I grew up hating meatloaf. Whenever my mother would proudly announce she had made a meatloaf, I cringed. What she really meant was she put some ground beef and seasoning in a casserole and baked it. When it was done, she set it on the table, and my brother and I got to watch all the fat from the beef floating in the casserole. Had I known more about cooking then, I would have recommended that she transfer the cooked meatloaf to a clean serving plate, leaving the fat behind.
