This is the most important technique in this recipe and the reason DTF's pork chop has those distinctive lacy, irregular crispy edges instead of a uniform thick crust. When cornstarch is dredged on dry, it forms a separate coating layer that puffs up into a thick, opaque shell during frying — the kind you see on orange chicken. When cornstarch is mixed into a wet marinade (soy, wine, sesame oil) and applied to the pork, it creates a thin, almost translucent coating that adheres to the surface of the meat rather than forming an independent layer. In the hot oil, this thin film crisps unevenly — the parts with more marinade accumulate and form delicate lacy edges; the parts with less stay thin. The result is a pork chop with a crisp, irregular, almost feathery border and a tender interior. The coating also carries the five spice and soy flavor directly onto the pork's surface rather than encasing the meat inside a flavorless shell.

Baking soda does something salt alone cannot. Salt brining draws moisture in through osmosis and seasons the meat from within — useful, but it does not change the protein structure. Baking soda (sodium bicarbonate) raises the pH of the pork's surface, which denatures the actin proteins and prevents them from tightening as aggressively during the high heat of frying. The result is a noticeably more tender bite — the meat stays juicy and pulls apart easily instead of chewing firm. This is the same mechanism behind velveting in Chinese cooking, where baking soda is sometimes rubbed onto meat directly. The key constraint: 30 minutes is the maximum. Past 30 minutes, the pH continues to alter the protein structure into mushiness. Set a timer. Rinse the chops thoroughly after brining — you do not want residual baking soda taste in the final dish.

Thin boneless center-cut pork loin chops, about ½ inch thick and 4 oz each. You want a cut with minimal connective tissue and fat marbling — the loin is ideal because it cooks quickly and evenly once pounded thin. Avoid bone-in chops (the bone makes even pounding impossible) and pork tenderloin (too cylindrical to flatten into the right shape). Pork shoulder/butt has too much connective tissue and fat for this technique. If your grocery store only carries thicker boneless chops (¾ to 1 inch), butterfly them by slicing horizontally through the middle, stopping before you cut all the way through, and opening them like a book before pounding. After the brine and pounding, every chop should be roughly ¼ inch thick — uniform thickness is what gives you even browning across the entire surface.

Two reasons. First, light soy sauce not dark. Dark soy sauce (used in most Chinese-American takeout) is thickened with molasses and has an intensely dark color — it stains rice deep brown. Light (regular) soy sauce is the standard soy sauce you see at most grocery stores; it has a warm amber color and a clean salty-umami flavor without the dark staining. Second, and more important: the partial-set egg technique. In standard fried rice, eggs are scrambled in the pan first and then rice is added — you end up with visible yellow and white egg pieces mixed through brown rice. Din Tai Fung cracks whole unbeaten eggs directly into the hot oil, breaks the yolks and moves them for exactly 3 to 5 seconds only (until maybe 20% set), and then adds the cold rice immediately. As you toss, the still-liquid egg wraps around each individual grain instead of forming curds. Every grain comes out coated in a thin pale-yellow egg film. The rice changes color from white to pale golden-yellow, with no visible egg chunks.

Day-old rice is strongly preferred. Freshly cooked rice retains surface moisture that turns to steam in a hot pan, creating a humid environment that causes the rice to clump and steam instead of fry. Refrigerating rice overnight removes that surface moisture — the cold air circulation and the retrogradation of the starch creates individual grains that separate cleanly and resist clumping under high heat. If you need to make this same-day, spread the hot rice in a thin layer on a baking sheet and refrigerate uncovered for at least 2 hours before cooking. Fan it at room temperature for 20 minutes first if possible, to start the drying process. Do not use warm or room-temperature rice — it will produce a soft, sticky mass rather than distinct, slightly crisp grains.

About 350°F (175°C) — use an instant-read thermometer if you have one. At the right temperature, the pork chop sizzles immediately on contact with a steady, lively bubble but does not splatter aggressively. If the oil is too cool (under 325°F), the cornstarch coating absorbs oil rather than crisping — you get a greasy, pale result. If the oil is too hot (over 375°F), the exterior browns before the interior cooks through, and the lacy edges can burn. A simple test: dip the edge of the marinated chop in the oil. At the right temperature, it should sizzle immediately with small steady bubbles, not violent crackling. Add the chops gently, laying them away from you to avoid oil splash, and resist the urge to move them for the first 90 seconds — early movement tears the cornstarch coating before it sets.

Three meaningful differences. First, the coating: breaded cutlets use a flour-egg-breadcrumb sequence that forms a thick, crunchy shell. DTF's pork chop uses only cornstarch-in-marinade, which creates a thin, lacy film that stays close to the meat. The texture is crispier in places (the lacy edges) and tender in others (the flat surface) — not uniformly crunchy. Second, the flavoring: the cornstarch marinade carries soy, Shaoxing wine, five spice, and sesame oil directly onto the pork surface. A standard breaded cutlet seasons the meat separately from the coating. Third, the thickness: pounded to ¼ inch, this chop is much thinner than a Western cutlet and cooks through in under 3 minutes per side. A Japanese tonkatsu, for comparison, is ½ to ¾ inch thick with panko breadcrumbs for maximum crunch — a completely different dish. The DTF chop is closer in spirit to a Taiwanese-style 排骨 (pai gu) — thin, five-spice-scented, lacy fried pork.