Meatloaf was the first entree I learned to make. My mom was a bridge player and once a month she would leave the recipe and ingredients for meatloaf which I would stick in the oven after I got home from high school.
A pound of ground beef
Salt and pepper
Some crushed saltines
A medium onion, chopped
An egg, beaten
Mix, form a loaf and put in the oven at 350 degrees Farenheit. Bake for an hour.
An idiot could do it. While the meatloaf baked, I put on the topping.
1/3 cup ketchup
2 Tablespoons brown sugar
1 Tablespoon mustard
Mix and spread over meatloaf. Good! Good! Good! A million years later, it's still good, although I usually use bread soaked in milk or bread crumbs. Add some seasonings and beaucoup parsley. The original recipe still rocks. Especially the topping. Sometimes simple and easy rules the day. How cool is that?
Grapeshot
Showing posts with label meatloaf. Show all posts
Showing posts with label meatloaf. Show all posts
Monday, February 21, 2011
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Writing and Other Occupations
I haven't been posting as regularly as I might, because I've actually been getting books ready to send out to agents and editors. In other words, not sucking it up quite as much as usual. Takes a lot of time to re-edit an entire manuscript and print it. Staples had a BOGO on paper this week, so now we have a year's supply. We applied to work on the census, and I wrote a press release for my Toastmaster's club. Had a dinner party. Cooked and then cooked some more. Got ready to enter a novel in the Amazon/ABNA contest. The good thing about having novels backed up waiting to sell is that you really stay busy flogging them. (I love Britishisms) .
It's taking more time to manage my so-called "retirement" than I thought. This would be the stuff of an article were I so inclined.
Today I joined Authonomy and put World of Mirrors (first 6 chapters) up on it. These sites where everyone sucks up for votes and comments, comments, comments make me a little nervous, geeky hermit type that, au fond, I am.
Speaking of au fond, I'm working on my fish story again, and finally found the site for the conclusion. Man, this has been work. Poor Francis. He's been through the mill. I do love my characters, even the non-human ones.
Iris, the Scottish Highland Mama has a big gore in her side. I think the gorer was Maggie. They are both somewhat obstreperous, and Iris has been beside herself since her calf was sent away. Don't know what Maggie's problem is. I climb up on the snowbank and throw the scraps over the fence. We buy cheap bread (hard to find nowadays) and feed the ducks on the way home from the store. Can you believe Wonder Bread costs over three dollars? I was appalled at paying $4.00 for a superior loaf of bread, but maybe that's not even a bad price.
Tomorrow, we will again partake of our tradition of having meatloaf for the SuperBowl. Meatloaf is easy to eat if you're watching TV. Doesn't have to be cut, no messy gravy, you know. Is a ritual also a myth? Inquiring minds want to know. Is a tradition a ritual? I know someone who puts the flag up and has a big rigamarole before every Patriots game. Is that a tradition, a ritual or just foolishness?
So, tradition or ritual, meatloaf it is. I'm not making my complicated meatloaf, but the simple one my mother taught me. I use oatmeal instead of cracker crumbs. Chacun a son gout.
I've been searching through my mom's old photographs and looking at the ones from the summer she went to school at Emporia State Teacher's College. Looks like she and her little gang had a wonderful summer. No TV, No electronics, no booze, no smokes, maybe no guys, but the girls had fun. No city and no sex. Probably a curfew. They almost always wore summer dresses. Not too flapperish, but sorta. It is just so hard to put my 21st century self back to 1926. Young Girls in Flower. Proust had it right.
As ever,
Grapeshot
It's taking more time to manage my so-called "retirement" than I thought. This would be the stuff of an article were I so inclined.
Today I joined Authonomy and put World of Mirrors (first 6 chapters) up on it. These sites where everyone sucks up for votes and comments, comments, comments make me a little nervous, geeky hermit type that, au fond, I am.
Speaking of au fond, I'm working on my fish story again, and finally found the site for the conclusion. Man, this has been work. Poor Francis. He's been through the mill. I do love my characters, even the non-human ones.
Iris, the Scottish Highland Mama has a big gore in her side. I think the gorer was Maggie. They are both somewhat obstreperous, and Iris has been beside herself since her calf was sent away. Don't know what Maggie's problem is. I climb up on the snowbank and throw the scraps over the fence. We buy cheap bread (hard to find nowadays) and feed the ducks on the way home from the store. Can you believe Wonder Bread costs over three dollars? I was appalled at paying $4.00 for a superior loaf of bread, but maybe that's not even a bad price.
Tomorrow, we will again partake of our tradition of having meatloaf for the SuperBowl. Meatloaf is easy to eat if you're watching TV. Doesn't have to be cut, no messy gravy, you know. Is a ritual also a myth? Inquiring minds want to know. Is a tradition a ritual? I know someone who puts the flag up and has a big rigamarole before every Patriots game. Is that a tradition, a ritual or just foolishness?
So, tradition or ritual, meatloaf it is. I'm not making my complicated meatloaf, but the simple one my mother taught me. I use oatmeal instead of cracker crumbs. Chacun a son gout.
I've been searching through my mom's old photographs and looking at the ones from the summer she went to school at Emporia State Teacher's College. Looks like she and her little gang had a wonderful summer. No TV, No electronics, no booze, no smokes, maybe no guys, but the girls had fun. No city and no sex. Probably a curfew. They almost always wore summer dresses. Not too flapperish, but sorta. It is just so hard to put my 21st century self back to 1926. Young Girls in Flower. Proust had it right.
As ever,
Grapeshot
Sunday, January 20, 2008
Saturday NIght in Foxborough before The BIG GAME
We thought it might be instructive to go pub crawling in the stadium area on a Saturday night before the playoff game between the Pats and the Chargers. Set forth in the bracing but not ungodly cold around 10:00. Debate between the two places are know--Outlaw Barbeque and the Lafayette House.
We love to eat at Outlaw Barbeque but are usually two of five people in the place at 7:00 p.m. It seems to be a sports bar, but who knows? Maybe the crowd doesn't show until midnight? We don't actually know who the crowd is. I do know the place is NOT mentioned in the paper as home to drugs and fights and carnality, so the crowd is gentlemen bikers? Wannabe jocks? ??? No clue.
We ended up at Lafayette House and indeed the joint was jumping with lots of groups, a guitarist singing about Margaritaville, a few bar flies of various ages and general hilarity. No place to sit down and we stand at the bar. I am dressed like Nanook of the North because of the forecasted cold. Too warm. Handbag feels like a millstone.
Nice crackling gas fireplace. Cozy at hell. Hard to tell if this is a crowd of tomorrow's football fans. I can't even tell if they're from out of town. We look around, have a drink and leave. In the parking lot, we determine that except for two Rhode Island cars, the license plates are all local. Of course if you fly into town you rent a car and you are prohably downtown in an Irish bar or at the Fanieul Hall Marketplace or a hotel or the Prudential Center. Where indeed are you? I never get deep enough into the sports pages to read interviews with out of town fans or maybe there are no interviews.
Home again, home again, jiggety-jig, as ignorant as when I left.
I wrote a new paragraph to begin Festival Madness, which apparently started off like lead shoes. My assessment, not the instructors. Falling asleep I had an idea for a short story with the heroine a middle-aged clerk at J.C. Penny. Must be losing it. I can see what develops, which is usually nada.
Ham and eggs and grape tomatoes provencal this morning with the almost rest of the challah bread toasted. White Chili a la South Beach Diet tonight with chips and bean dip, the Yin and Yang of it all, and of course the big game for which I usually make meatloaf, but that will happen on Super Bowl Sunday, and here's hoping the Patriots will have a 100% undefeated season. Must admit the suspense is quite palpable.
Anyhow, onward.
Grapeshot
We love to eat at Outlaw Barbeque but are usually two of five people in the place at 7:00 p.m. It seems to be a sports bar, but who knows? Maybe the crowd doesn't show until midnight? We don't actually know who the crowd is. I do know the place is NOT mentioned in the paper as home to drugs and fights and carnality, so the crowd is gentlemen bikers? Wannabe jocks? ??? No clue.
We ended up at Lafayette House and indeed the joint was jumping with lots of groups, a guitarist singing about Margaritaville, a few bar flies of various ages and general hilarity. No place to sit down and we stand at the bar. I am dressed like Nanook of the North because of the forecasted cold. Too warm. Handbag feels like a millstone.
Nice crackling gas fireplace. Cozy at hell. Hard to tell if this is a crowd of tomorrow's football fans. I can't even tell if they're from out of town. We look around, have a drink and leave. In the parking lot, we determine that except for two Rhode Island cars, the license plates are all local. Of course if you fly into town you rent a car and you are prohably downtown in an Irish bar or at the Fanieul Hall Marketplace or a hotel or the Prudential Center. Where indeed are you? I never get deep enough into the sports pages to read interviews with out of town fans or maybe there are no interviews.
Home again, home again, jiggety-jig, as ignorant as when I left.
I wrote a new paragraph to begin Festival Madness, which apparently started off like lead shoes. My assessment, not the instructors. Falling asleep I had an idea for a short story with the heroine a middle-aged clerk at J.C. Penny. Must be losing it. I can see what develops, which is usually nada.
Ham and eggs and grape tomatoes provencal this morning with the almost rest of the challah bread toasted. White Chili a la South Beach Diet tonight with chips and bean dip, the Yin and Yang of it all, and of course the big game for which I usually make meatloaf, but that will happen on Super Bowl Sunday, and here's hoping the Patriots will have a 100% undefeated season. Must admit the suspense is quite palpable.
Anyhow, onward.
Grapeshot
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