herb dijon pork tenderloin

Yesterday, I mentioned that I had made an awesome pork tenderloin over the weekend. My favorite recipe is my mom's pork with Thai peanut sauce, but I do not dare to touch that piece of perfection with a ten foot pole. So, when I want a good cut of meat with an interesting flavor, I usually turn to this herb dijon pork tenderloin. It is super flavorful, very healthy, and comes together in a flash. I had been craving it for a while, so Sunday night I invited Brittany over (it's her favorite, too), and, along with Brian and Whitney, we had a feast.

The great thing about pork tenderloin is that it is a delicate, lean cut of pig, and it can be tender and succulent when cooked perfectly. The tough thing about pork tenderloin is that it is really easy to overcook. (See what I did there?) When I made it on Sunday, it turned out great. We enjoyed it with a gluten-free wild rice blend, roasted carrots, and asparagus.

But of course, this wouldn't be a caramelized memoir story without a comical mishap or an incoherent rambling to accompany dinner, so I am going to pull one from the archives. This story is a cautionary tale, filed under, "Don't Be Like Me: Part 317." Several months ago, I decided to make this dinner for a boy I liked. That is not meant to be a casual comment like, "Wow, look at me, guys! I am young and single and I date!" No. If you know me, you know that the mere mention of a Y chromosome generally foreshadows some sort of disaster.

Anyway, I had not been seeing this guy too long when I invited him over for dinner. A couple of months, maybe. I thought this pork loin was a solid choice - a good meal that always garners rave reviews, from picky eaters and discerning foodies alike  It was not terribly difficult, it did not require a lot of hands-on time, and it seemed super fancy.  Done, done, and done.  On the way home from work that evening, I got nervous and started thinking that it might be a good idea to use a meat thermometer, just to ensure that everything went off without a hitch. So, I stopped in at the grocery store and picked up the The Good Cook Precision Meat Thermometer. The thermometer had a circular reader with temperature along the top and a handy-dandy scale on the bottom indicating "doneness" by type of meat, the idea being that this "double check" made it fail-safe.

Armed with a meat thermometer, I thought I was good as gold. The pork went into the oven, with the thermometer placed ever-so-perfectly in the thickest part of the loin. The guy arrived and the conversation and wine were flowing liberally. Soon the witching hour of oven roasting arrived. I checked on the pork about three minutes before it should have been finished. The Dijon and herb paste was forming a beautiful crust, and it smelled amazing. I was quite pleased.

“Perfect,” I thought. “Everything is working out just perfect."

Except for one thing. I checked the thermometer, and it seemed that the meat was still at least 30 degrees undercooked. I began to have an internal panic attack, though I remained charming and composed on the outside (I think). I was hesitant to check on the meat by cutting into it, since you can lose a lot of juice and flavor that way. So I let the pork remain in the oven. Three minutes later, which had been my “perfect cooking time” during previous attempts, there was still very little movement from the needle.

I debated what to do. Should I take it out, and risk giving the poor dude food poisoning? Or should I go against my gut and let it cook some more? My internal panic attack began trending toward a full-blown meltdown, and this time it showed. My body temperature jumped, my pulse quickened, and I felt dizzy. (Okay, so maybe it was the wine.) I decided to let it cook for a few more minutes. After three or four minutes, the needle had moved a bit, but it was still, according to the thermometer, undercooked. At that point, I took it out anyway because I knew it had to be done.

I cut into the meat and, no surprise, it was overcooked. I was angry that I had bought a broken meat thermometer, and even more upset that the extra few minutes messed up the meal. I apologized profusely, "I am so sorry! I can't believe this ancient thermometer finally decided to break at this very moment! It normally never fails! What are the odds?!" (Side note: I don't know why I lied about the age of the thermometer. Weirdo.) Luckily, my date was a good sport and told me that it was delicious and even went back for seconds. He was either really hungry or just a fantastic actor. Probably the latter.

Now, at this point I should probably mention that it does not suffice to simply use a meat thermometer, but you should also educate yourself on how to read it. Because I am utterly incapable of "letting go" the way most people can, I didn't sleep that night, and the next day I was determined to figure out what I did wrong. Chances were slim that my brand-new thermometer was broken - even if it did only cost $5. So I got on the product website and started to read. If you were a good blog reader and followed the link to the thermometer, you can see that the needle has a red tip and a black tip. It was soon apparent that I was reading the wrong end of the needle. Yes, that's right. Me. College grad. Semi-decent home cook. Doing it wrong. I wish I were joking.

Reading the reviews, it turns out that I was not the only disgruntled cook. Some of my favorite excerpts:

• “No way to know whether the red or black needle is the one to use. Who designed this anyway I hope they got fired.”
• “There's no way a meat thermometer should be this difficult for a moderately intelligent home cook to read.”
• "I have no idea wheather to calibrate by red or black part....would that be temp...or pointing at the "poultry" ?? Great! Lots of help this web site is THANKS FOR NOTHING! Was a waste!”

And finally…

• “Good grief, are you guys illiterate? From the use & care tab: Black pointer indicates food temperature while red pointer indicates Internal Cooking Temperature Guide”

So yeah, either I am simply an illiterate idiot, or I am lumped in with the rest of this product’s users. And given their spelling mistakes and grammatical errors, I’m not sure which is worse.

The moral of the story is: Know how to use your tools. I have since acquired a new meat thermometer - I made my first turkey for Thanksgiving this year and I was not taking any chances.  I bought a simple one for $2.99, and it works like a charm.  Also, trust your instincts on cook time. I knew it was finished since I had made it a few times before, but I was a slave to the clock. And most importantly, do not make pork tenderloin for a date. Stick to something easy, like chicken. It's really, really difficult to mess up chicken. And it just so happens that I have mastered date-night chicken, so maybe you will see a recipe for that on here at some point. Or maybe not.

Herb dijon pork tenderloin

Serves 6-8

adapted from Budget Bytes

2 pork tenderloins, about 1 - 1 1/4 pound each

1/2 cup dijon mustard (I used half smooth and half grainy)

1 tablespoon olive oil

2 teaspoons minced garlic

6 sprigs fresh thyme

1 handful chopped fresh Italian parsley

1. In a bowl combine the 1/2 cup mustard, 1 Tbsp olive oil, minced garlic, thyme and parsley. Stir well. Coat the pork loin with the marinade, cover and refrigerate at least four hours.

2. Preheat the oven to 375. Put pork in a Pyrex dish, scooping up any extra marinade and pasting it over the meat. Roast for about 40 minutes, or until the internal temperature reaches 160 degrees.*

3. Let the pork rest for at least 5 minutes after you take it out of the oven to let the juices redistribute. Slice on an angle into medallions and serve. Garnish with more fresh thyme and parsley, if desired.

*If you only want to cook one tenderloin, cut the recipe in half and monitor your thermometer closely. Your cook time will be substantially shorter.