When I was at a hot restaurant on the West Coast, I ordered pork chops just to see how the chef would surmount the problems of too-lean, asbestossy pork chops.
First of all, they were baby pork chops. They were tiny. And I had the feeling locally supplied from a craft pig raiser. Then they were coated on the fatty edges with a rich pastry crust, to make sure you got swallowability and flavor in every bite.
I meant to go back there and try something else but never did. The foie gras appetizer was also superb.
During my first marriage the big fundraiser for our church was a pork chop dinner with baked potato, green beans with bacon and a slice of homemade pie. We’d order specially cut (”Iowa cut”) chops which were fattier and thicker than normal. The man who owned the grill and I would spend all day on the chops, another gentleman tended a large potato baker in an old propane tank and the little old ladies were inside, in the kitchen. People came from miles around for what I remember as being a $7 cost.