Citrus-Herb Pork Roast

I finished the application. Monday night, ten-thirty, James asleep, the apartment humming with radiator heat and the particular silence of a one-bedroom condo holding its breath. I opened the draft and filled in the remaining fields — the adoption agency name, the case number I'd gotten from Eastern Social Welfare Society after three emails and a phone call that cost me forty minutes and most of my composure. I uploaded the documents: my adoption decree, my American birth certificate, the single page of Korean records that says nothing except that I existed. I read it all back. I read it again. Then I typed my email address in the confirmation field and pressed save and it was done — not submitted, but done, complete, a filled vessel waiting to be poured.

I told Dr. Yoon on Wednesday. She asked how it felt. I said it felt like standing at the edge of a pool you've been circling for years — the water is right there, you know it's cold, you know it might be deep, and the only question left is whether you jump or walk away. She said, "You don't walk away from things, Stephanie." I said, "I walked away from Korea for twenty-five years." She said, "No. Korea was taken from you. Walking toward it now is not the same as walking back." I wrote that down when I got home. I keep writing down the things she says that rearrange me.

James and I made mandu on Saturday — pork and tofu dumplings, the pleating meditative and imprecise. He's better at the filling ratio; I'm better at the folds. We made sixty of them, fried half, froze half, and ate the fried ones with soy-vinegar dipping sauce while watching a movie neither of us remembers because we were talking the whole time about nothing important, which is its own kind of intimacy. I told him the application was complete. He said, "When do you want to submit?" I said, "Soon." He said, "I'll drive." The same thing he said in January. The man keeps his promises small and keeps them all.

Kevin called Sunday. He's been promoted to lead a new single-origin line at Stumptown. He talked about Ethiopian Yirgacheffe beans for twenty minutes with a passion that made me laugh and ache in equal measure, because this is who Kevin becomes when he's well — someone who cares deeply about something that isn't pain. I told him about the application. He went quiet. Then he said, "I'm not ready for that. But I'm glad you are." Everyone's adoption story is their own. His is his. Mine is about to begin.

The mandu James and I made that Saturday — sixty of them, imprecise and meditative — reminded me that pork cooked with care is its own kind of language. When I want to carry that same feeling into a weeknight that doesn’t have an hour for pleating, this Citrus-Herb Pork Roast is what I reach for: fragrant with rosemary and orange zest, unhurried in the oven, the kind of thing that makes the apartment smell like someone decided it was worth the effort. It’s the recipe I’ll make the night I finally press submit.

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 1 hr 30 min | Total Time: 1 hr 45 min | Servings: 8

Ingredients

1 boneless pork loin roast (3 to 4 lbs)
2 tablespoons olive oil
3 garlic cloves, minced
1 tablespoon fresh rosemary, finely chopped
1 tablespoon fresh thyme leaves
1 teaspoon fresh sage, finely chopped
Zest of 1 large orange
Zest of 1 lemon
2 tablespoons fresh orange juice
1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
1 teaspoon kosher salt
1/2 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
1/2 cup low-sodium chicken broth (for roasting pan)

Instructions

Preheat. Heat oven to 375°F. Place a rack inside a roasting pan or rimmed baking sheet and set aside.
Make the herb paste. In a small bowl, stir together olive oil, garlic, rosemary, thyme, sage, orange zest, lemon zest, orange juice, lemon juice, salt, and pepper until a loose paste forms.
Prep the roast. Pat pork loin dry with paper towels. Rub the herb paste evenly over the entire surface, pressing gently so it adheres.
Sear (optional but recommended). Heat a large oven-safe skillet over medium-high heat. Add a thin film of oil and sear the roast on all sides, about 2 minutes per side, until lightly golden. Transfer to the prepared rack.
Roast. Pour chicken broth into the bottom of the pan to prevent drippings from burning. Roast uncovered for 60 to 80 minutes, or until an instant-read thermometer inserted into the thickest part reads 145°F.
Rest. Tent loosely with foil and let the roast rest for 10 minutes before slicing. This keeps the juices in.
Slice and serve. Cut into 1/2-inch slices and spoon any pan drippings over the top before bringing to the table.

Nutrition (per serving)

Citrus-Herb Pork Roast — The Warmth We Made Together