Pepper Jack Meat Loaf

Easter Sunday. Service at New Birth — the lilies, the choir, the white robes. Then the Cascade Heights house for dinner. Honey ham. Mac. Greens. Deviled eggs. Mama's pound cake recipe. Mama not there. The recipe was.

Wednesday Bible study at the church. We read through Proverbs. The women in my row argued about whether wisdom is built or born. I said both. They agreed, sort of.

The blood pressure check was Wednesday. The numbers were borderline. The doctor wants me to walk more. I am walking more.

I read for an hour Sunday night before bed. Some novel about a Black woman in 1960s Alabama. Mama would have liked it.

The kids were home for the weekend. The house was loud the way it should be.

The neighbors had a Friday cookout this week. I brought my mac and cheese. They have come to expect this. I have come to expect this. The block is the block.

Thursday I made cornbread for a sister at church whose husband had surgery. I dropped it off at the hospital. She cried at the door. I told her, eat the cornbread, baby. The food is the saying.

I went to the cemetery Saturday morning. Brenda's grave is on the hill at South-View. Curtis still goes most Sundays. I left a small bouquet of magnolias.

Sunday service at New Birth this morning. The choir sang. I sang soprano in the second alto row. Pastor preached about Naomi and Ruth. The congregation said amen. I said amen.

Pastor preached about the prodigal son again. He preaches about that boy at least three times a year. The text is the text but every preaching is different. I cried in the second service this time. Don't ask me why.

Daddy sat in his chair after dinner watching the news. He fell asleep before the third quarter. Standard.

Darnell sent a photo from Clarksville. The garden is producing. He grew tomatoes the size of softballs. I sent him back a photo of my sweet potato casserole. We are competitive about food now in our middle age.

I had a hard counseling case at school this week. A seventh-grade girl whose mama lost her job. We talked. I gave her my number. I told her she could call.

I made a casserole for the church potluck. The pan came back empty. That is the only review I trust.

I drove to the Walmart on Camp Creek Saturday morning. The kind of grocery run that takes two hours because you run into three people you know. Sister Patrice caught me in the produce. We talked about her grandbaby for fifteen minutes.

Saturday morning I had Set the Table at the Cascade Heights center. Twelve young women. We did baked chicken. One of them — Imani, sixteen — was so afraid of seasoning that she barely shook the salt. I stood next to her and put my hand over hers and said, baby, you cannot be afraid of food. We seasoned the chicken. The chicken came out right. She glowed.

Miss Ernestine called Tuesday. She's ninety-something and sharp as ever. She told me my potato salad still needs more mustard.

Derek and I had date night Friday. Same restaurant, same booth, same enchiladas for me and carne asada for him.

Tuesday evening I sat at the kitchen table with my composition notebook and worked on the cookbook. From Brenda's Kitchen — that's the working title. I cannot write the introduction without crying yet.

Andre called from LA. He told the Kevin Hart story again. Twenty-some years and that boy is still telling that story. Everyone in this family is going to hear about Kevin Hart at our funerals.

Between the cornbread I dropped at the hospital and the mac and cheese I carried to the block cookout and the baked chicken we seasoned with Imani’s hand under mine, this was a week that reminded me what food is actually for — it’s the saying when there’s nothing left to say. The pan coming back empty from the potluck was the only review I needed. So when I finally sat down to cook something just for us, I wanted something with weight and warmth and a little heat — something that felt like the whole week in one dish. This Pepper Jack Meat Loaf is exactly that. It’s the kind of thing Mama would’ve approved of without much fuss, and Miss Ernestine would’ve told me needed more mustard in the glaze.

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 1 hr | Total Time: 1 hr 15 min | Servings: 8

Ingredients

2 lbs ground beef (80/20)
1 cup shredded pepper jack cheese, divided
1/2 cup plain breadcrumbs
1/2 cup whole milk
2 large eggs, lightly beaten
1/2 cup finely diced yellow onion
1/3 cup finely diced green bell pepper
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 tablespoon Worcestershire sauce
1 teaspoon smoked paprika
1 teaspoon garlic powder
1 teaspoon onion powder
1/2 teaspoon black pepper
1 teaspoon kosher salt
For the glaze: 1/3 cup ketchup, 1 tablespoon brown sugar, 1 teaspoon yellow mustard, 1 teaspoon hot sauce

Instructions

Preheat and prep. Preheat your oven to 350°F. Line a rimmed baking sheet or 9x5 loaf pan with foil and lightly grease it.
Soak the breadcrumbs. In a small bowl, combine breadcrumbs and milk. Let sit for 5 minutes until absorbed. This keeps the loaf tender and moist through the whole bake.
Mix the loaf. In a large bowl, combine ground beef, soaked breadcrumbs, 3/4 cup of the pepper jack cheese, eggs, onion, bell pepper, garlic, Worcestershire sauce, smoked paprika, garlic powder, onion powder, salt, and black pepper. Mix with your hands until just combined — don’t overwork it or the loaf will be tough.
Shape. Turn the meat mixture onto the prepared pan and shape into a loaf roughly 9 inches long and 4 inches wide. Pat the top flat.
Make the glaze. Whisk together ketchup, brown sugar, mustard, and hot sauce in a small bowl until smooth.
First bake. Bake uncovered for 45 minutes. The loaf should be firm and starting to pull away from the sides.
Glaze and finish. Spread the glaze evenly over the top of the loaf. Scatter the remaining 1/4 cup of pepper jack cheese over the glaze. Return to oven and bake an additional 15 minutes, until the glaze is set and the internal temperature reads 160°F.
Rest before slicing. Let the meat loaf rest on the pan for 10 minutes before slicing. This keeps the juices in and the slices clean.

Nutrition (per serving)

Pepper Jack Meat Loaf — The Food That Says What I Can’t