fyresydekitchen.com

by Victoria Wesseler

courtesy of Victoria Wesseler

Tomorrow is Father’s Day and in honor of that great day we have a fabulous guest post from Victoria Wesseler, creator and author of the Indiana food blog GOING LOCAL– www.goinglocal-info.com . GOING LOCAL showcases and celebrates Indiana farmers, food artisans, farmers’ markets, local foods, and producers. Site visitors can find information to help them “discover, celebrate, and savor the abundance of Indiana’s fresh, in-season, and local foods”.  When Victoria sent me this piece I immediately knew it was a perfect fit for the Fyresyde Kitchen.  Please enjoy and don’t forget to visit Victoria’s site and tell her hello.  Happy Father’s Day to you and yours.

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The proudest day of his life was the day he became an American citizen. He’d come to America from Poland after the war. He knew some English. A skill which he believed kept him alive in the concentration camp. His brother found him a job in a bakery where he worked double shifts and; not being able to afford an apartment on his small weekly income, slept on the bakery floor. He met the love of his life but postponed marriage until he was able to get a secure job at a factory and knew he would be able to support a family. He wore a tiny American flag pin on his jacket. He taught me how to grow roses and trained the family cat to rub noses with him. He was the first man to hold me, the first man to dance with me, the first man I cooked a meal for and the first man to tell me I was pretty. Most called him ordinary. I called him Daddy.

After my mother passed away, we had a standing dinner date. Every Tuesday night we would go to a local buffet for supper. He would always choose a table near the ice cream machine in the middle of the dining area. He loved watching the children fill their dishes with towers of soft serve. He said the sparkle in their eyes made him feel alive. On those Tuesday nights, I would bring him a meatloaf. He would use it for sandwiches and some of his evening meals during the week. It was my mother’s recipe and, as most meatloaves go, pretty ordinary, but he loved it.

One evening, he leaned over the table and very quietly said, “Vickie, we have another assignment.” I immediately knew what he meant. He believed that God tested your faith and character by presenting you with opportunities to help people. He went on to tell me that the manager of the apartment complex where he lived had called him that afternoon and asked if he would be able to act as a translator for a Polish couple trying to rent an apartment. My father went to the office to find a man and a woman in their mid-60s waiting for him.

Josef and Maria said they were from Chicago and had just taken jobs as night janitors in a nearby shopping mall. They barely spoke English and my father helped them with their lease paperwork. He noticed they had very few pieces of furniture and hardly any clothing with them.

In the weeks to follow, my father and I would go to their apartment every Tuesday before dinner. We brought clothes and furniture that my friends had collected for them. My father would give them the meatloaf explaining that it was too much food for him to eat in a week and that he didn’t want to waste it. Just before Christmas, we brought them a small tree, some decorations and a ceramic crèche. That night, Maria gave us a small paper plate filled with cookies. They both hugged us and wished us Merry Christmas in Polish.

When we went to see them the following week, there were no lights on inside the apartment and no one answered the door. We looked into the curtainless window and saw the apartment was empty. The next day my father confirmed with the apartment manager that they had moved. They never said goodbye to anyone.

“Mysterious,” is what my father would say whenever we talked about them in the months to come. We often discussed who these seemingly ordinary people might have been and why they came and vanished so quickly. He wondered what our next “assignment” might be. It never came. He would be the next to leave. Quietly slipping from this world into the next.

This Father’s Day, I’ll visit the place where he and my mother now rest. I’ll replace the American flag in the vase on the headstone and trace his name with my fingers as I tell him how much I miss him knowing that when it comes to those you love and the workings of God, no one or nothing is ever really ordinary. 

Ordinary Meatloaf

¼ cup milk

½ cup fresh white breadcrumbs

2 eggs, lightly beaten

¼ cup tomato sauce

1 teaspoon kosher salt

1 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper

2 teaspoons dried oregano

1 cup finely chopped yellow onions

2 pounds lean ground beef

1 pound ground pork

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.

In a large mixing bowl, stir together the milk and breadcrumbs and let soak for 5 minutes.

Add the eggs and tomato sauce to the breadcrumb and milk mixture. Blend well.

Add the salt, pepper and oregano and stir to combine evenly.

Add the onions, ground beef and pork. Working gently so as not to compact the meat, combine all ingredients using a fork or your hands.

Spray two 8 ½ inch by 4 ½ inch loaf pans with nonstick cooking spray.

Divide the meatloaf mixture in half and gently shape into two loaves.

Place the loaves into the pans. (Do not pat down on the meat.)

Bake for 50-60 minutes or until an instant read thermometer inserted into them reads 160 degrees.

Remove the meatloaves from the oven and let them sit for 5 minutes.

Take them out of the pans, put them on a cutting board and slice into one inch slices.

Makes 2 meatloaves. One to keep and one to share.

Each meatloaf serves 4 generously.

Cook’s Note: I make my meatloaves in disposable pans. To help the fat from the meat drain off, I poke five or six holes in the bottom of the pans before placing the meatloaves in them. Then I place the pans on an elevated rack in a roasting pan that has been lined with foil. The holes in the pan allow the fat to drain through and collect in the bottom of the roasting pan as the meatloaves bake.