The Leftovers of Sugaring Season
A solitary pork chop, on a white dinner plate in the centre of the table. Ah, ma pauvre Annabelle, you don’t want to look at it or even think about it—cold, forlorn—but your dad doesn’t seem to understand. “Well, it’s there now if anyone wants it,” he says. He bought a family pack of chops at the supermarket. Family packs are always for four.
Slow-baked chops are one of his specialities. A survival recipe your grandma gave him when he left Ireland. But this is the first time he’s attempted ma version Québécoise, marinated in maple […]
