Porchetta

Emily asked for a fall dinner featuring pork for her birthday, and I got it into my head that I would make porchetta. Traditionally, this rolled, slow-roasted herby pork dish was made from the belly and loin of a whole pig. Early in the 20th century, Italian immigrants in Philadelphia adapted it to use more available butcher cuts, and an American classic was born.

I found lots of different recipes and techniques to prepare porchetta, but I was drawn to one that combined pounded pork belly and pork tenderloin. Tenderloin is readily available in any grocery store, but I had seen slabs of pork belly at the big box warehouse just a couple of days before. When I headed over there to get some, though, I realized the packages were 8-10 pounds each. 

Believe me, I thought about it long and hard before leaving the place empty-handed, but I just could not justify the extra pounds of pork belly. "We probably could have given the extra away," Heidi suggested generously when I told her of my plight. Could we have, though?

As this was Friday morning and the roast needed to be rolled a day in advance, suddenly, I was on the clock. The next place I shopped was a supermarket in a chain known for its natural and organic inventory. They did have pork belly, but it was already portioned, and the butcher apologetically informed me that there were no larger pieces in back. As the prospect of finding what I wanted dimmed, I bought a couple of Breton chops, thinking they might come in handy should I have to pivot.

The next couple of places did not stock pork belly at all, so I threw some boneless shoulder chops and thick-cut bacon into my cart alongside the pork tenderloin. And, since I wanted to serve it with an intense, porky jus, I also tossed a rack of ribs (on sale) and six chicken legs.

And that's what I had to work with when I got home later that afternoon. I lined a baking sheet with plastic wrap and nestled slices of the relatively lean bacon side by side. Then I pounded the well-marbled shoulder chops into uniform oblongs and laid them over the bacon. I sprinkled some toasted fennel seed, rosemary, and red pepper powder from my garden over the meat. Then I butterflied the tenderloin and rubbed it with the same spice mix before placing it atop the other pork. I rolled the whole thing tightly and placed it in the fridge to rest for 24 hours.

The porky jus simmered a couple of hours the next afternoon while the porchetta roasted in a low oven. When it reached 140 degrees, I took it out and let it rest, turning the oven to 475 for its final blast to crisp up the bacon.

It was only when everyone arrived that I considered what a gamble I had taken. I had no idea how the main dish was going to turn out until it was time to serve it. Even so, my confidence, or over-confidence, in the kitchen set my mind at ease. And when I sliced into it? It looked great, a perfect spiral of tender pork and herbs. 

It also passed my one true cooking test. As we enjoyed the roast, its sauce, some spelt, and a fall vegetable platter, I posed a question to my guests. "Would you ask for this again?" I inquired, and they allowed as they would.

Shopping with the Quipster

We were running a few errands today and stopped into a home store. As we made our way past the Halloween decorations to the rear of the store, we saw that their Christmas merchandise was on full display. "Wow, this place is the mullet of holiday sales," I laughed. "Halloween in the front, Christmas in the back!"

At our next stop, all the Halloween stuff was already on clearance. "I can't believe Halloween is over," I lamented, ironically. "Especially since it's not for three weeks!"

The Tween Whisperer

"He is very angry, and sometimes his interactions with staff can range from disrespectful to profane," the assistant told me when I asked about the one student in the program I was subbing for. 

I saw what he meant a moment later when the seventh grader came in, pacing restlessly around the room. When I introduced myself, he ignored me. "You're breakfast is there," the assistant said, gesturing toward the desk.

"I'm not blind, Bruh!" the kid exploded. "I can see the fucking food." He continued to walk the perimeter of the room and then asked to take a walk. His one-to-one aide went with him. While they were gone, another teacher came by to ask that they make sure he got to his first class on time, since there was a guest speaker. "He can come back here to work afterwards," she shrugged, "but it would be less disruptive if he were there when the bell rang.

The assistant was still talking to her in the hall when the student returned. "Your science teacher came to tell you that there's a guest speaker today," I said to him. He turned with interest. "She wants to make sure you're on time so you don't miss it," I added.

He nodded. "I used to teach here," I told him. "I still know a bunch of kids. Who are you friends with?"

He mentioned a few people I did know, and I told him so, offering enough information to show I wasn't faking it. "Do you play any sports?" I asked him.

From there, we talked about football, P.E., his favorite class, where he went to elementary school, and even how he did back in second grade when COVID hit and he had to learn remotely from home. Before we knew it, it was time for him to go so that he would be on time for the speaker in science.

"Have a good class!" I said as his one-to-one escorted him out the door.

"Wow," the assistant said when they were gone. "He actually had a conversation with you. I have not seen that from him before."

I laughed. "Middle school kids can't resist me!"

Who'd've Thought They'd Lead Ya?

A young man was standing in the front office when I reported for sub duty this morning. "Oh, Ms. S!" the coordinator greeted me, "Maybe you can answer his question." She gestured toward the guy.

"When do we get paid?" he asked me.

"Oh, it takes a minute!" I laughed. "They pay us twice a month, but it's for the pay period before. I just got paid for the first couple of weeks of September last week."

He nodded in understanding, and there was something about his dark brown eyes, curly hair, and high cheekbones that seemed familiar to me.

"Did you go here?" I asked him.

He nodded. "Just for one year."

"Sixth grade, right?" I said. "What's your name?"

I recognized it the minute he told me. "I was your English teacher! Remember?"

He shrugged apologetically, but the sub coordinator was delighted. "What was he like then?" she asked.

He looked a little embarrassed. "He was very energetic," I answered diplomatically.

"My parents always tell me that being a substitute is my karma for the way I acted," he said. "So I make sure I'm extra patient with the students."

"They're lucky to have you, then," I replied, "because that's not always easy," and he smiled for the first time in the conversation.

Question of the Week

I stopped by the warehouse store on my way home from bowling yesterday, thinking that early afternoon on a Tuesday might be less busy than usual. I couldn't have been more wrong! I drove in circles around the enormous parking lot for ten minutes, trolling for a spot, any spot. When at last I found one and headed to join the line at the entrance, I ran into a neighbor who was exasperated by the crowd. "Who are all these people?" she demanded. "Really! On a Tuesday?"

"Maybe they are furloughed workers?" I suggested.

"I'd think they'd want to save their money," she scoffed, a bit unkindly.

Today, I met a couple of friends who are also retired for lunch. When I arrived at noon, the neighborhood restaurant was packed. Fortunately, I'd made a reservation, even though I didn't think we would need one.

It took our waiter a little while to make it to our table. "Sorry," he apologized. "It seems like we went from zero to sixty in ten minutes!" He swept his arm around at the busy dining room and sighed. "Who are all these people?"

Built-in Learning Curve

Tuesday is my bowling day, and I look forward to it with a mixture of pleasure and dread. Each week, the balance tips in favor of enjoyment, though, especially as I get to know my teammates and the other ladies. The stakes are both high and low; having a handicap evens the competition, but no matter their skill level, those bowlers play to win. As such, I don't want to let my team down, even as we cheer for the other team's successes. 

I bought my own bowling ball a few weeks ago. The guy at the pro shop asked me a few questions about my bowling style, and I readily admitted I was a novice. "You're in a league, though?" he clarified, and when I said I was he asked me even more questions about the lanes, the center, the other bowlers in my league, and the balls I had been using until then. He advised me to go with a ball that had a little spin action, especially since at the weight I was purchasing, 12 pounds, it would only make a minor difference. Then he measured my hand, placed my fingers in some cylinders, and went and drilled the ball for a custom fit.

I was eager to try it out, but I wanted to practice with it first, so Heidi and I went bowling over the weekend. I found that when I threw it, the curve was quite pronounced, and over the three games we bowled, I wasn't able to figure it out. I was frustrated and worried that I had chosen the wrong ball. Consequently, I've continued to bowl with the center's ball each Tuesday, trying to work on my own basics before introducing a new variable.

Today was the day I actually brought my new ball to the league. After a moment's hesitation, I put it on the rack along with my usual loaner and prepared to warm up. Everyone else was off looking at one of the bowler's new baby (a cute little month-old guy with white noise-canceling headphones on, because his mom couldn't wait to get back to bowling), when I stepped up to throw a few practice frames. 

My first ball was a strike, and I never picked up the borrowed ball again. I bowled 12 pins above my average for the day, too. I guess that pro shop guy knew what he was talking about!

Oui, Je Parle Français

In early September, when I first started working a couple of sub jobs a week, I was picky about which classes and grades I was willing to cover. I preferred sixth-grade teachers I knew, and even when the sub coordinator started offering me more jobs, I was choosy about the assignments. 

Somehow, being so particular has fallen to the wayside, though, and both last Friday and today, I showed up with no idea of what I would be doing. To be honest? It hasn't been too bad. Friday, I was in an English class for English Language Learners, and today I was in French. "OMG, you're everywhere!" a student cried when she saw me in her homeroom today. 

Although I took three years of French in high school and another two semesters in college, I never would have chosen the job for myself. Still, it turns out I remember more than enough of the language to be of considerable help to middle schoolers in French I. It was a fun day, and I felt even more validated when I received the highest praise possible from a seventh grader. "You were a pretty good sub," he told me before rushing off when the bell rang.

Merci!