When I make a meatloaf I suit up as if I were about to perform major surgery.
Raw meat and me just don't mix. So I don those gloves as if my life depended on it.....because it just might......
Then I lay out the newspaper or plastic or something down to "protect" the kitchen counters.
Then I manage to somehow toss the raw meat all over the counters, ceiling, my next door neighbor, and occasionally onto the floor.
Then it's a race between me and the dogs to see who gets to the raw meat first. Loser has to do the dishes.
Eventually there's raw meat all over the floor, counters and, if I'm lucky, maybe even a little in the bowl.
If I'm not lucky, we go out to dinner that night. If I am lucky I move on to the next step in the meatloaf mania.
I add everything else into the bowl and mix it all together. I can't decide if mixing everything together is fun, therapeutic, or terrifying. Maybe a little bit of all three.
Sometimes I mix it together using, gasp!, my bare hands. Not to be confused with my bear hands because I am NOT a bear - although I MAY on occasion hibernate during the winter.
Apparently I am supposed to use a light touch when mixing meatloaf because if I compact it too much it will become dense and tough when cooked. So now I have to worry about my meatloaf becoming stupid and a troublemaker when it's in the oven.
And then I stand around and agonize for hours and debate whether to bake it in a loaf pan or on a baking sheet.
And then I party like a rock star.........or not.......
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