Submitted by megan on Thu, 01/08/2009 - 22:18
I've been wanting to make a lentil loaf for several months now, for reasons, well, the short version is that I played the lentil loaf trump card in a spontaneous game of "Who's the Deepest Lez?" and won pretty handily.
At the time I was joking. I've never eaten lentil loaf in my life, only laughed at its existence.
But there it was, lodged in my brain like a dried legume. I found what I thought might be a decent recipe, gathered the ingredients. Tonight was the night.
It had been in the oven for 10 or so mintues by the time Jennifer arrived. I cleaned, she knit, we chatted about our days, and dates, and girls, and boys, and apartments. We ate salad.
When I took the loaf out of the oven at 35 minutes to spread the remaining tomato paste over it, the top layer kept coming up. I allowed as how we might be in trouble.
Indeed. 10 more mintues in the oven did not make my loaf more moist. Jennifer was entirely kind, ate her slice all up, and suggested that mushroom gravy does wonders for just about anything.
Halfway through our dinner, M-C came downstairs.
"Hey M-C," I said, which is how I start 90% of my conversations with her. "There's some lentil loaf on the stove if you want some."
"Lesbo loaf! Really? You made it!?"
"Well. I dunno. Nah." She paused by the counter, almond milk in hand. "Well, maybe a little. Though I'm not sure I know what to do with it."
"You put it in your mouth, M-C."
"Riiiiight, right. Thanks for the tip."
She cut herself off a wee slice, put it in a bowl.
"I should warn you though," I said. "It's a little dry."