Connie’s Meatloaf

Betty turned seventy-seven in February. I know I already mentioned that. But this week she called and told me something that sits heavy: she's been having trouble with her vision. "Things go blurry," she said, the way she says everything medical — briefly, factually, as if reporting weather in a distant county. "Just sometimes. Just the right eye." Just. As if "just" makes it less. As if "just" the right eye means the left eye is fine and everything's fine and she's fine.

I called Dale. Dale said he'd noticed too — Betty squinting at the TV, holding the Bible closer to her face in church. He's trying to get her to the eye doctor in Harlan, but Betty doesn't go to doctors unless something falls off or stops working entirely. Her philosophy is: if you can still cook, you're not sick. Since she can still cook, she's not going to the doctor. This philosophy has kept her alive and unkilled for seventy-seven years but it's also the philosophy that killed Earl, who coughed for a decade before seeing a doctor, and by then the lungs were done.

I'm worried. I'm always worried about Betty, but this is a new flavor of worry: the worry that comes with imagining Betty unable to see the garden, the stove, the road to church. Betty without her eyes is Betty without her life, because Betty's life is cooking and gardening and reading her Bible and driving herself to church, and all of those things require sight. I'm going down next weekend to take her to the eye doctor myself, which she will resist with the force of a woman who has been resisting unwanted help for seventy-seven years, but I'm bigger than her and I have the truck keys.

This week's food is comfort food for me: Connie's meatloaf. Not Betty's meatloaf — Connie's. I'm giving Connie the blog for a paragraph because her meatloaf is the one I want when I'm worried, and it's different from Betty's in ways that matter.

Connie's meatloaf uses half ground beef and half ground pork, which gives it a richness that all-beef doesn't achieve. She adds Worcestershire sauce (Betty didn't), diced bell pepper (Betty didn't), and a packet of onion soup mix, which Betty would consider cheating but which Connie considers efficient. The glaze is ketchup mixed with brown sugar and a squirt of mustard. She bakes it at 350 for an hour and the house smells like Tuesday night comfort and nothing bad can happen while that meatloaf is in the oven.

I ate two slices and went to bed and stared at the ceiling and thought about eyes and mountains and a seventy-seven-year-old woman who can still make soup beans with her eyes closed but can't see the garden from the porch anymore. Monday I'm calling the eye doctor. Betty can argue with me in the waiting room.

When somebody you love is hurting and you can’t fix it yet, you cook. That’s what this week was — me standing in the kitchen thinking about Betty’s eyes and needing Connie’s meatloaf the way you need a quilt when the house gets cold. Not Betty’s version, Connie’s, because Connie’s is the one that fills the house with a smell that says nothing else bad is happening tonight. Here’s how she makes it.

Prep Time: 15 minutes | Cook Time: 1 hour | Total Time: 1 hour 15 minutes | Servings: 6

Ingredients

1 lb ground beef (80/20)
1 lb ground pork
1 packet onion soup mix
1/2 cup diced bell pepper (green or red)
2 tablespoons Worcestershire sauce
2 eggs, lightly beaten
3/4 cup breadcrumbs
1/3 cup whole milk
1/2 teaspoon black pepper
1/2 teaspoon garlic powder

For the glaze:

1/2 cup ketchup
2 tablespoons brown sugar
1 tablespoon yellow mustard

Instructions

Preheat the oven. Set your oven to 350°F. Line a rimmed baking sheet with foil or parchment for easy cleanup.
Mix the meat. In a large bowl, combine the ground beef, ground pork, onion soup mix, diced bell pepper, Worcestershire sauce, eggs, breadcrumbs, milk, black pepper, and garlic powder. Mix with your hands until just combined — don’t overwork it or the loaf gets tough.
Shape the loaf. Turn the mixture out onto the prepared baking sheet and shape into a loaf about 9 inches long and 5 inches wide. Don’t use a loaf pan — a free-form loaf on the sheet lets the edges get that good crust.
Make the glaze. Stir together the ketchup, brown sugar, and mustard in a small bowl. Spread evenly over the top and sides of the meatloaf.
Bake. Bake at 350°F for 1 hour, or until the internal temperature reaches 160°F. The glaze should be caramelized and sticky.
Rest before slicing. Let the meatloaf rest for 10 minutes before cutting. This keeps the slices from falling apart and lets the juices settle back in.

Nutrition (per serving)

Connie’s Meatloaf — The One I Make When I’m Worried About Betty