Easy Peas Recipes

When we were growing up, Mom spent a lot of time in the kitchen. So did I, but I was mostly either doing homework or eating – not cooking. Sure, I could cook the basics; scrambled eggs, grilled cheese, Ramen noodles. I would often watch my mom cook but I didn’t pick up very much in the way of kitchen skills.

When Mom passed away, I was only fifteen years old. Our dad only had basic kitchen skills, just like me. If it wasn’t for kind relatives who looked after us kids and our dad, we would have been pretty hungry. But after a month or so, we were on our own. Since I was the oldest kid in the house at the time, and Dad worked 12-hour days, I had to learn to cook quickly.

Dad had one motto that was on repeat – the KISS Method – “Keep It Simple, Stupid.” “Stupid” wasn’t directed toward anyone in particular, but it was an easy way to remember that making something complicated doesn’t always make it better. As long as I kept it simple, dinner was edible. But, I wanted to know more. I read all of Mom’s cookbooks. The pictures of fancy table settings and pretty platters of dressed up meals were gorgeous and I dreamt of being grown up, in my own home, throwing a fancy dinner party.

Dad, my sister and I often visited Dad’s sister, our Aunt Pearl. She was the oldest sibling of her family. Growing up, she also lost her mom at an early age, and cooked for their family, plus did a host of other jobs, just like me. Aunt Pearl was a happy woman who seemed to do things effortlessly, especially in the kitchen. I particularly loved one meal she made for us – meatloaf. Meatloaf itself is pretty simple. I had made it a couple of times myself by the time I had eaten Aunt Pearl’s. But, hers was different than any meatloaf I had eaten. It was just meatloaf, that I could see, but it was so delicious. It was just seasoned enough to be tasty and the inside was cooked perfectly and not at all dry. The only curious thing about her meatloaf was that there were soft pieces of something inside of it. These pieces were a pale-ish color and blended in with the texture and taste of the meat. I asked Aunt Pearl for her meatloaf recipe. “You know how to make meatloaf, don’t you?” she answered. “You’ll have to figure out my recipe yourself. Just remember to keep it simple.” That was not the answer I wanted to hear. But, I accepted the challenge.

One day that we visited her, Aunt Pearl gave us a small loaf of frozen meatloaf to take home with us. Now, I had a sample so I could decipher the recipe. Even so, I found out quickly that it was not going to be so easy. Besides being a simple recipe, meatloaf is also highly customizable. That fact posed a problem for me, a teenage, beginning cook.  There were a myriad of meatloaf variations; Mexican, Italian, Moroccan, stuffed, pastry-wrapped, BBQ. But, Aunt Pearl’s meatloaf didn’t appear to have any identifiable, unique ingredients other than the usual ones – except for those small, soft, pale-ish pieces of whatever. I determined that those strange whatevers were the key to the juiciness and the tastiness of the recipe. I just had no clue what they were and Aunt Pearl was not giving up the intel.

Because we cooked very basically at our house, we kept basic, staple ingredients in the kitchen. Dad kept us on a strict budget as well. We only cooked what we could eat at a sitting for the most part and we didn’t waste food. That made cooking dinner pretty easy for me. Then came the challenge of Aunt Pearl’s meatloaf. One night at dinner, we ate the meatloaf she had sent home with us. Even after being frozen and reheated, it was just as delicious as ever. I ate slowly, trying to imagine the ingredients as I tasted them. I inspected the meat with my fork, poking and squishing the small, pale pieces of whatever. I came to no sound conclusions. Frustrated, but full, I washed dishes after dinner. The secret ingredient must be something basic, I told myself. I needed to keep it simple, and not overthink it. After the dishes were washed, dried and put away, I poked around in the kitchen cupboards. As I shuffled cans, containers and boxes, looking through our stash of supplies, I found what I believed to be the mystery meatloaf ingredient. I decided that the following Friday was the day I would make Aunt Pearl’s meatloaf.

On that fateful Friday, I was so excited to cook dinner. Dad was working at home in his office and my sister was somewhere, so it was just me in the kitchen. I liked cooking by myself. It was quiet time alone and even though I was not usually cooking anything complicated, I felt that I was being creative. Chopping, measuring, mixing and preparing food was fun and relaxing. The feeling from eating what I had cooked, what my hands had actually made, was even better. The “Thank you for dinner,” from Dad, however, was the best of all. So, that Friday, I had high expectations of myself and the meatloaf. I mixed my usual ingredients in a large bowl – ground beef, salt, pepper, a beaten egg, a little ketchup – the KISS Method in practice. Then, I went to the cupboard and brought out the Secret Ingredient, the pièce de résistance… Spam.

Before I continue, please remember that the cook in question is a teenage girl with little cooking skill and experience. Also, I have nothing personally against Spam.  Okay? Then, let’s continue.

I was very self-satisfied as I released the Spam from its tin prison- slowly, because Spam has higher friction-release properties  than even jellied cranberry sauce. I diced the Spam and felt very proud that I had cracked the code on Aunt Pearl’s meatloaf recipe. The pieces of Spam were kind of soft and were a similar pale-ish color to the pieces I saw in her meatloaf. The taste was meaty so of course it would blend in with the rest of the ingredents. The saltiness would add that special flavor that was so delicious. I was sure that once it was all baked together, I would get the result I was looking for. I kneaded the Spam into the other ingredients and shaped my creation into a lovely, round loaf.  A frosting of ketchup later, “Aunt Pearl’s meatloaf” was in the oven at 350° F and I started on some instant mashed potatoes.

When dinner was ready, I was eager to cut into the meatloaf. I was sure I’d see the soft, pale pieces I’d seen before in Aunt Pearl’s meatloaf. But, these pieces were a little different in color than what I remembered. They weren’t “one with the meat,” but looked like little blocks stuck into it in various places. But, I didn’t doubt myself and sliced up the meatloaf. My sister was immediately suspicious as I dished up dinner. I explained that, “This is Aunt Pearl’s meatloaf.” My sister didn’t look so sure. Our dad took his plate to his office (sometimes he ate while he worked) and my sister and I sat down at the kitchen table and ate.

The meatloaf was not at all what I expected. The pieces of Spam did not have the same texture as the meatloaf. In fact, it was exactly as if my mouth and teeth encountered meatloaf and then suddenly hit a piece of harder, hammy meat. What was even stranger was that the flavor of Spam had permeated the meatloaf. The combination of flavors and textures was so odd and so off that my sister couldn’t eat it. I tried picking the pieces of Spam out to make it more edible, but it was no use. I couldn’t eat it either. We did eat all our mashed potatoes, though.

A few minutes later, Dad came into the kitchen with his plate – mashed potatoes gone and the dejected meatloaf still mostly intact. I imagined that he had been sitting in his office, disappointed in me for making such an impassable meal. I was even more disappointed in myself for wasting precious food.
“I’m sorry,” he said to me,” I can’t eat this.” He looked almost embarrassed as he said this, and I felt even worse.
“No, I’m sorry,” I said, and I explained about my quest to crack the code on Aunt Pearl’s recipe and how I decided that Spam was the secret ingredient. My sister rolled her eyes.
Dad just smiled and said, “It’s okay, honey, you tried.”
“What are we going to do with the meatloaf?” I asked.
“Toss it,” he said. I was shocked, because we just didn’t toss food. He added, “Let’s get a pizza.” That was music to my sister’s ears.  I still felt badly about dinner, but one hot, cheesy piece of pizza later, I was in much higher spirits.

Our dad was kind and compassionate. Instead of lecturing me, he saw that I understood and let me learn from my mistake. But, I can’t say that I totally did. Curiosity and a sense of cooking adventure led me to create a few more monsters in the kitchen as I grew older. I’ve also had plenty of well-intentioned failures, even as an experienced cook. But, each time I failed, I gained more knowledge and wisdom about ingredients and processes. I learned that it takes patience and practice to become a proficient, confident cook – and that I will still occasionally fail. But, only for the moment.

Going back to the night of the Spam Meatloaf, my first disastrous dinner; later that night, Dad called Aunt Pearl. I didn’t hear their conversation, but it was a short one. After he hung up the phone, he came to me.
“It’s Ritz crackers,” he said, “She just breaks them up and throws them in. And a little milk. That’s it.” I felt so silly.  “Oh,” he continued, “she said there’s more to the recipe than that, but you can figure it out from there.”
I was done trying to figure it out. Crackers and milk seemed good enough additions to me. I was okay with Aunt Pearl’s legendary meatloaf recipe remaining a secret.

If you’re curious how that meatloaf eventually turned out – after some experimentation – check out Almost Aunt Pearl’s Meatloaf. Let me know how it turns out for you!