Pork Chops on the barbecue are an acquired art. It’s so easy to char them to a cinder, or dry them out, or undercook. (Mom would say, “either a burnt offering, or a bloody sacrifice”). But Steve’s got it down to an art. I admit it, I’ll cook almost anything. And gender lines are pretty well meaningless when it comes to division of work around here. But there are two territories where we never cross the line. I don’t grill, and his only involvement in breadmaking the occasional dough-watching or ingredient selection.
These ones turned out delectably moist and tasty as usual. The secret, he says, is patience. And not flipping too early. A good lesson in many endeavours.