"Meatloaf by any other name, uh, smells..."
"Use what's in the freezer. We need to defrost it before Fall.", The Wife shouts over her shoulder on the way out.
She's heading to work. I'm looking for work, so I'm the homemaker. I get a load of laundry started, wash the dishes, take a nap, throw the clothes in the dryer, check Facebook, pull up this blog to write something and stare out the window. I get up and make some more Elixir of Knowledge so I can stare out the window again. The buzzer gurgles behind me. I take the clothes out of the dryer and head for the sofa, i.e. "The Sorting Table". Me and an armful of Pakistani polyester move through the kitchen. I glance over at the clock.
The laundry is dumped on the sofa. I return to the kitchen, open the refrigerator door, and start to rummage. An echoing voice reminds me from the back of my mind. Closing that door and opening the one above it, I stare into the freezer. I pry loose two flattened baggies, one of hamburger, the other Italian sausage. Okay.
I can work with this. Sure.
I flashback to memories of the family kitchen. I scroll through those memories until I find images made from hamburger.
Oh. Nah, need green beans and potatoes.
No, outta mac'n'cheese.
No, not that. Never again.
I google a recipe that has that eye-catching and mandatory word in the title: "Simple".
That'll do, Pig. That'll do.
The baggies are nuking in the microwave. I take a deep breath and go all ninja-knives-of-death on a innocent stalk of celery and half an onion that walked by. There's the ding.
Nope, not yet. Another round for the baggies.
I grab the 1/2 box of Ritz crackers on the munchies shelf. Pulling out the bag, I take an old claw hammer out of the back room and turn crackers to dust.
Another ding. Yeah. OK.
I glance at the laptop screen. Spices and a couple of eggs.
I grab the big bowl and, like a microcosm of a landfill, dump everything in. I try mixing it with a fork. Not working.
Well, nuts. Time to get tactically tactile.
I grab and begin to squeeze. The feeling of raw egg and warm meat pops a flashback and it's not a kitchen table. It's a changing table. Back when the kids were in diapers. Whoa.
Easy, stomach...easy, big fella.
I need to think of something else. Okay, okay...um...I need a name for this concoction.
Ground beef. Italian pork sausage. Eggs.
Cow. Pig. Chicken. Uh, OK...
Beef is kosher. Pork isn't. Blendin' the two together makes...whoa!
Of course...and it's Biblical...
"Unequally Yolked Meatloaf". A blend of Jew and Gentile flavors. That'll work.
I manage to get the glob of meatloaf airborne. I turn and dive for the pan sitting on the stove. Most of the meatloaf makes it. (It's times like this that I wish we had a dog...or the kids were still toddlers...they'd eat anything, they're really low to the ground, and you don't need to plug 'em in like a vacuum cleaner).
I try to shape it into a mound. No matter how I push and pull it still looks like roadkill. Huh.
I pop open the refrigerator. Let's see...uh...there...
I pull out four pieces of raw pork bacon, (not turkey bacon), and lay it over the pink lumpy mass. Well. Shroud of Turin it ain't, but the camouflaging helps. I step back to view my creation, sipping on The Elixir. Yeah...I concur...
Now it looks like the Abomination of Deveganization.
I throw it into the oven and go long on the timer. There's a cooking time in the recipe but I go with manly intuition, choosing a prime number that hopefully bakes it to a golden brown yet stops short of a burnt sacrifice.
I am now back at the table in the Dining part of the Dining/Living/Family/Computer Room, pondering a thought. I can't get that whole mixing thing outta my head.
It is kinda like that, I s'pose.
The Master Chef loves the beef but He loves the pork as well. He provided the One Thing that would hold 'em together - The Bread Of Life that was crushed, broken, and beaten.
The Master Chef made a recipe that gives off a great aroma while it's being cooked to completion. And that requires heat to get things bubblin' and poppin'. It's the only way that the Recipe will give off an aroma that would draw folks to the Master Chef and The Bread of Life.
I take another sip of The Elixir. Yeah. Definitely true.
That is a recipe we'll never find in Hell's Kitchen.