Comfort Food

Bad news at the dentist. Despite having a constant record of high praise from the dental hygienist for the past 30 years, the sins of my youth are coming back to sneer at me. Seems to me that the worst news you can get from a dentist is that the very expensive and painful root canal they did two years ago didn't work and the tooth must now be extracted and an implant put in.

*sigh*

So, today, I went to see the specialist who will do the implant, a handsome, cheerful and chatty young man who assured me that it won't hurt a bit and I'll be pleasantly surprised. Yeah, yeah, that's what they all say; when the root canal was done, the endodontist lifted me right off the chair when he hit a very lively nerve. So much for reassurances.

I left with dread in my heart and the knowledge that all this joy will take about four months and cost about $1,000 per month. Fun, huh? I was in great need of comfort food.

How very appropriate that one of my favorite breakfast places is "Comforts" in San Anselmo. I found a parking place nearby and was given a table right away - things were looking up. A quick scan of the menu revealed their meatloaf hash topped with two eggs. Now, I ask you, what could possibly be more comforting than hash made from meat loaf? I ordered that, with eggs over easy.

The plate was so full I couldn't possibly finish it, but the part I did eat was comfort personified. Deeply homey and sustaining, it was just right for a cloudy day of spitting fog, chilly winds and bad news from the dentist. By the time I left, the fog had lifted and the sun was shining. I put the top down on my car and cruised home feeling much better. I'm still not looking forward to the next few months but at least for the moment I was comforted.

Studly

My Beloved is studly and he doesn't even know it. Women look him over not-so-subtly when we are out in public - he's oblivious. They giggle and blush when he speaks to them and he thinks they are just being nice. They touch him at parties, just lightly, but it's obvious they want their paws on him and one particularly bold one even kissed him on the lips. Even guys sometimes notice his physique and one guy last week remarked about it to him. MB was surprised and a little embarrassed. I really love that about him.

He's also a carnivore. He loves meat. Protein. Flesh. So, every now and then I make meatloaf for him, which calls for at least two kinds of meat. This version was made from half-and-half ground grass-fed beef and ground pork, both from the wonderful new Marin Sun Farms shop at Market Hall in Oakland. (Thank you, MSF, for coming to our side of the bay!). In addition to beef and pork, it was studded with onions, celery, egg, milk and Sartain's Menu sauce for a smoky little kick of heat.

My Beloved loved it. I loved it. It was downright studly.

To Ketchup or Not To Ketchup

When Mom T taught me how to make meatloaf, back when I was a new bride for the first time, she insisted that one does not put the ketchup* on the meatloaf while it cooks, only afterward, at the table. Since her meatloaf, a bumpy, chewy feast of textures and flavors, nicely caramelized and guaranteed to encourage overeating, is still my gold standard, I have always followed her dictum.

Lately, however, I've begun to question this doctrine. Meatloaf lovers, I'm curious - do you add the ketchup while the meatloaf is cooking, or not, and what is your reasoning for doing it whichever way you do?

Mom T's Meatloaf

2 lbs. ground beef
1/4 lb bulk sausage**
1.5 slices bread, torn into small pieces
1 egg
1 medium-large onion, chopped
1 or 1 sticks celery, chopped

Sauté onion and celery until soft. Add to other ingredients in a large bowl and mix thoroughly with your hands. Push into a shallow baking pan (it should be about 2" thick) and bake at 375 degrees for about an hour, to desired dark brownness. Serve with ketchup, preferably the sublime ketchup* that June Taylor makes.

**I realized upon typing this out that I have made a modification to her original recipe; I use 1 pound of ground beef and 1 pound of sausage, either bulk sausage or sometimes spicy Italian sausage. I also use whatever bread I have around although she always used sliced white bread.

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.