I was really starting to get off-track here with all these cookies--deviating from my ordinarily meatcentric focus.
So, last night, in honor of my return to dark-red center*, I made myself a nice, Michael Symon Meatloaf and I'm feeling much, much better.
Until I heard him describe himself as such, I thought I had made up the word "meatcentric" and damn! I was proud of that bit of succinct verbiage too! So rarely do we stumble on a descriptor which does its job, which is not effusive, elusive, metaphorical! "Meatcentric": it's juicy, red and blatant. Just the way I like it.
*Do I need to disclaim here? Meatloaf is NOT a rare item.
Sylph, speaking with the assurance of a newly turned 5-year old, walked into the kitchen and back out. "A Michael Symon meatloaf. That's horrifying."
She knew it was him, though.
There are a number of things I love about Michael Symon, all of which require a separate post. I just don't think it's fair to have his likeness-in-loaf at the helm of an homage-post...but in a nutshell: he has a kick-ass wife who I know I would like (which, as an only somewhat-reformed skeptic of other females, speaks volumes) and would like to consult about my upcoming tattoo, he has a fabulous goofy laugh, his food is fun, and he's a good old Catholic Boy whose go-to meat is pork.
I think I captured likeness, or at least I could taste it. True, his head isn't quite dome-y enough (which I mean with all respect)--something I rectified right before he went in the oven, but unfortunately didn't photograph.
The cooked version?---well, I really liked doing the meatloaf (my usual mom's-recipe of beef-veal-pork & grated zucchini) on an oiled cookie rack over a deep, square baker to keep him from getting coagulated meat-juice jowls, BUT when Michael Meatloaf came out, he was, um, a bit dark to recognize.
If you want to know the truth, after I hacked off a crusty ear to try, he looked like Van Gogh Curly from The Harlem Globetrotters.
If I did it again, I might use all-pork, which would be much lighter. The olives for the brows and soul patch were terrific, though--they roasted to a really nice texture which was, well, sort of facial hairy.
If there were a yoga asana called "Meat Pose" I would say that I now feel better, grounded, and centered having spent some time there.
Sigh...I still have a gazillion cookies to bake. Stay tuned for Star-bellied Sneetches!
Might as well start a new blog and call it Dough Dominatrix (I think a holiday special with the Ace of Cakes is an obvious one--but it might be more Super TV than Food Network) or Cookie Therapy. Besides, let's face it: I'm a fraud--I can't really bake. What I do like is tedium, a prerequisite for obsessive artful cookie-making.
Ah, food irony: you gift me again. Somehow, I, neither a baker nor a sweet-lover, found myself almost royally ice-boxed and Oreo sandwiched into pretty, meatless cookie-making.
Thank you Michael Symon, for helping me back to my comfort zone and food. Hope some day I get to meat you.
The Symons: putting the Cleaver in Cleveland~http://www.lolabistro.com/
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