food writing: memories

I think I've mentioned that I'm taking a food writing class with Sheryl Julian, the food editor of the Boston Globe. I don't actually read the Globe (WSJ and the internet only) but I love this class. I have no desire to become a food writer when I grow up but three years ago I had no desire to go back to school. Either way, this is a great experience and I'm learning a lot.

We recently had an assignment to write about a food memory. I wrote about my Grandmother. Now if any of you know my Gma, you know she's one of the most amazing women in the world. She could probably kick your Gma's ass but that's not the point. I wrote this article about her and it may seem like I didn't like her cooking. That's not completely true, she still can't cook a steak or hamburger to save her life, but her pork roast is the best damn thing in the world. She used to make me biscuits with homemade applebutter for breakfast and pan fried chicken with the best lumpy gravy for the mashed potatoes. She's got a great sense of humor and is often the first to tease me when I'm taking myself too seriously. So I hope she takes this well. And hopefully you all don't think that my writing sucks cause if you do, my Gma will kick your ass.

Tupperware & Meatloaf.

For most, memories of grandma’s house are as warm and comforting as the smell of fresh baked cookies. Growing up, my friends would recount visits to their grandparents’ houses and list off the treats that awaited there: Sunday roasts, fresh baked bread homemade ice cream, warm cookies… Because my grandparents raised me, going to grandma’s house was just going home for me, and I don’t share those memories. I called my grandmother “Mom” as long as I can remember and, as the fifth child she was attempting to get out of the house, I wasn’t showered by grandma with either homemade cookies or a midday Sunday meal.

Grandma grew up in central Nebraska during the Depression and our kitchen and pantry was representative of a shopper who had gone without. Our freezer was lined with bread and milk that was on sale for 20 cents less than usual. Canned foods and packets of Jell-O – long since expired – were hidden in every cabinet. Our basement was lined with any non-perishable item she could find.

But, I don’t blame my worst childhood food memories on that. It’s because of a company called Tupperware. While microwavable, dishwasher-safe, resealable containers are fantastic inventions, when put in the wrong hands, the containers can become an obsession. This is because Tupperware comes in all sizes. From gallons to teaspoons, food can be stored nearly indefinitely. In our house this meant every meal was followed by putting all leftovers in an appropriate sized container. Smaller and smaller containers would follow a food’s journey from table to refrigerator and back again. A can of corn could be a repeat guest at our table for weeks until my grandfather would finally give up and eat the last tablespoon sized serving. We seemed to spend a lot of time eating yesterday’s – last week’s even – leftovers.
In high school, I would make excuses to miss meals. I joined every club and sport that would take me so I wouldn’t have to come home for dinner. But my grandparents would wait until my practices and meetings were over so we could have dinner as a family. So despite my attempts to escape, the little containers patiently waited for my return.

Occasionally, my grandmother would gather her containers and the remnants of vegetables from the bottom of the fridge and make her meatloaf. All of those meatloaf horror stories from the 1950s came alive in our house well into the 90s. She never used a recipe; it was simply ground beef, the contents of the Tupperware containers, the wilted veggies, perhaps an onion, stale bread torn in large chunks and enough ketchup to mask the flavor. Because she was allergic to tomatoes, my grandmother never actually had to taste her meatloaf. The rest of the family did not have the same luxury. Of course anything we didn’t finish went in its own container to reappear for the next meal and the one after that.

A few years ago, I brought a friend home for a visit and the table was filled with various sized containers holding mostly unknown scraps of food and meatloaf. Seeing it as a guest, I was appalled and embarrassed. It was like my family’s culinary skeleton was being unleashed from our closet. But my friend loved the meal. He later told friends it was like having a buffet full of choices.

Of course, as an adult, I constantly crave meatloaf. My own recipe is simple and basic like Grandma’s, but without the scary Tupperware ingredients. Ironically I always make enough for a few leftovers. So now I admit it: There’s meatloaf on my table and plastic containers in the fridge.

Glazed Meatloaf
1 lb of meatloaf mix (or 1/3 lb of each ground beef, pork, and veal)
1 small onion minced
1 clove garlic, minced or pressed
2 eggs, beaten
3/4 to 1 cup of Panko or regular bread crumbs
2 Tablespoons water
1/3 cup ketchup
1 teaspoon Worcestershire sauce
1 1/4 teaspoon kosher salt
1/4 teaspoon ground black pepper

Glaze
1/2 cup ketchup
1/3 cup brown sugar
1/3 cup mustard

Preheat oven to 375 degrees F.

Mix all meatloaf ingredients well and shape into a loaf. Place in a baking dish.

Glaze:
Mix ingredients for topping and spread on loaf. Bake for 1 hour.