Souper Freak

I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again. And hopefully I’ll remember the next time I’m standing at the meat counter, filled with a mix of Midwestern nostalgia and delusion about my cooking abilities:

No more big hunks of meat!

1. I will under cook it.

2. Then I will mangle it.

3. Then I will over cook it.

4. Then it will be my least favorite thing on my plate.

Not to mention that it’s more expensive, more stressful, and possibly (am I being paranoid?) deadly.

The vision I had was so romantic. Traditional. Practically patriotic! An all-American Sunday dinner centered around a cut of meat.

It was a beautiful plan: homemade apricot-fig-apple-raisin cranberry sauce, mashed sweet potatoes, braised collard greens, and a nicely cooked, friendly hunk of pork loin.

(Staged for the photo, it’s sort of convincing, huh??)

I have childhood memories of pork loin, hot on the table at dinner and cold in between slices of bread the next day. I even checked in with the head chef — my mom! She had in fact just made pork loin the evening before, and said it was the most delicious she’d ever made: pork coated in a layer of grated onion, drizzled with oil, and topped with apples. I did exactly as she said: I cooked it for 30 minutes, checked it, added the apples, and popped it back in for another 20 minutes. I told her I don’t have a good meat thermometer, and she told she’d rather I follow my nose: determine doneness not based on the time on the clock or the temperature on the thermometer, but the smell of well-cooked pork emanating from the oven.

What I didn’t account for was that the smell of the onions and garlic sauteing on my stove top would overwhelm any possibility of smell-testing the pork. So when the allotted 50 total minutes of cooking time went by, I decided to override my routine obsessive paranoia that I should cook meat to death before I trust it won’t kill me, and took it out and left it for 10 minutes to rest.

Then the long-awaited carving moment arrived, my still-as-of-then-impressed boyfriend waiting hungrily with his plate ready. And the pork was completely raw inside.

I put the pork back in the oven, but by that point I had already given up on the fantasy that I can cook a meat-centered dinner. We ate the mashed sweet potatoes, cranberry sauce and collard greens sans meat, and it was perfectly great. By the time the pork came out of the oven (yes, this time I waited until I could smell it), I cut us each a slice but didn’t even enjoy it. And it wasn’t just my frustration and disappointment about yet another meat-cooking letdown — it was that when it comes down to it, I NEVER like big hunks of meat! Unless it’s a burger completely soaked in ketchup and condiments, or small slices of meat hidden in amongst enough veggies and sauce to make the meat more of a garnish, I really never enjoy the meat part of a meal.

So that’s it! Chicken-apple sausages are one thing….a soup with meat tucked into it — okay, fine. But truly, I always end up having the most success and satisfaction cooking up creative, healthy vegetarian meals. I just need to own that, and put to bed that Midwestern voice inside that tells me I should feel a little guilty that I can’t cook up a hearty meat and potatoes sort of deal. Plus, cooking vegetarian is more affordable, better for the planet, more creative, and ultimately (to me!) more delicious. Read my lips: No more big hunks of meat!