It's from a cookbook with 794 pages. Over 4400 recipes. I attempted to use it 25 years ago, and kept finding mistake after mistake in the recipes. "Tablespoons" were replaced with "cups" ; "2 servings", when they meant "12" ; "Cook at 525 degrees", when they must have meant "425". It was the oddest thing really, and perhaps it was that darn cookbook that did my marriage in! Nonetheless, in my attempts to please, I did find one recipe that was honorable, with a little tweaking, and to this day it brings moans - of pleasure. I think it's the manliness of pork chops that do it, the sweetness of the unexpected apple, and the saltiness of the bacon ... they can tell - you mean business, and we're hoping, when they're finished, they will too. :)
Ingredients
Two lbs. pork chops
One lb.
lean bacon (if he's the sensitive type)
One tsp. Curry
Three tart apples
Two yellow onions
One cup plain yogurt (or sour cream)
Paprika powder
One tsp. butter
The Efforts
1. Cut bacon, onions, and apples in wide strips
2. Saute' in butter over low heat
3. Sprinkle chops with curry, and brown in butter
4. Pour on the yogurt/sour cream, cover and fry the chops slowly for 5 min., or until done
5. Distribute the fried bacon, onions, and apples on the chops. Sprinkle with paprika powder.
A Little Somethin' Somethin' on the side
Rice
Green Salad
Pairing:
Sauvignon Blanc - A crisp, dry, refreshing white wine
Beaujolais - A light-bodied red wine
Dessert:
The cold draft bursts into the house,
It freezes, winter bangs on the doors,
A single tear hangs on the eyelash,
Like the yearning - of mine and yours…
If you are hopeful and trusting,
Your soul is full of passion…
But somewhere whines the dog,
Somewhere vanish constellations.
The hope never dies, the hope
Is our glamour and our sweetness,
Your tear resembles the yearning,
That seeks its nest in the heavens.
A hungry man darns his dreams,
He has to support his kids,
But his wife thinks of the guy,
Who’ll turn her grief into bliss…
But the kids – the heavenly gifts,
By their warbling put out the fire…
The cat grieves at the fireplace,
Reading the woman’s desires.
But no! She remains a faithful wife,
She must help her spouse. She must!
The cat resembles a tax collector,
Eyeing ashes with a hidden lust.
Janri Gogeshvili
Lefse, 
