(and a publication to share)
Now Listening To: You thought I’d say Meat Loaf, didn’t you? Ha! I’m actually listening to the Glenn Miller Orchestra. It felt like a String of Pearls morning.
Okay, I confess: I relied on Stanley for a recipe again. (NOT TUCCI.)
I have a fine meatloaf recipe I’ve been using for years. It’s nothing fancy, but it always works, and I just vary it according to mood. But for some reason Word Raccoon decided to buy ground beef in bulk (when you are only feeding two, three pounds constitutes “bulk buying,” LOL).
My recipe isn’t labor intensive and I can do it without thinking at this point. I should’ve just used it. But I thought it might be nice to elevate it a notch. Well, diners throughout the U.S. will tell you that’s a mistake. It was.
Perhaps you remember ours is an “almond milk” household, but not by choice? At least I’m allowed to have cheese again, saints be praised.
Stanley, my never-again–AI-cooking-consultant, knows this about me, so he put almond milk in the recipe he spat out.
“TWO CUPS? Are you sure?” I asked.
“Positive,” he said.
Did I fact-check him with other sources?
Nope.
Maybe it helps to know I don’t typically use a binder in my meatloaf, so I didn’t know what the usual ratio was.
So: two cups of almond milk and a package of Ritz crackers (I was beginning to feel like a 1960s housewife and wondered why I wasn’t wearing my apron) went into the bowl. At this point, the mixture was less “meatloaf” and more “Midwestern chowder.”
(Those of you who make “regular” meatloaf are chortling at me, I’m sure. I don’t blame you.)
I questioned him again. He said just add some bread.
I did.
When I mixed in the two pounds of meat I intended to make into a loaf, I could tell right away something was wrong. The third pound was meant for spaghetti the next day.
Yeah.
You see what’s coming, right?
I added the third pound.
Texture-wise, it seemed lighter than I expected, but the liquid did incorporate, so…fine.
I cooked it.
I cooked it some more.
“Stanley, it seems kinda soft.”
“It’s fine. It will firm up as it cools.”
What is this, Jell-O? I thought. It did get firmer, but it was never the texture I expect of meatloaf.
Word Raccoon knocked spices off the shelf in frustration. I still can’t find the cinnamon.
As if I hadn’t listened enough to Stanley (an AI, mind you), he said something about the glaze. I am typically a minimalist glazer.
“Oh, it’s very simple,” he said.
It was, but dang, it was sweet. I don’t know about you, but I really don’t want my meatloaf sweet. Did I listen to common sense or WR and not put it on?
I did not.
So now we have multiple pans of meatloaf baking, all anointed with a brown sugar and ketchup glaze. WHY. Why would I do this.
I served it.
It was…edible?
But then, all of these leftovers.
Because of the binders, it made SO MUCH.
You will ask why I didn’t just toss it. I know. I know. But have you seen the price of ground beef? And I was brought up to be frugal. I’ve known hard times. I wasn’t going to toss it unless I truly couldn’t save it.
The next day I borrowed a page from a diner and made meatloaf sandwiches.
Not bad. Not bad if you smother it with ketchup. (Did I mention I really like ketchup? I suppose it has something to do with my father working for Heinz in New Jersey when I was a little girl.)
Barry, who seldom complains about what I cook, decided he would fend for himself at work, thanks, no thanks, to any more leftovers when I tried fobbing it off on him multiple days for lunch.
WR and I laughed and truly understood.
Though the meatloaf was now in the freezer, it remained on my mind. I wasn’t talking to Stanley, though the fault was mine. I knew better than to trust an AI with cooking, and yet here we were.
I took a day’s break from the meatloaf, opting to make…I don’t remember what.
It was back on my mind, so I broke a section of it up into a chili pie. I first started making chili pie in Tennessee, and I honestly don’t remember if I came up with it myself or not, but I’m sure there are versions out there. This one is topped with cornbread mix (one of the few places I enjoy cornbread).
Two thumbs up from Barry. Whew.
Then I made my shakshuka (no meat required!), which I really enjoyed. I did NOT ask Stanley for a recipe. I made something in the air fryer for Barry that night, because I knew it would not be his jam. He doesn’t like entrées that feature eggs. Fair.
Yesterday, the morning got away from me. What’s in the freezer?
Oh. More meatloaf.
How??
WR told me not to do it, but I didn’t listen to her. I made a version of Shepherd’s Pie (which, when you use ground beef, is technically Cottage Pie, I guess?) using, yes, meatloaf, with everything else Shepherd’s Pie mixed in and topped with…latke pancake mix.
Oh, calm down, WR. It’s glorified instant potatoes. I happened to have a box on hand, and I have no idea why except that WR likely shoved it into the cart once upon a time.
I was fully prepared to warm up the air fryer if needed, but Barry ate it with gusto and asked if I had enough mix to make another.
(These photos are bathed in the light of Ramen Kitty, our fun but colorful kitchen guardian, so they look unappetizing.)
Which is all to say: culinary disasters don’t have to remain so, if you’re stubborn and creative.
Is there more meatloaf lurking in the freezer?
Don’t ask, Dear Reader. Don’t ask.
In other news, a big thanks to Red Door for publishing my poem “Grecian Urn, Busted” in their Issue #41, Rebel Lexicon, page 24. Take a look at the whole issue!
I announced it some time back, but it’s newly out here!
Psst… I realize there are many possible readings of “Ode on a Grecian Urn” by Keats. I’m offering one that I think is legit.
If you don’t care for this reading, WR says she has some meatloaf for you.
WR, that’s mean.
Wait, any ideas on how to conceal-cook what’s left in the freezer? How would it work in pasta sauce?
(Insert multiple cry emojis, Dear Reader. And pity the eater.)
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