Grilled Pork Loin: Food, Folks And Frustration

Over the holidays, my lady and I went back to Houston to visit both sets of parents and just generally bask in the whole family togetherness thing. For more on the meterological weirdness attendant upon the visit, see this week's Weird Chronicles.

One of the greatest parts of the vacation for me was the Sunday after Christmas, when I went out to my folks' house and had a day with my dad, burning off a huge pile of yard debris, talking and enjoying his company. The move to Carolina has been great, but I often miss being able to see my folks on an hour's notice.

That evening, for dinner, by special request I made my special grilled pork loin. It's a recipe I've come up with through a long period of experimentation, and my folks love it.

It starts with a four-hour marinade composed of:

½ c. Worcestershire sauce
½ c. soy sauce
¼ c. balsamic vinegar
1 tbsp. garlic juice (or 3 cloves of garlic, crushed)
2 tbsp. olive oil

Mix all together. Place pork loin in large plastic bag, pour marinade in and seal well. Place bag inside a dish (to contain any leaks) and refrigerate for 4-6 hours.

That takes care of flavoring the inside. Then, I flavor the outside with a light coating of garlic powder, freshly ground black pepper and Hungarian paprika. Over the top I put a fairly thick coating of McCormick's Montreal Chicken seasoning blend. It's seriously good on pork.

When grilling the pork, I use a mix of direct and indirect heat, leaving an area on the floor of the grill clear of charcoal so I can "park" the loin and let it cook more slowly so the outside doesn't burn.

After the loin comes off the grill, it is critical to allow it to rest for 15-20 minutes before carving. Pork is just as susceptible as poultry to drying out if carved before it's rested.

This generally doesn't need any sauce, but feel free to get creative. My dad whipped up a cold cranberry-horseradish sauce that was stellar.

Next week, we'll discuss Monday night's creation, when I was faced with the daunting prospect of creating a meal that would please the palates of my folks, my lady's folks and her brother and sister-in-law. Not that I was nervous or anything.

Frustration

You were wondering when that would come up, right?

There is a certain major beer, which shall remain nameless, that has an advertising campaign running presently in which it identifies itself as the "coldest-tasting" beer.

COLD IS NOT A TASTE. Cold is a sensation. Cold is a comparative measurement of temperature. Cold is the feeling you get in the pit of your stomach when informed you've got to cook for a passel of family members with varying palates.

I have similar issues with the panoply of food products marketed as "fresh-tasting." Fresh, likewise, is not a taste. Fresh is an evaluation. Fresh is the absence of mold or decay, which unless you're eating cheese or kimchi is a good thing.

There. I feel better. Got any food pet peeves of your own? Drop 'em here, along with any other questions, comments, professions of undying love or large cash grants.