You can say that it doesn’t matter. No matter how you do it, it will be fine.
Sure, and Hell did freeze over.
I did a google on “meat loaf sandwiches.” I happen to love them and actually, like many people, prefer the sandwiches the next day to the freshly made meat loaf out of the oven. You find, in this search, that there is diversity and passion. And some pretty strong opinions. It’s not that a meat loaf sandwich “can be …” It’s more like “it must have…” Or else.
Someone wanted just meatloaf on white bread. Period. Nothing more, because if the meat loaf cannot carry the load on its own, then the meatloaf is … Well, they used a four-letter word here. Nasty.
There’s the guy in Texas who says it has to be on Texas toast with gravy. And kimchi. Now, I think it is a fair bet that individual is a software guru, first generation, whose parents came from South Korea. That is not a derogatory statement, just an observation on the demographics of our world.
To begin with, what should the meatloaf be made of. People espouse the benefits of bison and turkey. Me? Well, I depend on Suzen and her secret, magic, marvelous combination of ground pork, beef and veal.
What should the bread be? Oh, how intense life can be. There are calls for white bread, rye, pumpernickel, onion rolls, focaccia, Kaiser roll, or just anything with grain.
Upon the bread, mayonnaise wins the plurality, but people do surprise with asking for butter. There’s chipotle and chipotle mayo. Ketchup, of course, and horseradish sauce. Next to mayo though, the advocates for gravy are loud and cannot be ignored without personal risk.
Pickles are demanded by perhaps half the respondents. Mostly on top, but some just want their dill spears on the side. Jalapeno peppers, sweet ones like in the pictures, are my favorite addition. Yes, that picture shows that red and green peppers have been added to the meat loaf itself.
Onions? Always a fight. In the meat loaf or out? On top of the mayo or ketchup or not.
Every combination imaginable is someone’s favorite. That means you cannot go wrong for yourself, but tread carefully when dining with friends. I suggest a large table, everything spread out, and plenty of knives. For spreading, not arguing.
Oh, if I am coming and you are putting up the table, you better have jalapenos there. Can’t be a meat loaf sandwich without jalapenos. Everybody knows that.
Well, you know, I did not want to be an obnoxious patient but by the time I got to his office, I was concerned. The problem was not going away.
“I have the color thingy,” I said to my doctor. “I looked it up on Wikipedia. You didn’t tell me it might happen and …”
My eye doctor laughed and put down the eye drops he was about it use. It’s been a week since cataract surgery on my right eye and this was checkup number two. All is fine actually.
But I did hear an echo: “You call those socks matched?” I remember countless wives and girlfriends yelling that at me. Uh, not countless wives, I have only been married twice. And the first one did not yell much until she found out about one of the girlfriends.
I’m not digressing here. I have had a hell of a time matching up my socks. Black, dark gray, navy blue, navy gray — my God, I don’t know how I bought them all and I certainly cannot match them now.
“So,” and my doctor really began with this, “remember when you were in your twenties and you could match your socks?”
“Kinda,” I replied. We’re talking decades here.
“You began to lose your blue vision by age 30,” he continued. “It was all very gradual. You never noticed, you couldn’t notice, but year by year your world became less blue and more yellow. And now, with this surgery, in one day you’re seeing the world as it is for the first time in decades. The world is bluish.”
And it is. It’s amazing. My left eye, yet to be operated on, does see the world with the yellow lens that cataracts impose. But I’m right-eyed, so my color perception is driven by what I see coming in now: new, bright, and blue.
I’m back to normal now. Adjust to this new blue normal. It’s the reason I’ve been negligent in blogging. And in taking photographs and in using Photoshop. I wonder how that’s going to go?
I’m back to writing. If in these first few days my photos look a little too blue for you, please let me know. I know this really fabulous eye surgeon …
Oh, I was terrified going in. I hate eye drops. I could never wear contacts. The thought of watching some hand holding a scalpel and approaching my eye was keeping me up at night. “What if I jerk?” I kept asking myself.
Turns out not to be a problem at all. I was so drugged up, it could have been Dexter coming to finish me off with one of those butcher knife plunges through the heart. [Dexter is a TV character, a serial killer, who only does in bad people who have escaped the law; so while technically a criminal, most viewers tend to view him as a very personal vigilante. He works in Miami but most cities could use one.]
Time for a drink with Blue Curacao. Stunning.