Meatloaf.

Growing up, I was spoiled by the best meatloaf in the world. My mothers. Problem is, I'm not for sure what makes it the best. She says that there isn't a recipe. It almost never holds form; usually sitting in a pile of chunks on the plate. Typically accompanied by mashed potato's and corn, I am hard pressed to find a more perfect family dinner. It would be a difficult decision for me to decide between my mother's meatloaf and a perfectly cooked steak.

I love to cook, but I can be very strange about it. When I decide to cook dinner I have to go to the store. I will walk around the store for at least a half hour looking at all of the fresh meat and vegetables. Changing my mind a few dozen times I finally decide on a menu. On the other hand, my wife is a magician with food. I can look in the pantry, fridge and freezer and not see a bite to eat. In 30-40 minutes, with the same ingredients that I just looked at, she has made a delicious dinner out of nothing. It never ceases to amaze me.

So when my mom reads this, Happy Mother's Day, and when Beth reads this, Happy First Mother's Day.