“The Best Meatloaf Ever”

I was a bride in 1969, having married into a nice Italian family in Spokane. My 30-year-old husband lived with his parents until we married, so he was used to Mamio’s fabulous cooking, which – incidentally – did not resemble my country cooking roots from Central Oregon.

About four months into wedded bliss, I was determined to make the best meatloaf my new husband had ever eaten, so I got every recipe I could find and took ingredients from all of them to make The Best Meatloaf Ever.

That night, I put the mixture into my new, 8-by-8-inch baking dish with a plastic lid which neatly snapped onto the pan. In the morning, I put The Best Meatloaf Ever into my new oven and set it on time-bake so dinner would be ready when we each walked in the door.

Bill arrived home before I did and removed the meatloaf on time. When I came home he said it smelled so delicious he could hardly wait to try it.

However, he did ask me what the plastic “bow” was on top of the meatloaf.

I had forgotten to remove the shiny new plastic lid that so neatly fit my new pan. I cried, then watched in horror as he ate the meatloaf. Then I really fell apart wondering if he would die from the plastic residue.

He is now retired and shows no signs of poisoning.

Molly Destefano of Spokane Valley

 

Peanut loaf

My dad was an accomplished cook. Not a gourmet chef, mind you, but a meat-and-potatoes type of guy who also made very good soups and was not afraid to try new recipes. One of these would haunt him for the rest of his life.

Growing up, we always ate together as a family, and it was understood you “cleaned your plate.” Food was a commodity you did not waste.

One night, Dad proclaimed he had prepared a special meatloaf with peanuts – more, in fact, than the recipe had required. It was as if the more you chewed, the more the meatloaf’s consistency would harden up.

We had all started chewing at the same time, and we all stopped chewing at the same time. Similarly, we all removed golf ball-sized chunks of Dad’s “African Meatloaf” from our mouths at the same time. We all looked at each other and started to laugh. Dad stopped laughing long enough to ask, “How about Chinese food tonight?”

He continued to improve his cooking skills throughout the years, but I don’t think he ever tried that meatloaf recipe again.                                                                                                           

Steve Leaf of Spokane Valley

 

Liver loaf

My adult sons enjoy telling their children and grandchildren about the famous meatloaf disaster of 1965.

Being a mother dedicated to providing nourishing meals, I was determined to encourage my family to eat liver. So I had the butcher mix me a combination of ground beef, pork and liver so I could make a delicious meatloaf. I was so proud of the delightful aroma of my carefully prepared and seasoned dinner as it was baking.

When I put it on the table, first my husband detected the flavor of liver and complained loudly. Then, of course, the boys refused to eat any of it.

Now they enjoy reminding me that even the dachshund wouldn’t eat it. (Probably knew onions are bad for dogs.)

To this day, they are leery of what might be hidden in my meatloaf.

Lois McConnell of Spokane Valley

 

Oversized loaf

I tried Portuguese Sweet Bread for the first time at a rehearsal dinner, cooked by the bride’s family. It was delicious, and I begged for the guarded family recipe, described as “very rich” ingredient-wise. The recipe called for a dozen eggs, 2 cups of sugar, 5 cups of flour.

I was impatient to begin, mixing the liquids first, then adding the flour. But something didn’t seem right.

Rereading the directions led to a shocking discovery. The recipe actually called for 5 pounds of flour, not 5 cups. I raced to a nearby store to buy a 5-pound bag.

Then, I realized I didn’t have a big enough bowl, so I reached for the phone and prayed my friend would answer. “Bring every giant bowl you have and all your bread pans,” I wailed.

We managed to dump all of the dough into a canning pot, then took turns kneading until it was ready to rest and rise – and rise and rise.

We only had six baking pans. Not enough! So, off to the store again.

Twelve pans later – six original, four newly purchased and two more borrowed – a new problem surfaced. A dozen loaf pans would not fit into my oven.

My friend and I punched down the dough and divided it into the 12 pans. Off went seven with my friend, who had double ovens. This seemed like it would work, only the bread never rose again. Who knows why?

Said “guarded” recipe was never reduced or, for that matter, ever tried again.

Suzi Johns of Spokane

 

Pineapple loaf

As a result of my four years as a commissary man in the Navy, I was able to concoct food experiments long after I got out. My best idea was for a sweet-and-sour meatloaf with freshly grated pineapple and a light brown sugar glaze.

I worked swing shift, but instructed my wife when to bake it and for how long. When I returned from work, she was mortified at the result.

The 12-inch, flattened hamburger completely covered the surface of the broiler pan and had the consistency of pâté. We referred to the color as goose liver gray.

The only fault we could find was inexperience. Apparently, the acids in fresh pineapple are so strong that they will dissolve the connective tissue in ground beef.

My concoction had an excellent sweet-and-sour flavor, except no one would have guessed it was supposed to be meatloaf. It was more like spooning up gray paste.

Rich Kapelke of Spokane

 

 

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