Cooler temps and a stiff breeze made yesterday pretty delightful. We got in a walk and a bike ride--part of the latter through restored prairie and along the causeway looking out through blooming lily pads. Then it was time to begin preparations for the evening's primetime event: a Meatloaf Challenge.
With determination and attention to detail worthy of Lewis and Clark, contenders scrutinized cookbooks, the internet, and their childhood memories for the ultimate meat loaf recipe. They spoke in whispers and pondered the relative advantages of cast iron, the oven, and the crockpot. Tempting aromas wafted throughout the campground by late afternoon.
When it was time for the Final Showdown, a willing and eager stranger from a nearby campsite was recruited to make the supreme judgement. His qualification was that he LOVED meatloaf. The suspense built as he tasted, swooned, and ruminated. But Vince's dreams of having his recipe in the next Frannie book under the title "Better than Marcy's Meatloaf" went down in flames when the judge chose Carly's hamloaf. (Technically not a meatloaf by the common understanding, but, hey, I'm not a sore loser.) The winners celebrated and the losers drowned their sorrow by eating the entries--along with mashed potatoes and gravy, brussels sprouts and cauliflower with pine nuts, marinated tomatoes, coleslaw, and melon.
When it was time for the Final Showdown, a willing and eager stranger from a nearby campsite was recruited to make the supreme judgement. His qualification was that he LOVED meatloaf. The suspense built as he tasted, swooned, and ruminated. But Vince's dreams of having his recipe in the next Frannie book under the title "Better than Marcy's Meatloaf" went down in flames when the judge chose Carly's hamloaf. (Technically not a meatloaf by the common understanding, but, hey, I'm not a sore loser.) The winners celebrated and the losers drowned their sorrow by eating the entries--along with mashed potatoes and gravy, brussels sprouts and cauliflower with pine nuts, marinated tomatoes, coleslaw, and melon.
After supper and the agony of overeating, what was a beautiful evening also crashed and burned when the mosquitoes returned for any blood they had missed on Friday night. Sprays, long pants and jackets, campfire smoke, and citronella notwithstanding, we agreed to surrender control of the world to the damn pests and went inside.
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