the plate’s contents into a bowl (because it’s how I do my kimchi bowls).

It’s what I’m having for lunch again today, and I can not wait. I’ve been watching the clock all morning, just whiling away the time — 

Oh, will you look at that. It’s 11:55, yeehaw!

Pork with Honey Garlic Sauce
Adapted from Recipetineats.

I’m plumb out of pork fish, but this recipe would be good with just about anything, I think: meatballs, chicken, stew pork (got some!), salmon, tofu…

about 2 pounds of pork fish
bacon fat or a glug of olive oil
3 cloves garlic, minced
½ teaspoon garlic powder
½ teaspoon smoked paprika
½ teaspoon salt
½ teaspoon black pepper
1½ tablespoons soy sauce
3 tablespoons apple cider vinegar
½ cup honey

Trim the meat of any extra fat and the thin membrane covering the meat.

Mix together the garlic powder, paprika, salt and pepper. Sprinkle over both sides of the meat. This is a light dry rub — just a dusting. Cover the meat and let rest in the fridge for 30 minutes, or half a day. Whatever.

Mix together the soy sauce, vinegar, and honey and set aside. 

About 45 minutes before supper, brown the meat in the bacon fat over high heat. You want the meat to take on a nice crust — but quickly. Don’t cook it all the way through. After it’s brown, remove the meat to a plate.

Add the minced garlic to the hot pan and saute for a couple minutes. Add the wet ingredients. Add the meat, and then flip each piece so it’s been coated in the marinade. 

Clap on a lid and transfer the meat to a 350° oven for 15 minutes. The meat’s done when it reaches 155°. This may take a little longer if your meat is thicker — my pork was the shape and size of cucumbers — but take care not to over do it. The meat should still be pink on the inside.

Remove the pan from the oven and transfer the pork to a plate. Cover the meat with foil.

Place the pan over high heat, bringing the marinade to a rapid boil. After a couple minutes, it will change from a boiling marinade to a boiling syrup — it gets thicker and looks like a forest of raging bubbles so thick you can’t see the brown sauce beneath. 

Slice the meat and drizzle with marinade. 

This same time, years previous: water kefir, interview with a menopause researcher and specialist, the quotidian (9.18.23), what are your three favorite recipes from this blog?, fruit crisp ice cream, cottage cheese, saag (sort of) paneer, the unraveling, black bean and veggie salad.

Quotidian: daily, usual or customary;
everyday; ordinary; commonplace

Testing a new ferment.

Knee-swaz (in case you, like me, never know how to pronounce Niçoise).

Cream lines.

Butter bender.

The funnest-shaped loaf ever: hazelnut chocolate.

Needs 3x the chocolate chips.

Skins and innards.

Sausage and onions, cultured cream and tomatoes.

Raspberry sticks.

Bakery Boy breakfast.

Reunioning: I got pushed in twice.

Togetherness.

Two of us.
^{photo credit: my aunt}

Guess what we have!!!

I do not always win.

The neighbor’s artistic view of our house.

This same time, years previous: if you give a mouse a cookie, behind the scenes, growing boy lunches, the quotidian (8.31.20), at home, crunch week, chomper, the quotidian (8.29.16), the quotidian (8.31.15), it all adds up, the new bakery, walking the line, my mornings.