Want to make me happy? Make me stuffed pork chops for dinner. Honestly. They’re so simple, and so darned good. (It doesn’t take much these days, I know.)

Since we got Penelope the Wonder Pup, we’ve been a little short on time at The Mouse House. So, I’ve been making meals that are relatively easy to bang out with a lot going on around me. These pork chops fit the bill—and are a great, fancier-than-normal weeknight meal.

And because you finish them in the oven, they’re harder to overcook and dry out. (What’s that, you say? Pork chops that don’t taste like cardboard? You better believe it!)

Inside-out saltimbocca

To make this recipe, cut a pocket in thick-cut pork chops. Stuff with prosciutto, cheese, and fresh sage. (Yep, this is pig stuffed with more pig.) Sear on both sides to develop a flavorful, brown crust, then finish in the oven. That’s it.

Sage

Prosciutto

Mozzarella

It’s kind of like an inside-out saltimbocca (meat wrapped in prosciutto and sage leaves)—with cheese.

It cooks in about the same amount of time it takes to throw together a pot of rice, some garlic bread, and a big, crunchy salad.

About double-thick pork chops

For this recipe, get double thick pork chops. Aim for about 2 inches thick. They’ll be labeled, or just eyeball it. (For me, that’s almost as long as my pinky finger).

You can make this recipe with thinner chops, they’ll just cook faster. (Keep an eye on them so they don’t dry out.) The pocket also might be trickier to cut.

Double thick pork chops

Most well-stocked butcher cases will have ‘em. They’ll likely be labeled something like “center-cut rib chops” or “bone-in thick pork chops.” If you don’t see them, ask the good folks behind the meat counter if they can cut you a few extra thick. Chances are, they’ll be happy to oblige.

This is one of those few recipes that I actually check for doneness with a meat thermometer. You want to pull them out of the oven at about 155 degrees and tent them for a few minutes (the temp will rise a little as they sit).

Stuffed Pork Chops with Prosciutto, Mozzarella, and Sage

2 bone-in, thick-cut pork chops (center cut rib chops)
4 sage leaves, cut into ribbons
4 thin slices mozzarella
2 slices prosciutto
olive oil
kosher salt
freshly cracked black pepper

Serves 2 for dinner (easilly doubles or triples to feed a crowd)

Stuff the pork chops

Slice your cheese and grab your prosciutto.

Stack your sage leaves. Cut them into thin strips. (If you don’t have fresh sage handy, try substituting about a tablespoon of dried.)

Grab one pork chop. Cut a pocket in it like this with a small, sharp knife. Cut deep, but not all the way through.

Stuff in half the sage.

Add in a slice of prosciutto.

And pack in 2 slices of the cheese.

Repeat with the other chop.

Sear the pork chops

Lightly grease a heavy pan with olive oil. Use one that can go in the oven (I love to use cast iron for this). Set on the stove over high heat for a minute or two. Season one side of the pork chops with salt and pepper.

When the pan is hot (the oil will shimmer a little), put the pork chops, seasoned side down, in the pan. Spread them apart so they don’t touch. (If they’re crowded together, they’ll kinda steam, not brown.)

Sprinkle the tops of the chops with salt and pepper. Cook for a minute or two, until nicely browned on the bottom. Flip the chops over and pop the pan into your preheated, 450-degree oven.

Cook for 15-20 minutes, until the chops register 155 degrees on a meat thermometer when measured in the center.

When they’re done, yank the pan out of the oven. Transfer the chops to a plate. Loosely tent with aluminum foil for about 5 minutes. (This will let the meat rest, which helps keep it juicier, and let it come up to 160 degrees, the recommended temperature for pork.)

Serve and enjoy!

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I’ll spare you my standard speech about miniature food. Suffice it to say: If it’s small, I’m all over it. These mini meat loaves are no exception.

Based on Ina Garten’s fabulous recipe, these meat loaves pack huge comfort-food goodness in a small package. They’re a great thing to serve at a dinner party. I mean, come on: Who wouldn’t love a little meatloaf, made just for them?

Ina’s original recipe calls for all chuck (which is cheap and delicious).

I used a more traditional meatloaf mix of beef, pork, and veal. Use any mix of meat you like. Just be sure you wind up with 2 1/2 lbs. For the beef, definitely get ground chuck if you can. It has tons of flavor.

I also swapped in panko bread crumbs for regular, which provide a nice texture.

Panko are Japanese bread crumbs (made from crustless white bread). Most major grocery stores carry panko these days. If you can’t find them in your area, hit up an Asian market or order some online.

Panko bread crumbs

These little loaves are moist and meaty and all-together nap inducing, like all good comfort food. They have a subtle sweetness from a few cups of caramelized sweet onions, and mellow, earthy notes from mushroom soy sauce and a generous amount of fresh thyme.

The top gets covered in regular old ketchup. I like Heinz, but by all means, use your favorite.

Barbecue sauce would work, too, though the flavor could be overpowering depending on what kind you use.

Command your own little meatloaf army

Even if it’s just for a little while. (Sorry, couldn’t resist.) Seriously, though, they’re kind of fun to make. Tell me I’m wrong. (Smoosh, form, paint with ketchup…)

Alrighty. To the kitchen!

Mini Meat Loaves

Based on Ina Garten’s recipe

1 Tbls. olive oil
3 cups sweet onions, chopped (from 2-3 large onions)
2 tsp. chopped fresh thyme leaves
2 tsp. kosher salt
1 tsp. freshly cracked black pepper
3 Tbls. mushroom soy sauce
1/3 cup chicken stock
1 Tbls. tomato paste
1 lb. ground chuck (81% lean)
1 lb. ground pork
1/2 lb. ground veal
1/2 cup panko bread crumbs
2 extra-large eggs, beaten
1/2 cup ketchup
fresh parsley, minced, for garnish

Yields about 6 mini meat loaves

Preheat your oven to 350.

Caramelize the onions

Grab your onions.

Remove the peels and chop them up.

Put the olive oil in a large, heavy-bottomed pan on the stove over medium heat. Measure out 3 cups of onions. Toss them in the pan.

Add the thyme, black pepper, and a little kosher salt. (Go easy on the salt because you’re going to add mushroom soy, which is plenty salty, later on.) Stir to combine.

Cook over medium heat for 8-10 minutes, stirring occasionally, until translucent and brown. (Keep an eye on your heat and turn it down if need be. You want them to brown, but not stick to the pan and burn.)

When they look about like this, yank the pan off the heat.

Add the mushroom soy sauce, tomato paste, and chicken stock to the pan with the onions.

Stir to combine. Set the pan aside for a minute or two while you deal with the meat.

Make the meat mixture

Grab your meat. Toss it all in a large bowl.

Add the panko bread crumbs.

Quickly beat the eggs.

Pour the beaten eggs into the bowl.

And add the onion mixture.

Now, here’s the trick to making meatloaf that’s light and fluffy (i.e. not dense, thick, and heavy). Are you ready?

*dramatic music*

Don’t overmix it.

In fact, handle the mixture as little as possible—only enough to combine the ingredients together. Kind of the same way you make biscuits. That’s what you want to do here.

So, with your hands (or a fork, if you’d rather not get your paws all gooey), gently mix the ingredients together until just combined.

Like this:

Line a baking sheet with foil, then set a piece of parchment paper on top (if they stick, they’ll be much easier to get off the paper than the foil).

Form the loaves

Measure out 1 1/4 cups of meatloaf mixture. Plop it on your pan.

Shape the mixture gently, so that it resembles half a football. Again, you want to go easy here. Don’t mash the mixture together, which can make it tough and dense.

Repeat with the rest of your mixture, until you have 6 mini loaves.

I made mine a little smaller, so I could have enough to experiment with baking them in ramekins.

Grab your ketchup. Plunk a generous tablespoon on top of each loaf.

With your finger (or the back of a spoon), spread the ketchup around so that it covers the top.

Repeat with all your loaves.

Bake the meat loaves

Pop them into your preheated 350-degree oven. If you’re baking them in ramekins, set the dishes on a pan to catch any drips (mine bubbled over a little).

Bake 40-45 minutes, until they reach an internal temperature of 155-160 degrees. Start checking them after about 30 minutes, as your final cooking time will depend on how thick your particular loaves are. When they’re done, yank them out of the oven.

Now, depending on how fatty your meat is, your meat loaves are going to let out a little—or a lot—of juice. Don’t be alarmed if yours look like this. It’s kind of gross, I know. But it’s just fine.

Just scoop them off the pan with 2 spatulas.

Transfer them to a serving platter, and…presto! Little, picture-perfect rustic meat loaves. Sprinkle with minced parsley.

Oh, the meat loaves in the ramekins. They were good, but a wee bit on the greasy side. I’m not sure I’d do it again.

Let me tell ya: These are fabulous straight out of the oven. I swear, though, they’re even better the next day, reheated with cheese on a toasted bulkie roll.

Enjoy!

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On days like this, I’d like to think I might have been a butcher in a past life.

You know, a quintessential old-fashioned butcher: stout, white-haired, stained apron, big cleaver, enthusiasm for chopping things up.

I have the cleaver and the enthusiasm. That’s a start, I guess.

In a perfect world, I’d quit my day job and apprentice in two places: A pastry kitchen, and a butcher shop. (Sidenote: I can’t wait to read Julie Powell’s forthcoming book, Cleaving, on just that topic. It’s due out in December.)

For this recipe, I frenched the bones on a pork loin roast, soaked it overnight in a brown sugar brine, then slathered it with a generous amount of garlic, ginger, and parsley and roasted it.

The result is deeply flavorful and moist meat that’s fit for a king—or a tableful of your favorite royalty.

This article includes detailed instructions on how to trim the roast and french the bones.

From ugly ducking to a swan, by way of my big, pointy knife

This post could also be titled: How to Find An Oddly Butchered, Bone-In Pork Loin Roast, Chisel Away at It Like It’s the Statue of David, and Turn it into a Lovely Roasted Rack of Pork Worthy of Company.

In other words, I’m going to show you that you can turn an angry looking piece of meat like this:

Into a beautiful roast worthy of being the center of attention on your dinner table like this:

You’d serve that to your in-laws, wouldn’t you? Mmm hmmm. I know I would.

Warning

Looking back on this post, it quickly turned into The Hungry Mouse’s Gallery of Raw Meat Photography.

Proceed with caution if you’re squeamish. There are a fair number of close ups, but really, ya need ‘em to see just how to french the bones.

Sometimes bigger is, well, better

Let me back up for a sec.

Being the big carnivore that I am, it’s no surprise that I’ve always loved to cook meat, particularly roasts. It never occurred to me, though, that not everyone felt the same way—until I started throwing dinner parties shortly after I moved to Boston.

At the time, most of the folks I knew—even the ones who loved to cook—were intimidated by tossing a big hunk of meat into the oven, then lording over it for a few hours until that painful and uncertain moment when you have to decide whether it’s done.

Sure, they’d cook a steak, but they’d rather set themselves on fire than roast a whole prime rib.

I understand part of that, because prime rib is a commitment. It’s expensive, and you usually have a houseful of dinner guests wandering through your kitchen, anticipating one of the best meals of their lives.

Here’s the thing, though. When it comes down to it, cooking a roast is like cooking anything else: You just have to know how to do it. And really, with roasting, your oven does most of the work for you.

Not to mention the fact that a lot of the bigger cuts are the most economical. Think pork shoulder. Or chuck roast.

How I learned to cook meat

I learned how to cook meat the easy way: I was young and broke and bought what I could afford—which often meant large, odd, tough cuts.

That was in the early days of the Internet (the nineties, not the seventies), before you could shoot your question to Google and get 1,239,483 answers in .53 seconds. Before Epicurious. Before food blogs were everywhere. Back when the Food Network was the new big thing.

My mom can tell you all about it. When I was 18, she’d get calls like this from me maybe once a week:

“Ma! I need help! Do you have time to help me? I so totally need help.”

“Oh my god, are you OK, Jessie?”

“Yeah, yeah. Well, no. Here, look. I bought this huge pork shoulder. It’s a hulking, bloody thing and it still has the skin on but it was only six bucks and the guy at the meat counter told me it’d be delicious.”

“Slow down.”

“Right. So what the hell do I do with it? I don’t even think I have a pot it will fit in.”

And so on and so forth.

She’d always help me figure it out. Most of the time, the result was wonderful. Sometimes I screwed something or other up, and would wind up ordering Chinese after three sweaty hours in the kitchen.

No matter what happened, I always kept notes so I would know what to do—and what not to do—next time.

My point is: You won’t learn unless try. So go ahead and buy that brontosaurus-sized pork shoulder at the store if it’s on sale and you think it looks too good to pass up.

You’ll be able to figure out what to do with it. And if you can’t, I guarantee there’s someone on the Internet who can help. (Including me. E-mail me at jessie@thehungrymouse.com if you ever get stuck.)

Which leads me to this particular pork roast.

It was just a hair under seven bucks. The meat itself was a beautiful rosy pink, but I knew it wasn’t butchered quite right. There was way too much bone on it still, but how could I resist? I brought it home, and so begins our adventure.

Save all the scraps

One quick note before we get to the beast.

It may seem wasteful to trim a piece of meat like this. And it would be, if you threw out everything you cut off.

Save all the scrap and bone. They’re the makings of delicious, velvety roasted pork stock. Just toss them in a bag in the freezer until you have time to deal with them.

Alright, to the meat!

Garlic & Ginger Encrusted Rack of Pork

Beast
7 1/2 lb. bone-in pork loin roast

Brine
3/4 cup brown sugar
1/2 cup kosher salt
6 1/2 cups water

Herb rub
1 1/2 Tbls. fresh ginger, minced
7 cloves garlic, mashed
2 Tbls. fresh parsley, minced
1 tsp. kosher salt
1 tsp. freshly cracked black pepper

Serves 4-7

How to trim and french a bone-in pork roast: Start by trimming off the bulk

Alright, so here’s my roast. It’s got nice pink flesh and creamy white fat—just what you want to look for when you’re at the market.

And here’s the bottom.

Look at it from this side. I mean, clearly, something went terribly wrong here.

Note that there’s a large flat plate of bone on the bottom. I’m fairly sure it was a mistake and shouldn’t have been in the case like that. On every other pork roast I’ve purchased, this has been trimmed off. But that’s OK. My roast was six bucks. So I just cut it off myself.

Let’s get started. Flip the roast over, so the underside of the ribs are facing up.

Slice that plate of bone right off.

Set it upright and inspect the roast. This is how I’ve always purchased whole bone-in pork loin roasts in the past. It’s most likely how yours will look if you find one at the market.

Next, you want to trim the bulk of the meat off the ribs, so you can french them. Cut straight down until you hit the ribs.

Next, slice horizontally along the top of the ribs to remove the top strip of meat.

It will look fairly messy, but that’s just fine. You’re just trying to get rid of the bulk so you can deal with the ribs.

Here’s what it looks like from the side. It’s starting to resemble the pork roast we’re after, but we need to get rid of that jagged ridge on top.

Carve it on an arc so that the top slopes gently to meet the bone.

You’re aiming for something like this (not perfect, but the right shape). Normally, a “perfect” rack of pork will be trimmed all the way down to the eye (the round loin). I like to leave the top layer of fat and meat on. The fat will help baste the roast as it cooks and keep it moist. And those little bits of meat on top will be just delicious.

How to french the ribs on the pork roast

Next, flip the beast over.

Slice between the ribs to separate each one with a large, sharp knife.

Switch to a smaller knife if you like here (I used a paring knife because it’s easier to wield in small spaces). Cut away the meat from between each rib.

(Warning: This is where the pictures start to get a little gritty.) Your ribs will look kind of mangled. That’s just fine. This is a work in progress, and you’re not done. Trim the meat from between all the ribs like this.

Be really careful with your knife at this point. The pork fat will make everything very slippery and it’s easy to cut yourself.

Now, you’re getting somewhere:

Now work on each individual rib. Trim the fat and skin from the bottom of the rib. (Pull and slice with your knife.)

Your bones should be getting much cleaner.

Flip the roast over. Clean the tops of the ribs in the same manner.

Finally, scrape each bone with your knife to get it as clean as you can. You can also tie a string around the bone, and yank it off, taking the last of the fat with it. I can never manage to do this quite right, so I stick with a knife.

Get as much off as you can, but don’t make yourself nuts. The bones will brown in the oven, and the whole thing is going to look lovely�even if there’s a little fat still clinging to them.

Take all your scraps and toss them into a zip-top bag and freeze them to use for stock later.

Tie the pork roast

Next, cut a few lengths of kitchen twine. Tie them around the roast like this:

This helps the meat keep its nice, plump shape as it cooks.

Here’s my final roast, ready for brining.

Brine the pork roast overnight

Be sure to use kosher salt for this. It’s less salty than iodized or sea salt. If you substitute one of those, cut down the amount you use.

Combine the brown sugar, kosher salt, and water in a large bowl. Whisk until the sugar and salt are dissolved. Add in anything else you like here (crushed garlic and ginger would be good).

Put the roast in a gallon-size zip-top bag (or bowl if your roast is too big) and pour in the brine.

Smoosh the extra air out of the bag and seal it well. Refrigerate overnight, turning the bag over once or twice to be sure the meat soaks evenly.

Make the spice rub for the roast

Put the minced ginger, garlic, parsley, kosher salt, and pepper in a small bowl.

Mix together with a fork until combined in an even paste.

Roast the pork

Preheat your oven to 500 degrees.

Grab your pork roast. Drain the brine off and discard it (it’s done its job). Pat the roast dry. Set the meat on a rack in a roasting pan.

Put the paste on top of the meat.

Spread it around so that the top of your roast is covered.

Roast at 500 degrees for 20 minutes. After 20 minutes, drop the heat to 300 degrees and roast for another 1 – 1 1/2 hours, until the meat is done to your liking.

There are different opinions on pork doneness these days. I’ve seen more and more people eating it medium (pork is generally much safer these days than it used to be). That said, I like my pork cooked all the way through. Use a meat thermometer and yank it out of the oven when it’s done to your liking. Here’s what you’re looking for:

134 degrees = medium
150 degrees = medium well
160 degrees = well done

I like to yank it at 150 or so, then let it rest tented for 20 minutes. It’ll usually rise almost 10 degrees in temperature when it’s under that little foil nest. Resting will also help keep the meat juicy.

Once its rested, carve the roast in between the ribs, into individual chops. Serve immediately.

Enjoy!

Oh, and about cooking that prime rib I mentioned

I’ve devoted 4 pages in our new book, A Holiday Feast, to how to cook restaurant-style prime rib. The section includes what to look for at the market, plus tips on how to figure out what size roast you need to buy.

Thanks so much for your wonderful response to the book! We’re truly touched and are so excited about making the print edition available in the next week or so.

Cheers!

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I know. This is dangerous territory for a Yankee Mouse to tread. Let me say right now: I make no claims to being a barbecue expert. But, I knew I wanted to make pulled pork. I also knew that our grill wasn’t set up, and we don’t have a smoker yet (yet!). I figured, “OK, it’s a pork shoulder. I’ll braise it.” And that’s where it all started.

In the end, this was a very happy experiment that turned into one downright heavenly piece of pig.

This pulled pork started with something I saw on the Food Network. Cola and condensed milk, eh? Interesting. And the results certainly looked delicious.

I thought about it for a few days before I broke down and bought the pork shoulder. Then I consulted a handful of my favorite cookbooks and cruised around the interwebs searching for info on pulled pork.

I took what I learned and, true to form, made the rest up and hoped for the best. (Hey, sooner or later, everyone plays mad scientist in the kitchen.)

As it turns out, it was more than a decent gamble. The meat was moist, tender, and just a little bit sweet. (I know, with all that sugar, you’d think it would be cloying and sticky, but it wasn’t.)

I infused a couple cups of the braising liquid with some vinegar, tomato paste, and chili flakes for a thin, piquant sauce. The combination was utterly delicious.

All about pulled pork

There are a million ways to make pulled pork out there. (Please chime in!)

Let’s start with the meat.

The most common cut used is pork shoulder, sometimes called Boston butt or picnic shoulder. Check out my Garlic & Herb Roasted Pork Shoulder for more info on the cut. For this dish, the pork shoulder is cooked until it’s so tender that you can literally pull it apart with your hands.

Pork shoulder is great because it’s usually really cheap. And there’s a reason for that. Or several, rather.

It’s tough as hell. It has a lot of connective tissue. It’s fatty. It’s huge to the point of being a little unwieldy.

But cook it long enough, and you can coax it into a meltingly tender, mouthwatering hunk of hog.

On to the sauce.

Pulled pork varies from region to region in the U.S. In Tennessee, it’s enveloped in a tomato-based barbecue sauce. Go east, and folks in North Carolina drench theirs in a tangier, vinegar-based sauce.

I did the latter, again, kind of on a whim. I’ve included my rough recipe. But by all means, this would be equally delicious tossed with your favorite barbecue sauce.

A note on ingredients for pulled pork

This recipe calls for 14-ounce can of sweetened condensed milk—which is milk that’s been cooked down, then enriched with 40 to 45 percent sugar. It’s thick and syrupy, and is a common ingredient in candy and baking.

Don’t confuse it with evaporated milk, which is canned milk with 60 percent of the water removed. Evaporated milk doesn’t have additional sugar.

For the cola, I used a bottle of regular Coke. Don’t swap in any kind of diet cola. The fake sugar will be utterly disgusting when it reduces.

Don’t do this every day (a.k.a. official disclaimer)

I’ll beat you to the punch: I can’t imagine this is good for you.

Nothing with “2 liters of Coke” as an ingredient could possibly be classified as healthy. But since I doubt you’ll be eating this every day, I’m not that worried.

Oven-Braised Pulled Pork

1 bone-in pork shoulder, about 7 lbs.
1 large onion, peeled and diced
kosher salt for browning the pork
1 14-oz. can sweetened condensed milk (*not* evaporated milk)
2 liters cola (I used a bottle of Coke)
1 tsp. Aleppo chili flakes (or other chili flakes)
1/2 tsp. kosher salt
1 tsp. garlic powder

Tomato Vinegar Sauce
2-3 cups sauce from the pork
~1 cup unseasoned rice wine vinegar
1 tsp. garlic powder
1/2 tsp. Aleppo chili flakes
1 tsp. kosher salt
2 Tbls. tomato paste

Serves about 8

Sear the pork shoulder

Preheat your oven to 350 degrees.

Grab your pork shoulder. Leave the skin on. Leave the bone in. Sprinkle it on all sides with a little kosher salt.

Drizzle a little olive oil in a large, heavy-bottomed pot. I used my trusty Big Red Pot (a.k.a. a 9-quart enameled cast-iron dutch oven). Set it on the stove over high heat for a minute. When the oil is hot enough to shimmer, add the pork shoulder.

Sear it like this for a few minutes over high heat, until it develops a nice brown crust on the bottom.

Then flip it over and sear the other side.

When both sides are nicely browned, remove the pork from the pan for a minute. I use my grandmother’s poker (technical term, I know) to do this. It’s one of the best, meanest-looking kitchen implements I have, and it’s the ideal thing for lifting a heavy roast.

Assemble the braise

Add the chopped onion to the pot. Give it a stir and cook for a few minutes on medium-high heat to lightly brown it.

Then pour in the cola. The whole bottle. It feels totally ridiculous and wrong, I know, but just go on and dump the whole bottle in. I had a full-blown giggle fit by the time I was done. (And also, I was thinking that ginger ale would be a really good substitute.)

Next, pour in the condensed milk.

Stir it around to combine the milk with the cola. (Admittedly, this isn’t the best looking stuff at this point. Never fear. The pork will be wonderful.)

Toss in the chili flakes and garlic powder. Stir to combine.

And finally, put the beast back in the pot, skin side up.

Cover the pot with a tight fitting lid. Slide it carefully into your preheated oven. Bake for 3 1/2 to 4 hours at 350 degrees.

Let the braised pork cool

When you pull the pot out of the oven after about 4 hours, your pork will look about like this (still not very appealing, I know):

Give it a test to be sure that it’s done. Grab a fork, and pull at the edge of the meat. It should separate easily. (If it feels like you couldn’t shred it with your bare hands, cover it back up and bake it for another 15 minutes, then test again.)

When the pork is done, carefully transfer it from the pot a large platter or bowl.

Set it aside on the counter until its cool enough to handle.

Make the sauce for the pulled pork

Now, what you do from here depends on what kind of sauce you want on your pulled pork. If you’re using your favorite barbecue sauce, skip to the pork shredding, below.

If you want to try my sauce based on the braising liquid, here’s how to do that. Once you make the basic sauce, you can tweak it to suit your particular taste. (Toss in more vinegar, garlic, chili flakes, etc.)

Strain the sauce carefully. (It’ll still be really hot.)

Discard those solids.

You’ll wind up with a ton of juice.

Put 2-3 cups of the juice in a medium pot. Add the rice wine vinegar, garlic powder, chili flake, kosher salt, and tomato paste. Whisk to combine well.

Bring the sauce to a simmer over medium-high heat. Simmer for about 10 minutes. Taste the sauce and adjust the seasoning if you like.

Mine looked about like this.

Shred the cooked pork

When your pork is cool enough to handle, it’s time to pull it apart. Remove the skin and the fat that’s left beneath it. (Resign yourself now: You’re going to get your hands sticky.)

Your pork will look about like this.

With two forks, start to pull the meat off the bone.

Remove and discard any large chunks of fat or gristle you find.

When you’re done, you’ll wind up with a pile of meat like this:

And a pile of garbage like this. Toss all this stuff. It’s more than given up all its flavor.

Pull the large chunks apart further with your hands, so that you have a bowl of shredded pork.

Mmmmm…

(At this point, your kitchen should smell amazing. If you have a dog, he’ll probably be giving you the crazy eye.)

Put the shredded pork in a bowl. Ladle your sauce over the meat. Toss it with tongs to distribute the sauce. It’s even better the next day.

I served my pulled pork in hot dog buns, with a little chipped cilantro.

Enjoy!

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These chicken fingers are fast food, Mouse-House style. They’re the perfect thing to make when you Just Need To Eat, Like Now (a fairly common occurrence at our place these days, given that we just moved). The dish is really versatile—and easy to throw together on the fly. It’s one of the things I like to whip up when friends pop over unexpectedly.

In terms of prep, these chicken fingers only take a few minutes to put together. Drop a few handfuls of fresh basil leaves onto your chicken tenders. Then wrap a slice of prosciutto around each. Fifteen minutes in the oven, and the prosciutto is nicely crisped, and the chicken is cooked through and juicy as can be.

About buying prosciutto

Now, I almost always have a little prosciutto in the house. If that sounds like a cost-prohibitive practice in this crappy economy, hear me out.

Most big American delis will sell two basic kinds of prosciutto: domestic and imported.

Now the imported stuff—real prosciutto de Parma—is great, but it’s expensive. We generally save it for occasions when we want to enjoy its rich, buttery texture uncooked on its own, or wrapped simply around ripe slices of fig or melon.

When we use prosciutto to cook, however, we generally get the domestic kind, which is much cheaper. (Our butcher, McKinnon’s, carries the stuff for $5.99 a pound, which is much better than the $17.99 price that its imported cousin commands.)

Any kind of prolonged cooking generally toughens up the tender slices of salty pig, so domestic is just fine for cooking in my book. In the case of these chicken fingers, it gives the chicken a sort of unsmoked, paper-thin, bacon-y wrapper.

I also only really buy a half pound at a time, to ensure that it doesn’t dry out before we use it up. To me, that’s short money for a really flavorful ingredient.

As fancy as you want to be

To serve this as part of a more elegant dinner, get a little fancy with how you arrange the herbs under the prosciutto. It’s fairly translucent when cooked, which means that the herbs will show through.

While we’re on the topic of fresh herbs

Indulge me for a minute.

People never believe me when I say this the first time, but: I love to garden. (Maybe it’s because I’ve lived in the city for so long. But it’s true. I love to garden.) I love to dig and get messy. I especially love to plant things that I can cook or eat—which makes all the sense in the world, I know.

For this recipe, I used basil that I have growing in my new container garden on our back deck.

Since we get a ton more sun at our new place in Salem, one of the first things I did was plant a kitchen container garden. (OK, we’re not planning on eating the cacti…) It was right up there with making strawberry ice cream. It was just something that I had an inexplicable and urgent need to do. Before we finished unpacking. Before we totally explored our new hood. (And of course, completely vexing The Angry Chef yet again.)

Whenever I’ve been able to—and even when I wasn’t supposed to—I’ve planted a large kitchen garden. Sometime, ask me about the years I spent living on the top floor of an old movie theater, where I planted a secret garden on the roof, complete with pink flamingos and an embarrassing expanse of astroturf.

Hands down, I love to play in the dirt. And when you cook a lot, nothing beats just walking outside and snipping off whatever you need for dinner.

Oh, if you can make it out, there’s a baby fig tree nestled in one of the pots in the center. I’ll be writing more about that little guy soon. I bought him at the farmer’s market here in Salem, and the guy who sold him to me promised that he’d bear figs next year. I’m not sure I’m entirely convinced it will work, but I’m going to try my best. Stay tuned for that.

Serving suggestions for chicken fingers

I usually whack them into nibble-sized pieces and serve them on a platter as an appetizer. I don’t bother getting fancy with the presentation. You can also serve them whole, with a side of rice and a big, crunchy salad. Or on a bulkie roll topped with fresh tomato sauce and sprinkled with grated Parmesan and sliced provolone.

You can also replace the basil with sage. Or fresh garlic, sliced paper thin. Or cilantro. Or sliced apples. You get the picture.

A note on portion sizes and recipe scaling

I find myself saying this a lot lately: This recipe is more method than actual recipe. It’s one of those recipes that works just as well for one chicken finger as it does for one hundred—which makes it easy to feed the crowd you have on hand.

One chicken finger = one piece of chicken, two or three basil leaves (depending on their size), and one piece of prosciutto.

Scale away! I’ve done the recipe below to feed about 4 as a main course.

Prosciutto and Basil Wrapped Chicken Fingers

12 chicken tenders (or chicken breast sliced into strips)
12 slices prosciutto
about 24 basil leaves
kosher salt
freshly cracked black pepper
olive oil

Serves about 4 as a main course, or 10-12 as an appetizer, depending on how you slice them up.

Preheat your oven to 425 degrees. Line a sheet pan with parchment paper and set it aside.

Wrap the chicken in prosciutto

Grab your chicken tenders. If you like, you can also slice up larger chicken breasts into tender-sized strips. Totally up to you.

Put a few basil leaves on top of the chicken. Use enough basil to cover the chicken (so that each bite has a piece of the herb).

Grab a piece of prosciutto. Starting at one end of the chicken tender, wrap the prosciutto around the chicken, keeping the basil leaves in place, so it looks like a little mummy.

Don’t worry if some of the basil peeps through. You’re not going for perfection here. (That will happen by itself in the oven.)

Set the wrapped-up chicken on your prepared sheet pan. If the ends of the prosciutto are peeking out, tuck them under the chicken. I don’t bother toothpicking them. They stay together just fine.

Repeat with the rest of your chicken tenders.

Drizzle a little olive oil on each piece of chicken. Then sprinkle with a little kosher salt and freshly cracked black pepper.

Pop the pan into your pre-heated 425-degree oven. Bake for about 15 minutes.

Fifteen minutes should be long enough to cook most chicken tenders. (If you cut your own, and they’re on the thick side, cut into one to be sure.)

They’re done when the chicken juices run clear and the prosciutto is nice and crisp.

(That little one there is for the dog.)

If you’re a meat thermometer type of person, you’re aiming for 165 degrees.

Serve and enjoy! They also reheat really well, and are great at room temperature—or even cold.

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