Sliced, Meat Loaf

Because nothing ever goes as planned in Mrs. Hillbilly Mom's world, the meat loaf creation occurred Tuesday morning. Since Farmer H sprang that surprise auction trip on me Monday afternoon, Monday's supper became Tuesday's lunch. That's because a different auction trip was planned for Tuesday night.

Actually, making the meat loaf for lunch fit into my time schedule better than for supper. I made it when I got up (at 10:00 [DON'T JUDGE]), and it was ready by 11:30. I'd told Farmer H that it would be ready by noon, in case he wanted to eat before he left for the auction around 2:30. The auction doesn't start until 6:00, but it's an hour drive, and the guy he rides with likes to get there early to look at everything.

Anyhoo...Farmer H was running around the county, being at that time in town at an estate sale. He came home for his trailer, and said he'd be back in an hour. So I waited until after I got ready for town to make his smashed potatoes.

I must say, the meat loaf turned out well.

That's after Farmer H sliced off the end. He likes the ends, and will no doubt take the other one for his next meal. I don't mind if I have the end or the middle. Here the meat loaf is already in a plastic container, ready to be shoved into FRIG II until time for my supper.

Nothing exotic in my meat loaf. It's ground beef, some type of diced bread (in this case, two hot dog buns), dashes of steak sauce and Worcestershire sauce, a sprinkle of dry onion soup mix, and two eggs. That all gets mashed together by my own two hands, then plopped into a glass baking dish, drizzled with ketchup, and slid into the oven at 350 degrees for 45 minutes. It's actually one of the easiest things to make, as long as you don't mind getting your hands slimy.

The little red-skinned potatoes out of Farmer H's pal's garden were first put into the microwave for 10 minutes. Then stabbed a couple times with a paring knife to open them a bit. I added butter, ground some salt and pepper onto them, poured in a little milk, and set to smashing them with my smasher. A taste off the smasher proved them to be surprisingly delicious.

That's about two Farmer-H-size servings left, stored in a recycled plastic bowl that once held a Hardee's Chicken Bowl. I like those little bowls, because they have a see-through lid that doesn't spill. I often put Chex Mix in them to send to The Pony.

And now, in keeping with my long-standing habit of chronicling my various and assorted minor injuries...I'll show you the near-maiming I suffered during the making of this meal.

We've got a bleeder! That ain't ketchup, by cracky! I actually didn't feel any pain, but noticed that red spot on my thumb as I was getting the ingredients ready. Sweet Gummi Mary! The littlest thing can turn into a bloodletting when you take an aspirin a day to keep your blood unclotted.

As you can see, I'd done no more than tear a hot dog bun into tiny pieces to line the bottom of the mixing bowl. I hadn't even opened up the pack of ground beef yet. My skin was sliced when I tore off a piece of plastic wrap to lay out for a hunk of that ground beef, that was being frozen for later, perhaps for spaghetti sauce.

You know how clingy plastic wrap can be. I was wrestling it loose from itself around the roll, and the cutting strip on the edge of the box got me. I didn't want a bandaid mixing with the raw meat. So I kept rinsing off the thumb and blotting it with a paper towel. The side of my thumb didn't actually come in contact with the meat mixture, but I didn't want to take a chance on any dripping.

I didn't mention the near-severing of my thumb to Farmer H. I'm sure he would not have cared. Not about a drop of blood having a chance to mix into his meat loaf. Nor about my pain and suffering.