Everything
seemed to be going fine. I drained the potatoes and mashed them while heating up
the beans. Just as I was finishing cleaning off the beater, the timer on the
oven went off. I felt this sense of power mixed with peace as I pulled the
meatloaf out. I imagined that in just minutes, I would be calling my husband
down to dinner and later he would be praising me about this wonderful meal and
my skill as a cook.
I
stuck a knife in the meatloaf to make sure it was done in the middle. I have a
lingering paranoia about meat insufficiently cooked, (or maybe it is my guilt
about my return to carnivorous eating habits manifesting itself). Disaster! It
was still pink and raw in the center. I needed help coping with it, so I called
my husband to the kitchen. This was not quite the way I had pictured it. I
didn't know what to do. Everything else was done and would get cold waiting for
the meat to cook and if the meat hadn't cooked according to the recipe, it was
up to me to determine how much longer it would need. I couldn't face it alone.
© Salahub 2003