Battle! Meatloaf, the rematch.

Battle!

THE TIME? Today, two hours ago.

THE OCCASION? A battle of kitchen cleverness and culinary craft.  A showdown.  {Another} Food battle!

THE CHALLENGE? Meatloaf.  The rematch.

THE JUDGE? He who durst eat anything.  Him who hath eaten everything.  That’s right, the sweet creature of bombast, the boy with the budding Buddha belly: the one, the only, my Stepson, Nik!

THE CONTENDERS? My Beloved One. . .  Against me!

. . . . .

It was decided earlier today that this evening’s dinner would be meatloaf.  She has previously made meatloaf for us all, and I had something to say about it.  I have likewise previously made meatloaf for us all, and she had something to say about it.

Tonight I bought enough meat to make two small ones, instead of one large one, so that one would be to her traditional taste for good ol’, finger lickin’ Americana, and one could be to my own peculiar preferences.

Now, the battle was impromptu.  It had not been previously decided that tonight would be a face off…  But as soon as we split up the meat, she proposed that she make hers, I make mine, and Sweet Wag would serve judge not knowing which was made by who.

. . . . .

WHAT SHE DID. . .

Ground beef, egg ‘binder’ and breadcrumbs, salt/pepper, chopped onion, diced tomatoes, garlic powder, roasted red pepper flakes, and a barbecue sauce filler/coating.

WHAT I DID. . .

Ground beef, egg ‘binder’ and breadcrumbs, salt/pepper, fresh chopped basil, garlic, onion, and cilantro.  Diced tomatoes, roasted red pepper flakes, and a tomato sauce filler/coating.

THE VICTOR?

Victoria!

What is odd however is that—this time around—she preferred mine over her own.  But she instantaneously received the boy’s winning vote, and won fair and square.  He’s not that a huge fan of cilantro.  {That’s fine, I didn’t really want to share too much of mine anyway.}

I now owe my Beloved One her prize back rub.

©  Jeffrey Puukka, 2010.