Meatloaf.
Over the years, Meatloaf was always a dish that Mum would make on cooler nights. Sometimes it would be early in the spring, late in the summer when we would have an uncharacteristic crisp night brought on by heavy rains. Perhaps it would be late in the winter and it would be waiting on a plate when Sydney and I came in from sledding with the neighbourhood boys. She always prepared it the same way, Mum did. She would make the meatloaf, green beans (depending on the time of year, fresh or canned), and potatoes. Some nights it would be mashed potatoes, other nights potatoes au gratin, or if she had the time, twice baked potatoes. No matter what kind of potatoes she made, they were delicious with the meal. Her mashed potatoes were never gluey (like mine will occasionally turn out), the twice baked potatoes would be perfectly cheesy, not overbearingly so, yet not lacking. You get the idea. The meatloaf was always cooked the same way, yet until a handful of years ago, I never knew how she did it aside from the fact she would use her big white mixer. It was always the same, her meatloaf. It was never crumbly, perfectly moist, and had a plethora of flavours that left even the pickiest of eaters going back for more. She would add a half a bottle of barbecue sauce to the rest of the ingredients she was mixing, form it into a loaf, add it to the casserole dish and the spread more meatloaf on top before baking it. With 10 minutes left, Mum would remove the pan from the oven, only briefly, and add more barbecue sauce on top, careful to spread it evenly before putting it back in the oven to finish baking. When finished, she would allow it to sit, and the house would smell absolutely delicious. Finally, she would cut into it with a knife into slices. Each slice was uniform and sat perfectly on the plate among everything else. Before eating it, Dad would always take the barbecue sauce and add more to his plate. Growing up watching him do that, it’s no wonder that I started doing that too. Each bite, with or without the extra barbecue sauce was tangy and delicious. Depending on the barbecue sauce Mum had on hand, there would be that slow burning kick that was present, but did not inflame one’s mouth, or it would just be tangy, the onion from the soup mix having baked and lending to the meatloaf it’s flavour, the breadcrumbs were just a binder, but you could taste the subtle hints of Italian herbs that they brought with them. In short: it was a symphony of flavours that graced my tongue and that’s how I grew up thinking everyone’s meatloaf was. Continue reading →