Today was a meatloaf night in our house. I have never been a fan. I loved helping my dad make his, special cooking time, you know? But I was never a fan of any meatloaf that any person made. Not an attack on anyone, just a statement of my palate's dislike for comfort food drowned in ketchup(though to be fair, I'm not sure what my dad used on his, but it really smelled scrumptious). Over the years I have tried, through many failed attempts, to make a meatloaf that I can eat with the rest of the family. I think the whole concept, meat...in a loaf, is just off putting. I now have a recipe for Italian meatloaf that I make that I can eat without holding my nose or spitting in my napkin. Still not a fan, but I can ingest it. That was a long explanation for nothing. After I made the meatloaf this morning, which I mix by hand to make sure it is good and blended, I scrubbed my hands raw to get the meat smell off of them...I thought. Going to play with the puppy was probably the dumbest idea ever. Just like in the movie "Best In Show", see it if you have not, the dog show commentators said of an owner who was attacked by a dog, "The dog went after her like she was made out of ham!". Copper was on me in flash, fighting to get as close as possible to my hands. She kept nosing them around looking for the meat I was obviously holding. Lesson learned. On meatloaf night, someone else take care of the dog. I feel llike I went through battle.
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