Melodrama Mondays - The Pork Chop Scapegoat

Today's post brought to you by: my hatred for Mondays.

Since my Mondays (and probably everyone else's) are typically filled with lots of angst and drama, I've decided to start a series called "Melodrama Mondays," which will document the trials and tribulations of my encounters with this most dreaded of all dreaded days of the week. 

Today's Monday started out drama-free enough, but by the end of the day, I was ready to punch somebody, so I came home and took my frustration out on four boneless pork chops. I can safely attest to the fact that they are dead now. I made Pork Schnitzel, recipe courtesy of Deep South Dish. The recipe called for me to trim the fat and then pound the heck out of my pork chops. I used a saucepan and cleaver to do the deed, and while I imagined certain peoples' faces on the pork chops, I pulverized them to a pulp. Boy were they tender!

Here they are good and dead. Bet they'll never talk back to me again!

While I was preparing the pork chops, my kitchen sounded more like a construction zone, and my cats were convinced that I was going to turn my cleaver onto them next. They still haven't emerged from their various hiding spots. I've surely now traumatized everyone in the household and, accordingly, feel much better myself. I wonder if I'll ever get to the point when I don't have lousy Mondays? Nah.




While preparing dinner and beating my pork chops into submission, Jeremy and I talked about the need for us to have a common kitchen language. My hands were covered in egg and bread crumbs, so I asked him to get out a frying pan. "The big one?" He asked. And I responded that yes, I would need the big frying pan. He got out the fryer. I pointed out that it was a fryer and that I wanted the big frying pan. He pointed out that he would call the big frying pan a skillet, which I guess is true enough. Regardless, we decided it would be better if we spoke the same language...even if it was the wrong terminology. I agree wholeheartedly, but I, of course, think that we should go with my version of things (as wrong as it may be). I have a feeling he would disagree. 

I won the last argument over food language. The famous barbecue versus grilling debate.  When Jeremy first moved to Georgia, he was under the horrible misconception that a grill was called a barbecue. I quickly set him straight. A grill is a grill. Barbecue, in the South, is an institution...NOT necessarily a method of cooking OR a cooking device. Barbecue is like the official food of the South, although many versions of it exist. Carolina, Memphis, Kansas City, and Texas. I resent that Georgia does not have its own variation, but I digress. A grill is not a barbecue, and I will hold this opinion until the day I die. Jeremy realized this fact quickly enough and kept his opinion about the matter to himself. BUT he doesn't use the word barbecue when I'm around unless he's referring to Bilbo's or Southern Pit or Sticky Fingers (which has since lots some of its barbecue creds with me but that's another rant for another Monday).