Just Like A Big Meat Twinkie

[Well, it's been a great experiment and all, but I can tell it's time for me to live with other people again. After wallowing in depression-lite for most of the weekend (chores got done, but not much else), I remembered that my oven works after all (long story) and decided to invite over the three people I can entertain comfortably in my studio, and do what the world has always done to celebrate: make a meatloaf!]

[If I've described My Special Meatloaf here before, you're getting the story again. Back in the early 80s (most good stories start with that phrase), when microwaves first started to be common across middle class America, they invariably came with at least one "microwave cookbook," as though some genius had decided that stuff cooked in this way constituted a New Cuisine. Some 80s cooking trends have stayed with us, but Microwave Cookery has not.]

[We got our first microwave in about '82, and one of the recipes in the book was called Italian Meatloaf. Mom tried making it once, it was a disappointment (you just can't get those rays to get anything crispy), but the idea stuck with me. You'll see why when I give the recipe. Mom tried to involve my sister and me in cooking sometimes, so when I was about sixteen, I asked her why that microwaved loaf couldn't just be done in the conventional oven. She said go ahead, I did, and now it's one of my World-Famous-Tic-Tac-Pie-esque signature dishes. In about 1991, Sean dubbed it Meat Log, and Rafe later commented that it's like a big meat Twinkie. Mmmm...meat. Mmmmm...twinks. I mean Twinkies. It always goes fast.]

[As I wrote last time, there's been depression hanging about me for a while, and it got fairly intense last week. I spent most this sunny weekend moping about, getting some chores done but not really making any moves to get out of the funk. While getting a new refrigerator a couple of weeks ago, I'd mentioned to the building manager that my oven hadn't worked for a while. The pilot light was on, but no heat. He fiddled, and after ten seconds, it lit. (OK, not such a long story.)]

[I'd had enough of the funk by yesterday, so I got Sean, Allen, and Dennis The Token Straight Guy (it's good to have them around at parties) to bring the beer, and I made Allen do his mashed potato magic, made my own damned fresh Italian vegetable medley, and we had a great time. The bon mots were thick on the ground (too thick at times - I'd been pretty quiet for days, and something opened my clever phrase floodgate), and we got right that elusive-when-your-on-the-Tenderloin's-edge activity: the leisurely early evening stroll for ice cream. Allen skipped the walk and curled up for a little nap on my bed instead.]

[I must've known this was what I needed, though I don't remember consciously doing it as therapy. I've gotten a lot out of living alone, but I've also used it as an excuse for active and passive bad behavior. I like the level of engagement and sticking to what needs to be done that living with people encourages. While a small dinner party isn't group living, I got that same feeling (plus, I've been roommates with both Sean and Allen in the past), and I do remember what a pain the ass it can be. It was no big deal for me to knock out the washing up after everyone except Allen had left. My own dishes have a habit of sitting in my sink; they don't , or not as much, when I'm living with other people. Meat Twinkie, mashed potatoes, and Italian veggie medley make a lot of washing up, but I didn't care.]

[Allen stayed food-comatose on my bed until this morning. Thank whatever divine forces there be that that's finally no big deal. (Took long enough, like three years.) I slept magnificently, made coffee for us, and may have actually whistled as I caught the 53-Southern Heights at 16th and Mission.]

[OK, by slogging thru all that, you've earned the recipe:]

[ITALIAN-STYLE MEATLOAF
alias Meat Log alias Big Meat Twinkie]

[INGREDIENTS
1/2 medium onion, diced
2 cloves garlic, pressed
1 1/2 lb. or so ground meat (Generally I do somewhat less than a pound of ground turkey plus a few Italian sausages squeezed from their casings, but any combination of beef, pork, veal and some spicy uncooked sausage will work.)
1 tsp or so each dried basil, oregano, rosemary, thyme, marjoram
1 cup tomato sauce, more or less (Not ketchup, silly; that’s American meatloaf.)
At least 2 tsp. cumin (I really like cumin, but suit yourself.)
Why not a healthy dash of chile powder?
Salt, not to mention pepper
1 cup breadcrumbs, more or less
1 egg
3/4 cup parmesan, romano, asiago or other dry Italian cheese
About 1 1/2 cups grated mozzarella cheese
Another 1/2 cup tomato sauce.]

[Preheat oven to 375 degrees. In your old camping skillet with excitingly chipping Teflon, heat a couple of tablespoons of olive oil. Add onion, sautée until clear, then set aside to cool. In a large bowl, get your hands dirty by using them to combine thoroughly the onions with all the remaining ingredients except the mozzarella, the second 1/2 cup of tomato sauce, and about 1/4 cup of the dry cheese. Add more breadcrumbs if it’s too soupy, more tomato sauce if too dry.]

[Wash your hands. (I hope you already did before starting, but too late now.) On a flat surface, lay out a long piece of aluminum foil. Place the meat mixture on the foil, and mold into a somewhat rectangular, half-inch thick slab. Sprinkle the mozzarella in a row down the middle of the meat. Use the foil to roll the meat to form a loaf shape, trying to be sure that no mozzarella is exposed. The goal is to make the meat surrounding the cheese thick enough so the cheese doesn’t ooze out while the loaf is baking.]

[(Mmmmm. Oozing cheese. See why it stuck in my adolescent mind? Other than the highly attractive white-trash-made-slightly-fancy aspect, of course.)]

[Place in a pyrex dish or foil-lined metal plan (a loaf pan probably won’t be big enough). Pour remaining tomato sauce on top of loaf, and cover with aluminum foil. Bake 30 minutes, then remove foil, sprinkle the top with the remaining dry cheese, and bake fifteen minutes more. Remove from oven and allow to stand ten minutes. You can use a turkey baster to remove some of the fatty juice from the pan if it grosses you out. If the cheese hasn’t oozed out (happens about half the time), cut into slices and serve. If it has, you pretty much can hack it up and make sure each guest gets some meat and some cheese. Tastes the same either way.]

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