Meat Loaf By Any Other Name...

My pal Annie calls meat loaf, "Meat Lump," which seemed appropriate since this time my loaf was more of a mound. My elder brother and his lovely wife have christened this dish, "Woodchuck" and that name also seemed particularly appropriate this time, as the recipe I was following added fresh ground pork (ground hog=woodchuck, right?) to the ground beef, chopped onion, panko crumbs, egg, Worcestershire sauce and celery. But, like a rose that would smell as sweet by any other name, meat loaf tastes good, no matter what you call it.

I tried two new ideas with this lump and, sadly, in my view neither was a total success. Ground pork didn't add much to the flavor; next time, I'll return to my half-and-half mixture of ground beef and bulk sausage - or I might try Italian sausage. And cooking the groundhog on the barbecue didn't add as much smoky flavor as I had hoped it might - next time, I'd either plank it on a cedar shake or add smoking chips to the coals to multiply the smoke.

Still, it was good in that homey, hearty way that meat loaf always is and grilling it with just a thin layer of foil between it and the grate over the coals resulted in a nicely caramelized, crusty edge all around the outside that added texture to the slices.

It's a work in progress, inventing the perfect meatloaf. Ain't life grand when it offers such lovely challenges?

Woodchuck and Groundhog

My Beloved's mother called this Woodchuck, because she made it in a sort of free-form loaf shape that resembled nothing so much as a baked woodchuck. Cookiecrumb would call it Groundhog, 'cause she's so clever. Actually, it's both, a meat loaf made with both grass fed ground round beef and mild Italian pork sausage (ground hog, get it?).

I use roughly equal portions of the two meats, plus sauteed chopped celery and onion, minced garlic and bread torn in bits. I add an egg and a splash of milk and moosh all that together until it's fairly evenly distributed, then mound it into a baking pan and bake it for about 45 minutes at 400 degrees, until the uneven top is almost crispy in spots but the interior is still moist.

My friend Annie calls this Meat Lump. No matter what you call it, it makes My Beloved smile when he comes home to dinner that features Woodchuck and Groundhog.