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Perspective: Loaf Meat

Pixabay + Pixlr

Proust had his madeleines; I have loaf meat.

I made a whopping big pile of meat loaf, or loaf meat as my Polish grandmother would say, last weekend. It was exquisite. It had just the right balance of flavors and got better with age. It made me remember weekends when I was little.

Every Sunday after church, Dad and I would tune the radio station to the Eddie Blazonczyk polka show, hearing such classics as the “Too Fat Polka.” (I-don’t-want-her, you-can-have-her, she’s-too-fat-for-me.) Then we would pick up my mom and our dog, Milton, and we’d pile into the brown station wagon to head to grandma’s house in Wood Dale for Sunday dinner.

I can still remember the loaded dining room table: Kapusta (sauerkraut made with onions, carrots and tomato juice), pierogis, loaf meat, peas and carrots and a jello salad. Sometimes she’d swap out roasted chicken for the loaf meat. Followed by Maurice Lenell’s pinwheel cookies and Sanka, or room temperature 7UP for me. Dad would watch 60 Minutes (or the clock show as I called it) or a football game in the living room. After Lawrence Welk, it was time to go home to Oak Park. I often think how did she crank out a meal like that every Sunday? It was pure love, from the heart.

Yes, I’ll always have loaf meat. Dzi?kuj?, grandma.

I’m Rosie Klepper, and that’s my Perspective.

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