Meatloaf

Jim vowed he could improve on my meatloaf after The Incident on Thursday. I couldn’t agree more. The Thursday meatloaf began with the basics: white bread soaked in milk, eggs, sautéed onion, a dash of Worcestershire and a pound of good ground beef.

Okay, then. Perhaps because I overthawed a pound of mysterious ground beef in the microwave, leaving only its bottom edge a bit tan—and, yes, firm—I resisted thawing expensive artisan bread and found that while the milk box was sealed, the heavy cream box was already open. So I stirred some heavy cream into a quarter cup of Progresso Unseasoned Bread Crumbs.

I let that rest while I considered the meaty glob and considered all that peeling and chopping and sautéing onions need, plus there'd be an extra pan to wash. The hell with the onions.

Meanwhile, the crumbs seized up on the cream so I added more cream. This created uncrushable lumps and a lot of them. Discouraged, I threw that mixture away and thawed the bread. Let the bread cubes stand with light cream, the heavy being now a bad choice, wouldn’t you say? I would. Apparently artisan bread is not very absorbent so I just threw in two organic eggs, a pinch of salt and mixed up the glop, hopefully.

Anyway I baked this concoction, thinking ‘ketchup’ is always a good moistener. Din din, knives and forks, wine and hard voila! dry, hard, flavorless Meatrock.

Volunteer into the breech last night, at about six Jim began to back away from his meatloaf commitment. I presented him with the four lean TJ burger burger discs, flat as if they were stamped out on a cement sidewalk.

“Ready to mix this up?”

“Maybe,” he said and took his drink out to the porch. Meatloaf wasn’t gonna happen.

“How about burgers, then? I’ll put the string beans on.” Necessity being the mother of invention, I buttered one patty and slammed another on top. Jim looked doubtful.

“Think of this as a thick steak,” I suggested and handed him the frying pan.

Well, even with butter the too-rare burger--nuked for a taste-enhancing thirty seconds—was too dry even for a ketchup rescue. The beans were just fine. What potatoes? What comforting starch?

This morning as we drove home before lunch I mentioned that I hadn’t planned anything for supper.

“Please don’t!” he instantly replied.

There’s a goodly supply of dogfood for Mopsy in the fridge. And a big bowl of water beside her dish.