Pounded, Bound, and Full of Garlic

Hello, friend.

Sometime around 2012, I received a cookbook as a gift.

Which cookbook, you may ask?

It’s called 50 Shades of Chicken—a parody inspired by the 50 Shades of Grey book series. You may have heard of them. (If not, and you’re about to Google it, be warned: those books come with very adult, somewhat naughty content.) The cookbook borrows the themes, but dials things back a bit.

Unless you’re the chicken.

The recipes have names like Please Don’t Stop Chicken and Hot Rubbed Hen. You get the idea. Shockingly—or maybe not—the recipes are actually delicious, and the book delivers a solid amount of fun in the kitchen.

But…we’re not doing chicken bondage this week.

As much fun as that might be.

Instead, we’re tying up some pork.

After we beat it a bit.

The Recipe (and the Ghost’s Opinion)

So, without further ado, I present this week’s recipe: Mignon de Porc à l’Ail, or Pork Tenderloins with Garlic (Les Halles, p. 168).

Anthony Bourdain writes:

Le sigh.

One of these days, I will make a proper demi-glace to stash in my freezer—but it will almost certainly be made from beef bones rather than veal. Unless someone wants to split a 50-pound order with me. Let me know if you do.

As suggested, I served the mignons with mashed potatoes.

Let’s dig in.

On Pork Sizes and Refusing Violence Against Perfectly Good Meat

The recipe calls for four pork tenderloins, supposedly enough for four to six people. I typically cook for two or three, so I halved it.

I also couldn’t find 10-ounce pork tenderloins anywhere. Mine were closer to 16 ounces each, and I wasn’t about to chop off a perfectly good hunk of pork just to make it conform to the recipe. That way lies madness—and wasted meat.

Pork tenderloins are usually sold in pairs, which makes shopping easy. Just try to grab two that are roughly the same size, since you’ll be tying them together into one long pork…uh…roast? Appendage?

Anyway, you could swing it and probably not hit a cat. Dead or alive.

Garlic: Excessive and Non-Negotiable

You’re also going to need a lot of garlic. Four heads for the full recipe. I used three instead of the halved amount because two of mine were on the smallish side.

These get turned into addictively delicious garlic confit—garlic baked gently with olive oil and thyme.

The last time I made garlic confit (for the garlic aioli I served with the steak frites), I roasted individual unpeeled cloves wrapped in foil.

They burned.

Yes, the oven was too hot. But also: every single clove still had to be peeled. So this time, I worked smarter, not harder. I sliced the tops off the garlic heads, drenched them with olive oil and fresh thyme leaves, wrapped them in aluminum foil, and roasted them that way.

When they’re done, you just squeeze the head and the cloves slide right out like buttery little miracles.

And the smell of roasting garlic is enough to stir even the weakest of appetites.

Mash half of the cloves.

Spankings, But Make It Culinary

Then it’s time for the spankings. I mean—pounding the meat.

You don’t need to flatten it to scallopini thinness. You’re just evening things out, banging on the fat end of the tenderloin until it roughly matches the thickness of the pointy end. You can even do this with your hand if you don’t have a meat mallet.

But don’t hurt yourself.

Remember: both you and the pork deserve kindness. If not gentleness.

Spread the mashed garlic on one tenderloin, add a slice of bacon, then place the second tenderloin on top in a 69 position—narrow end to fat end—so the whole thing is roughly uniform in size.

The Bondage Phase

Then comes the fun part: the bondage.

There are several ways to tie up a piece of meat like this, but if you want to slice it later without cutting string, use individual lengths of kitchen twine and knot them at even intervals along the pork.

Once it’s properly restrained, heat a large sauté pan, add oil and butter, and brown the pork on all sides.

Transfer it to a roasting pan and slide it into a 350°F oven for 20–30 minutes, depending on thickness. I cooked mine to medium—145°F—then let it rest while I made the sauce and mashed potatoes.

Sauce, Potatoes, and French Laundry Reverie

The sauce is intentionally chunky: thinly sliced shallots, white wine, dark stock (chicken, veal…or vegetable, which is what I had), butter, and the remaining garlic confit cloves.

The mashed potatoes were nothing fancy—Yukon Golds, butter, heavy cream, salt, and pepper. Honestly, they’re just a vehicle for garlic. Boiled potatoes would be just as lovely.

Tonight, with the leftover mignons and potatoes, I’ll probably make Thomas Keller’s glazed carrots. You know Thomas Keller. The French Laundry. The restaurant Anthony Bourdain once called “the best restaurant in the world, period.”

If you haven’t seen the A Cook’s Tour episode where Anthony visits The French Laundry, it’s worth watching. The way he idolizes Keller is unmistakable—the tender, besotted look, the nervousness. Keller responds in kind, honoring Anthony by creating a dessert just for him.

I’ve talked about this episode before, because I think it’s as foundational to Bourdain’s story as the childhood oyster moment in France. When A Cook’s Tour begins, he hasn’t yet explored the vast expanse of global food and culture. He’s also not as unfiltered as he later becomes.

It’s a perfect snapshot of Anthony Bourdain becoming Anthony Bourdain.

The Overnight Rule (Which I Ignored)

Now—what I didn’t tell you earlier is that after tying everything together, you’re supposed to refrigerate the pork overnight.

Well.

Fuck that noise.

I made it all in one afternoon and then put it in the fridge overnight. Well…most of it. It smelled too good not to eat immediately. I’m confident it doesn’t matter which side of the recipe the fridge time happens on—it’s delicious either way.

Or, hell, just make it and eat it all on the same day. It’s perfectly fine.

No Mediocre Endings

This is one of those deceptively simple recipes, despite the grandiose French title. But that’s the thing, isn’t it? Why use one English word when you can use three French ones?

And charge more for it.

We’re officially in full holiday swing now—two weeks into December. I’ll be perusing the cookbooks for celebratory meals. The only thing I make every year is sourdough cinnamon rolls. Everything else is up for reinvention.

Because whatever the new year brings, I refuse to end this one eating mediocre food.

Enjoying These Messy Kitchen Missives?

If this made you laugh, hungry, or mildly concerned for my cookware, consider sharing Cooking with Anthony’s Ghost with someone who appreciates good food, bad decisions, and the occasional culinary rebellion.

Forward it to a friend, a fellow home cook, or anyone who refuses to eat mediocre meals—especially at the end of the year.

Because Anthony Bourdain lives on as long as we’re still cooking his food.

In reverence and rebellion,
Michelle
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