The Mysterious Case of the Disappearing Meatloaf

This is how I make meatloaf:

• 1 pound ground beef

• 1 small onion diced

• 1 small green bell pepper diced

• 1 egg

• crackers

• ketchup

• 1 packet meatloaf seasoning

Preheat oven to 350º. In a large bowl place beef, onion, bell pepper, seasoning packet, ¼ cup ketchup and egg. Mix until egg is incorporated. Crush some crackers and mix them into the meat mixture until the mixture is no longer “wet”. Place in a foil lined pan or a glass pan and form a channel or gap around all the edges between the meat and the pan. Bake covered for 45 minutes. Remove from oven. Grease will have pooled into the reservoir around loaf. Pour this off. Top meatloaf with ketchup, and bake 15 to 20 minutes longer. 

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This is the basic recipe. Substitutions, additions, and experimentation is permitted, within reason. If I have time, I will usually saute the peppers and onions before beginning. Some folks prefer breadcrumbs instead of crackers. I have seen people use barbecue sauce instead of ketchup.

There is only one thing better than meatloaf. That is leftover meatloaf. There is something inexplicable about the way the meatloaf reacts with the cold air inside of a refrigerator. There is a puzzling process performed in the chilly dark box, and the loaf emerges enhanced.

Not everyone agrees with this assessment of meatloaf. One of my best buds detests it, and will not eat it. I believe that this is because he hasn’t had a good meatloaf. I have offered to make him this one, but he refuses.

You may think that the axiom about pizza would be applicable to meatloaf. The one that says that even when pizza is bad, it is still good. This is not the case with meatloaf. I have had some bad meatloaf. It can be too greasy, or too dense. It can have the wrong spices included. I have even known people to put lentils in their meatloaf - The horror!  But when meatloaf is good, it is great. It is delicious and it disappears quickly. Because of this, if you want to enjoy the delight of leftovers, you must plan accordingly. I don’t remember the last time anyone I know made meatloaf without doubling it or more. 

Mom thought she had planned well. She had doubled the recipe and made a huge meatloaf. The rest of the family had dinner, some of them had extra helpings. My mother took the time to fix me a dinner plate and put it in the fridge for me. 

I had known that it was a meatloaf day because Mom was assembling it when I left for the office. I was working the strangest shift ever. It was a six thirty pm to three am shift in a call center a couple of counties over. This meant that I would not be able to make it to dinner with the rest of the family. It was wonderful of my mom to put a plate back for me, and I appreciated it. I was eagerly anticipating that leftover meatloaf. 

I remember that being a rough shift. I was doing tech support for a large nationwide internet service provider, and this was a time when broadband was beginning to bloom across the country. It was fulfilling work, and I liked it. I was helping people configure their PPPOE connections, and getting them access to fast internet for the first time. However, knowing that a few hours of work was all that stood between me and left over meatloaf made that one shift stretch out to days. At one point I had convinced myself that three am would never arrive, but despite that...it finally did. I logged out and headed home. 

The call center I was working in was over an hour from home. Have you driven home at three a.m. in the Appalachian foothills of eastern Kentucky? There isn’t much traffic at three a.m. in the Appalachian foothills of eastern Kentucky.  At least I had that going for me. For an hour I had the vibrational hum of a nineteen ninety-nine Geo Tracker trying to lull me to sleep, a blaring radio station struggling to keep me awake, and the hopeful anticipation of getting home, having dinner, and going to bed. 

I pulled into the driveway shortly after four in the morning. I carried my foil covered supper from the refrigerator to the dining room table, sat down and removed the foil. Uncovered, my dinner was ready to be enjoyed. There was a generous portion of mashed potatoes, a loose pyramid of buttery sweet peas, a beautiful side salad, and a soft dinner roll There was also a hunk of meatloaf about the size of a matchbox car, a pair of dice, half a deck of playing cards. 

Though the helping of meatloaf was smaller than anticipated, less than hoped for, it was delicious, as was the rest of the meal. I finished up my supper, wound down, and went to sleep. 

The next morning, my mother asked, “What did you think of that huge piece of meatloaf I put back for you?”

With playful sarcasm, i responded, “Yeah, so big I almost couldn’t finish it, but seriously, it was really good. Thank you,”

She seemed confused by my sarcasm. “What do you mean, wasn’t it enough?”

“It was enough, just not as much as I was expecting,” I answered. I brought my hand up to indicate the approximate dimensions of the meatloaf that I had enjoyed.

“No, that’s not right,” she said. She brought her hands up to indicate the approximate dimensions of the piece of meatloaf she had left for me. The two estimations did not match. 

The mystery had still not been solved by the time I headed to work again that afternoon. When I woke up the next morning, Mom informed me that she had solved it. She had only had to conduct one interview. After I had left for work on the day of the mystery, my sister came home from school. Mom told my sister how mother and I had had differing estimates about the size of the meatloaf, and my sister started laughing. After she had eaten dinner with the family, and my supper had been moved to the false security of the fridge, it was my sister that caused the meatloaf to shrink.

She said that it wasn't malicious. She said that it wasn’t planned. It just happened because the meatloaf was so delicious, and she couldn't help herself.

Apparently, after supper was over, every time she walked through the kitchen, she would reach into the refrigerator, scoop out a forkful of meatloaf and carry on. When she came through the kitchen again, she would repeat this. If she came to get something to drink, a forkful of meatloaf. If she came to throw something in the trash, a forkful of meatloaf. So while I was at work, fielding support calls from internet users, she was systematically, bit by bit, chipping away at my mountain of meatloaf.  In the end she had left only a fraction of what it was when it had begun.

So that explained the disconnect in how mom and I had experienced the size of the leftover meatloaf. It is also why when there is meatloaf at family dinner, even though we all love leftovers, and we all want leftovers, we never really expect leftovers. 

My sister still laughs and contends that she was not at fault when this event is remembered. She simply says, “I couldn’t help it. It was so good.”

Try the meatloaf. I recommend it.