Pork Cooked in Milk

While doing press for my latest cookbook, Something from Nothing, I sort of got into it with an interviewer across the pond. She asked me what it was like to make a book full of food that wasn’t so attractive (I’m paraphrasing). I wasn’t so much offended as I was confused, since I think the food in the book– even the all brown food– is genuinely beautiful. 

A valid question, though, as I made a concerted effort to not adorn every dish in the book with herbs or chili flake or a flourish of something (even if they are suggested, I wanted to challenge myself not to photograph them as such). Making “Something from Nothing” often means bare bones, just the basics, only the essentials, etc. and the whole collection of recipes has a very “everything you need and nothing you don’t” approach. It felt important to me that this ethos be visually represented, too. 

I asked the interviewer to clarify– I was wondering if something maybe got lost in translation, or if I was being too sensitive, but she doubled down on the question, saying that when she made the Dilly Bean Stew for guests, she was actually “worried” she’d not be able to serve it because it looked so bad (I’d potentially call that user error, but I’m not here to split hairs). She went on to say it tasted so phenomenal that all was forgiven (thank you!). 

When my friend Amiel asked me to contribute a recipe to (the newly re-launched) Gourmet, I asked him what I could make for Gourmet that I wouldn’t make for myself. What made a recipe suited for that publication versus something I could just publish myself (sidenote: I think about this a lot. What makes a recipe suited to a cookbook versus the newsletter versus YouTube etc.). He answered my question with a question (love that), and asked me “well, what would you publish with us that you would never publish yourself?” I started to think through things that were complicated and annoying– things I occasionally make that almost certainly don’t fall under the category of accessible or highly cookable in any way. Maybe “a project” could be a good fit…though, even in my most private moments, I’m not much of a “project” cook. 

Then I started to think of food that’s maybe not all that good-looking– or at least not thought of as beautiful in the visually-obsessed, overly commodified part of our culture. The saucy, sloppy things. The muddy, braised things. The skillets and pots full of food that never get their photo taken because you don’t have any herbs, never “lensed by” my iPhone for anyone to see. These types of foods, I make all the time. Usually classified as “personal meals,” and more recently, “food I make for my baby that I also eat because I’m hungry, too,” these are dishes not meant to be seen by the outside world. My indoor foods (please know that attributing any sort of shame to this practice is difficult for me since it feels antithetical to my whole cooking philosophy, rooted in generous acceptance and a “you’re perfect as-is” attitude). 

We often talk about the toxicity of unrealistic beauty standards as it relates to our bodies and faces, the manipulation of imagery through makeup or post-production to make us think it’s possible to look a certain way– but it also impacts food and cooking. Food styling for commercials and advertisements is a long-held practice and maybe we know that’s not what the food will look like and we don’t care. But should the same logic apply to cookbooks and videos? Recipes designed to make us think “wow, that looks so good” but met with crushing disappointment when…they don’t. 

I’ve never professionally styled the food in my books or videos or columns– I cook the recipe, and what it looks like is what it looks like in the photo. I’ve always thought that a good recipe, when cooked properly, is beautiful without having to fake it. I think the woman who interviewed me got under my skin because I felt (and have always felt, to a certain degree) the occasional ping of insecurity about my food not looking “as nice” or “professional” as some others because of this choice to do it myself in the pursuit of authenticity. 

Anyway, that’s how we got to Pork Cooked in Milk, the furthest, most cartoonish end of the spectrum, a dramatic example of what I’m getting at here. A visual sin, to be sure, but would I waste my time if it wasn't spectacular? The most luxuriously silky, gorgeously textured pork you’ve ever had with a rich, tangy, garlicky sauce for which to bathe in– if you’ve never had it, you’re in for a(n unsightly) treat. 

For more on “nice looking” food designed for The Internet Gaze, plus the recipe, head to Gourmet. I’d also consider a subscription– if you’re looking for the intelligent, edgy, dutifully reported, long-form hole-sized in your heart left by….checks notes….every food media brand, I have a feeling this will be your place.