Of Meatloaf and Men

Meatloaf holds a special place in my heart. It’s the ultimate comfort food: nourishing and hearty, and it reminds me of times when we used it to stretch a tight food budget. It contains everything one needs for nourishment. It’s the poor man’s pate’.

And there are as many meatloaves as there are people. And like people, some are better than others.

I’ve been through almost as many meatloaf recipes as I have men, and almost none of them measured up on any front. My meatloaves came out soggy and bland and only useful for making soup out of the carcass. Much like most of the men who have wandered in and out of my life.

Some meatloaves have been so bad that I just chucked them into the trash like the guy that I kicked out at two in the morning one time.

My search for the perfect meatloaf has been fruitless.

Until now.

And like the men who’ve been important, the one I stumbled onto was the perfect accident.

I’ve come up with a three step program for the perfect meatloaf. (I don’t have one for the perfect man other than "hold your breath, hold your breath and wish upon a star" —you’re on your own for that.)

Step One:
Make mashed potatoes. Use red potatoes, butter (never oleo unless there’s a dietary restriction) and milk (preferably whole milk). Toss in diced red onions, garlic and smoked bacon. Finish it off with grated Monterey Jack and smoked goat cheese.

Eat as much as you want, but save the leftovers.

Step Two:
Make potato pancakes. Take your leftover mashed potatoes, throw in a couple of eggs, some flour (a cup or two depending on how much mashed potatoes you’re working with) and enough milk to give the mixture a batter texture.

They come out best if fried in bacon grease, but if you don’t have any, olive oil is the next best thing.

Heat the oil over medium heat in a cast iron skillet. I prefer my old-fashioned cast iron one over the much more expensive aluminum skillet that I have. Cooking pancakes requires an even distribution of heat that most aluminum pans can’t achieve, regardless of how thick the bottom is or how much they cost.

Some things can’t be improved on, and cast iron skillets are among them.

Use a ladle or large spoon to make three pools of batter in the pan. Let them cook for longer than you think they should, then flip them. (If they don’t flip easily, adjust your idea of how you think they should cook. It’s probably longer than you think or want to monitor. Be patient. They’ll come out perfect. God rewards patience with good food.)

Cook the other side until they’re spongy to the touch.

Eat as much as you want, but save the leftovers.

Step Three:
Combine 1 pound of lean ground beef or sirloin, ½ pound of breakfast sausage, a cup of grated carrots, a cup of diced celery and a half cup of onion. Mix it with your hands, because that’s the only way it gets done right. (You can wear latex gloves if you don’t want to scrape the goo off.) Add an egg or two (you can’t go wrong either way) and two or three of your potato pancakes.

Squish everything up real good and put it in a glass loaf pan. Bake it in an oven preheated to 350 degrees for about 45 minutes to an hour. Take it out when a meat thermometer puts it a little under 170. Pour a small can of tomato sauce over it and top it with grated smoked goat cheese. (Yes, more smoked goat cheese. Taste one piece and you’ll know I'm right.)

Stick it back in the oven for a few minutes until it reaches 170 degrees, pull it out, baste it with any juices that have oozed out, and let it rest. It’s been through a marathon since it was mashed potatoes, so it needs a little breather.

I’ll add one additional step: slice, serve and enjoy.

The meatloaf I usually make sucks. The one I described above is like eating a Beethoven concerto. The mixture of flavors combine to elevate it above comfort food into the sublime, complete with angels singing overhead.