Spinach Stuffed Pork Chops

The week after Denise's birthday is always a returning — not a recovery, because you don't recover from grief, you just learn to carry it differently, the way a man with a bad knee learns to shift his weight so the good knee does more work. The grief is always there. But the week after, you start to feel the other things again — the route, the weather, the family, the smoke — and they fill back in around the grief the way water fills in around a stone, and you're whole again, or close enough to whole that you can function, and functioning is what I do.

October in Memphis is church homecoming season. Homecoming at Mt. Zion Baptist is the biggest event of the church calendar after Easter — a Sunday celebration that brings back former members, honors elders, and features enough food to feed the five thousand with leftovers. I've been cooking for homecoming for twenty years, and my assignment is always the same: pork shoulders. I am the shoulder man. I would put this on a business card if I had business cards, which I don't, because I am a mailman and our business card is the mail itself.

This year I smoked six shoulders for homecoming — sixty pounds of pork, started Thursday night, finished Saturday afternoon, pulled Sunday morning in the church kitchen by me and Walter Jr. and Deacon Harris, three men with paper towels and gloves, pulling meat the way Uncle Clyde taught me: by hand, with the grain, in long shreds that hold the smoke flavor in every fiber. Walter Jr. is getting better at it. Not good — the boy's hands are too gentle, he treats the pork like it might break, which it won't because it's already been broken by sixteen hours of heat and that's the whole point — but better. Progress. Inheritance in slow motion.

Homecoming Sunday was glorious. Pastor Williams preached for ninety minutes, which is about forty minutes longer than most people's attention spans but not longer than mine, because Pastor Williams earned every minute with a sermon about returning — returning to God, returning to community, returning to the table. The choir sang "I'll Fly Away" and the church swayed and clapped and the old mothers in the front pew caught the spirit and the young people in the back pew watched with phones they were pretending not to check, and it was all beautiful and messy and exactly right.

After service, the fellowship hall filled with food: my pulled pork, Sister Tate's fried chicken, Deaconess Brown's macaroni and cheese, Mother Harris's potato salad, and forty other dishes from forty other church members, each one a testimony of love expressed in casserole form. I served the pork from behind the table, heaping plates for people I've known for decades and people I've never seen, because at homecoming everyone is welcome and everyone eats and nobody leaves hungry. That's the rule. It's always been the rule.

A young man — couldn't have been more than twenty — came through the line and said, "Mr. Earl, is this the same pork you made last year?" I said yes. He said, "I been thinking about this pork for twelve months." Friend, there is no higher compliment than a man who has been thinking about your food for a year. That is not just a meal. That is a memory. That is what food is supposed to do — embed itself in someone's brain so deep that they carry it with them, and when they taste it again, they're not just eating, they're returning.

After homecoming, after the food was served and the fellowship was done and the church was quiet again, I sat in the empty sanctuary — third pew, left side — and I let the silence hold me. It's a good silence, a church silence, full of all the prayers that have been said in that room and all the songs that have been sung and all the sermons that have been preached. I thought about returning. I thought about how I return to this pew every Sunday, to this smoker every weekend, to this neighborhood every day. I thought about how returning is just a fancy word for faithfulness, and faithfulness is just a fancy word for showing up, and showing up is all I've ever done. It's enough.

Six shoulders feeds a congregation. This recipe feeds a family — and some Sundays, that’s the whole congregation that matters. I don’t fire up the smoker every week, but I cook pork every week, because pork is my language and the kitchen is where I say what I mean. These spinach stuffed pork chops are what I make when homecoming is a memory and the week is ordinary and I still need to put something real on the table — something that has a little tenderness on the inside and a good hard sear on the outside, which is not a bad way to describe most things worth doing.

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 30 min | Total Time: 45 min | Servings: 4

Ingredients

4 bone-in pork chops, about 1 inch thick (roughly 8 oz each)
2 cups fresh baby spinach, roughly chopped
4 oz cream cheese, softened
1/2 cup shredded mozzarella cheese
3 cloves garlic, minced (divided)
1/4 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes
1 teaspoon smoked paprika
1 teaspoon garlic powder
1/2 teaspoon onion powder
1/2 teaspoon dried thyme
1 teaspoon kosher salt, plus more to taste
1/2 teaspoon black pepper
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 tablespoon unsalted butter
Toothpicks for securing

Instructions

Preheat the oven. Set your oven to 400°F. Let it come fully up to heat before the chops go in — no shortcuts on pork.
Make the filling. In a skillet over medium heat, warm 1 teaspoon of the olive oil and add two-thirds of the minced garlic. Cook 30 seconds until fragrant, then add the spinach and a pinch of salt. Stir until just wilted, about 2 minutes. Remove from heat and let it cool slightly, then squeeze out any excess moisture with a paper towel. In a bowl, combine the wilted spinach, cream cheese, mozzarella, red pepper flakes, and a pinch of black pepper. Mix until fully combined.
Cut and stuff the chops. Using a sharp knife, cut a deep pocket into the side of each pork chop, running parallel to the bone and stopping just short of the other edge. Don’t cut all the way through. Spoon the filling evenly into each pocket — press it in gently so it reaches the back. Secure each chop closed with 2–3 toothpicks.
Season the outside. In a small bowl, combine the smoked paprika, garlic powder, onion powder, thyme, 1 teaspoon kosher salt, and 1/2 teaspoon black pepper. Pat each chop dry with a paper towel, then rub the spice blend all over the exterior on both sides.
Sear the chops. Heat the remaining olive oil and the butter in an oven-safe skillet (cast iron preferred) over medium-high heat until the butter stops foaming. Add the chops and sear without moving them for 3–4 minutes per side until a deep golden-brown crust forms. Add the remaining garlic to the pan in the last minute of searing.
Finish in the oven. Transfer the skillet directly to the preheated oven. Roast for 15–18 minutes, until the internal temperature of the pork reaches 145°F on an instant-read thermometer. If the filling is visibly bubbling at the seams, you’re right where you want to be.
Rest before serving. Remove from the oven and let the chops rest in the pan for 5 minutes — do not skip this. Remove toothpicks before plating. The filling will have set and the juices will stay where they belong.

Nutrition (per serving)

Spinach Stuffed Pork Chops — When You Can’t Smoke Six Shoulders, You Still Feed People Right