Why is it that some of the things we most want, we can never have?

A fall night I could be having meatloaf

In my case, it’s meatloaf. I’m the person in your party who orders the meatloaf when she finds it on the menu. One of the reasons for this is that I really like meatloaf. But the other reason is more tragic. It’s because my family does not allow me to make it anymore. Yes, friends– I’m on probation. For the tenth year.

My crime? Serving a meatloaf my girls claimed was inedible using harsh words like ‘disgusting’ or ‘eeeew’. I suffered silently through questions like ‘why does it ooze like that?’ Or ‘is it supposed to look like that, mom?’ Innocent as they sound . . . those questions drove a stake through my meatloaf confidence. Not even the Five Bucks For Five Bites rule (see previous post) worked when I served meatloaf. Yet, the bigger question is how can my recipe be so wrong? When everyone makes it differently? How has my recipe come to be so persecuted? 

So, now . . . a decade later, I am left with only the bitterness of loss. The ache of unfulfilled dreams. Reduced to ordering meatloaf in every diner, drive-in and dive I enter. My only consolation? The hope of future generations. Once my girls have kids? Just wait until I get to cook for the grandchildren…  Boohahahahaha.