I don’t know what writing on here is going to look like in the future. I don’t know what to write about…or, more accurately, if I’m allowed to write about the things that I want to write about. One must maintain some minimum level of decorum. But before I start doing that, when you neglect to share your bed with people for 28 years, you know what you learn? Sleeping with someone else in a full size bed is not easy. I need some damn sleep.
Anyway, that has nothing to do with meatloaf. Otherwise things are fine. We have a ton of stuff in my house, and we need to figure out where to put it all. We went on a honeymoon to Ocean City, MD and saw almost no one. That was fun, incidentally. If the walls could blog…but I’m not the walls.
Still no meatloaf.
Rewind two months. Jen has her bridal shower, receiving almost no skimpy attire. Instead, she receives recipes. Me, I cook 5 times a week and never use recipes. I do everything on feel, a little bit of this, a little more of that, uhh, maybe make it hotter, colder, 3 or 4 more minutes, too acidic, needs pepper, maybe it’d taste better with soy sauce – as much as it is assumed that I’m anal retentive and formulaic, I really just do something based on how I feel like they should be done. I’m hardly an expert, but if you’ve eaten my food enough times, you’d have to admit it’s pretty decent. Not repeatable, mind you, but most of the time I get it together OK. So, I’m not a big recipe guy. Jen? She IS a big recipe guy. Err, girl. Everyone brings a recipe on an index card, all the index cards are compiled into a scrap book, food ensues.
I, in need of a gimmick, decided I was going to blog about our different recipes. Tonight was meatloaf. I don’t know who made it, but it seems like perhaps one of the Amys. The concept is meatloaf with onions, bisquick, ketchup/brown sugar sauce, ground beef and pork – pretty straightforward in mixture. Instead of baking it as a giant mass, you’re supposed to cook each clump separately, sort of like a tall hamburger. You still do it in pyrex and so on, it’s just not one lump. Jen, who was cooking tonight, supplemented with massed sweet potatoes and corn.
Not sure what to say now. It was good. It was tasty. The sauce was tangy. The meatloaf tasted like meatloaf, but maybe 20% better than most meatloaves. We have leftovers, which is nice. The recipe brazenly exclaimed “better than your mom’s meatloaf.” Better than MY mom’s or Jen’s mom’s? Don’t you talk about my mom. She doesn’t even make meatloaf, but if she did, it’d be better than your mom’s meatloaf. Maybe it’s better than your mom’s meatloaf, but you don’t even know my mom. Maybe it’s better than Jen’s mom’s meatloaf, fine, I’ll give you that. I don’t know if she makes meatloaf either.
Take it back.
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