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RDJ-- Grilled Peaches and Pork, 08-28-12  RDJ
 Aug 28, 2012 20:49 PDT 

Volume 15      Number 157
US Library of Congress ISSN: 1530-3292

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Grilled Peaches and Pork

4 (4-ounce) boneless center-cut pork loin chops
1/4 cup balsamic vinegar, divided
2 tablespoons fresh lime juice
3 teaspoons chopped fresh thyme
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
4 large peaches, peeled, halved, and pitted (about 12 ounces)
Cooking spray
6 cups trimmed arugula
1 teaspoon turbinado or granulated sugar

Place each piece of pork between 2 sheets of heavy-duty plastic wrap,
and pound each piece to 1/4-inch thickness using a meat mallet or a
rolling pin.

Combine 2 tablespoons vinegar, juice, thyme, salt, and pepper in a small
bowl. Reserve 1 tablespoon juice mixture. Pour the remaining juice
mixture in a large zip-top plastic bag. Add pork; seal and marinate in
refrigerator for 1 hour, turning occasionally.

Preheat grill to medium heat.

Place peaches, cut sides up, on a plate; drizzle with remaining 2
tablespoons vinegar.

Place pork on grill rack coated with cooking spray; grill 3 minutes on
each side or until pork is done. Set aside.

Place peaches, cut sides down, on grill rack; grill 4 minutes or until
soft and slightly browned. Turn and cook 2 minutes or until heated
through. Cut each peach half into 4 slices. Slice pieces of pork into
1-inch-thick strips.

Drizzle trimmed arugula with reserved 1 tablespoon juice mixture,
tossing to coat. Divide arugula evenly among 4 plates. Top with grilled
pork strips and peach slices; sprinkle evenly with turbinado sugar.
Makes 4 servings.

Nutritional Information
Amount per serving
    Calories: 216
    Calories from fat: 29%
    Fat: 7g
    Saturated fat: 2.4g
    Monounsaturated fat: 3g
    Polyunsaturated fat: 0.6g
    Protein: 25.5g
    Carbohydrate: 12.7g
    Fiber: 0.6g
    Cholesterol: 65mg
    Iron: 1.5mg
    Sodium: 234mg
    Calcium: 84mg

By Walt Mills

Simplify, Simplify

My wife is getting ready for the annual town wide yard sale, which means
mooching around in a hot attic where we collect all the things that we
don’t have room for in the rest of the house. They are possessions with
some usefulness left in them, but not quite enough to keep around and
too much to just throw away. But I think if we could build a bonfire in
the attic she would be happy to throw all of our clutter into it.

“Simplify, simplify,” Thoreau advised us, and “It is preoccupation with
possessions, more than anything else, that prevents us from living
freely and nobly.”

When I was in my twenties I thought nothing of loading all of my
possessions into the back of my second-hand Mercury Montego and setting
off into the west. I had some books and a duffle bag of clothes, and if
I was not living nobly, at least I was living freely.

Somewhere out on the plains of Texas on a long highway under the moon I
drifted into a reverie imagining my life as I should live it. I dreamed
I would live in a little cabin near the water where I could sail a small
skiff every morning on the flat Gulf of Mexico before going off to some
job that paid enough to get by on. Or I would go back to the home where
I had grown up in south Florida and plant orange trees like my
grandfather had done when I was a young boy.

In those days I wanted to simplify my life and complicate my mind. The
two things seemed to go together. A rich interior life was the
complement of a monastic stripping away of nonessentials, and especially
of all the nonessential possessions. Like the young Burmese dissident,
who released from 10 years in a prison cell into the workaday world felt
nostalgic for his life of reading and contemplation, the more I had the
less free I felt.

It must be twenty years now since we moved into this old house and began
to slowly fill the attic with our debris. Old picture frames and baby
clothes, the child’s gate and the bookcase with a wobbly base. Old
computers and the manuals we once needed to make them operate. Books,
some of them rain damaged, in boxes against the wall. Once it has gone
to the attic, there is little chance it will ever come down again.

Oh, my wife found a few things with a useful second life for someone,
and we carried them down to the church for their sale. Someone is always
coming along who could use a child’s gate to keep their toddler from
tumbling down the stairs. And there is always someone handier than I,
who can take the wobble out of a bookcase and put it to good use. But if
a tornado were to come along and suck the rest of the stuff out into
oblivion, we would be none the sadder.

Those are probably not the kinds of possessions Thoreau was going on
about. Since his days, the amount of distracting stuff we all own has
grown by exponential leaps and bounds. We are tethered by electronic
chains to our distractions, including the one on which I’m typing these
words. Simply, simplify, he cried, and took off to the woods and the
pond. How rich we would be if we could follow him there.

Read more of Walt's writing at his blog:

(The above column is copyright © 2012 by Walter Mills. All rights
reserved worldwide. To contact Walt, address your emails to    
awmi-@verizon.net ).

Link of the Day:

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You can also use Upcoming to let the community know which events you're
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will tell you when they're coming to your town.


from Wendy

Off The Shelf

Have you tried a new product lately? Want to share your opinion with
others? This is your chance to review new grocery items. Name the
product. Say what it is. We ask that you be specific about the qualities
you like or dislike without getting “long-winded.” We also ask you to
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There were no Off The Shelf submissions received this week.

Do You Remember?

Baby, The Rain Must Fall
Glenn Yarbrough 1965
written by Elmer Bernstein - Ernie Sheldon

      Some men climb a mountain,
      Some men swim the sea,
      Some men fly above the sky:
      They are what they must be.
      But, baby the rain must fall,
      Baby, the wind must blow,
      Wherever my heart leads me
      Baby, I must go, baby I must go.

      I do not love for silver,
      I do not love for gold,
      My heart is mine to give away,
      It never will be sold.
      So, baby the rain must fall,
      Baby, the wind must blow,
      Wherever my heart leads me
      Baby I must go, baby i must go.

      I am not rich or famous:
      But who can ever tell?
      I don't know now what waits for me
      Maybe heaven, maybe hell.
      Baby, the rain must fall,
      Baby, the wind must blow,
      Wherever my heart leads me
      Baby I must go, baby I must go.

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