Beward of exploding meatloaves

Laurent d’Entremont

My friend and neighbor Elaine Surette, who edited some of my publications and wrote blurbs on the back covers of both of my books, gave me her recipe for making an Acadian meatloaf. I had watched her make it several times and felt I was capable of such a task, if I could only follow the directions that is.

I knew my meatloaf would not taste as delicious as the one from Elaine’s kitchen, yet I felt I had to rise to the challenge. I am much, much better as an auto mechanic than I am at cooking.

I’ll tell you how it’s done according to directions, or rather how I made my meatloaf.

The ingredients are: two lbs. hamburg, one half-cup chopped onions, one teaspoon salt (which I ignored), a sprinkle of pepper, one half-cup bread crumbs (Italian or otherwise), 14 oz.-can of tomato sauce (NOT tomato soup, and save a quarter of the can for covering the meatloaf, once finished), a teaspoon or so of oregano, and mozzarella cheese, either slices or cut from a block.

Method: combine all ingredients, except the cheese. Spread meat on a large piece of wax paper. (I had forgotten the wax paper). Form into a rectangle. Lay cheese on top and roll like a jelly-roll. Place in a large baking dish, spread remaining tomato sauce over top, bake at 350-degrees for one hour and voila! - a meatloaf good enough to eat.

I must have done a good job because family members dug in and it was gone in less than no time at all.

However, this is not the most famous meatloaf I have written about. Years ago in Pamplona, Spain, I saw a meatloaf dish overheat and explode all over the room. In remembrance of this I wrote a small booklet called “Meatloaves Do Explode”. This was in 1972 when my cousin Raymond S. and I visited my brother Alban who was studying at the University of Pamplona.

After flying from Yarmouth to Boston to Lisbon, with a stop-over in the Azores, we finally reached Madrid’s airport and were glad to set foot on solid ground. We hired a taxi, which raced dangerously over the streets of Madrid, somewhat like an accident waiting to happen, but landed us safely at our hotel rooms.

Next day was a 350-mile train trip to our destination of Pamplona. It was while on this train that I saw a real live shepherd with beard and staff coming down the mountain with his flock of sheep.

Spain was different. The buildings were made of stones, shrubbery and trees were not familiar to me and the air had a soapy smell of olive trees.

Jim Miller, from the state of Ohio, who had gone to Spain to further his education, shared an apartment with my brother to save costs. He met us at the train station and drove us to our new home in a Fiat 850. Before settling in, Alban insisted that we meet his favorite bartender Miguel, whose bar was nearby. Miguel was so thrilled to meet the new Canadians that all drinks were on the house, just like in an old John Wayne movie.

Jim Miller had made a giant garlic-stuffed meatloaf with no oregano. By then, with all the excitement and tiredness of foreign travel, I had completely lost my appetite, but not eating would have insulted the cook, I felt.

The over-spiced meatloaf was in a round glass dish waiting to be eaten while I was praying for a miracle. My prayers were answered shortly when the bowl exploded and shattered in a million little pieces. If Miller, the cook, had only known how happy I was over that.

Since then, I have often wondered if Jim Miller, who now makes India his home, remembers the incident and if he ever knew that I had titled a booklet in honour of the incident. I don’t really know why the Spanish dish exploded; it likely had to do with a hot meatloaf in a cold dish or something like that.

In any case, with my next meatloaf, I will go easy on the oregano, bread crumbs and tomato sauce, just in case!

laudent@hotmail.com





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