that cynking feeling

I made meatloaf yesterday. We grabbed some from the hot deli counter at the grocery store a few weeks ago and my husband has been asking why I don’t make one myself ever since. For some reason, I thought he hadn’t liked the last meatloaf I made so I never bothered to make one again. He is a picky eater after all. Yet I can’t recall when I made this rejected meatloaf so I might have imagined the whole incident.

The meal was a success. I found an easy recipe online and didn’t over or undercook the thing. Peter was turning up his nose as I made the topping by combining a bit of brown sugar with the catsup. But he ate it. And now there are leftovers, so I hope he is prepared to eat it again tonight.

My confidence has increased enough that I might attempt stuffed cabbage in…

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