Those feet were delicious. And not in a weird way either.
I set out Friday to make feetloaf — a Halloween prank and abomination of culinary science.
I snickered as I shaped the severed yeti feet from raw meat.
This would make the boys gag and grimace, I thought. This would pay them back for all those times they made me get KFC even though they know it makes them puke and I always end up scooping chicken chunks out of the bathtub for some reason.
This will teach them not to spit toothpaste all over the faucet. Somehow.
This was my moment.
Making The Frankenloaf
Feetloaf instructions go like this:
1. Remove all spark plugs, socket wrenches and clutch levers from the kitchen counter.
Middleborn might have dirt-biked here from school on trails known only to the Hill People With Two-Strokes. But he can’t take over my counter. Not tonight.
2. Preheat the oven to 375 degrees.
3. Gather 2 pounds of ground beef, one pound of sausage, half a sleeve of saltine crackers, ¼ cup Italian-style bread crumbs, ¼ cup oatmeal, one packet onion soup mix, one tablespoon Worcestershire sauce, one tablespoon of minced garlic, 2/3 cup frozen peas, two eggs, ketchup, pepper, some cubed potatoes, olive oil, salt, and onion.
Credit for the actual recipe part of this “recipe” goes to the Heart, Hook, Home blog.
4. Drizzle olive oil on a pan. Spread the cubed potatoes in a layer. Top with pepper and salt.
5. Mix everything else in a large bowl except the ketchup and onion.
6. Knead the ingredients into slop with your hands, arms, elbows. Don’t eat the raw beef like my Aunt Tricia does when my mom’s not looking.
7. Inhale. Exhale.
Feeding The Hunger
There are times, like this October night, when cooking is its own kind of nourishment — even if the meal is an abomination.
The oven’s interior ticks softly as it heats. The wind roars outside but it can’t intrude.
And there, with both arms in meat goo, you know you’re accomplishing something real.
Even if you’re exhausted, even if some people hate you more than Nickelback, even if you wish you had your own giant yeti feet to run someplace quiet, at least you can still do this.
You can still feed the people you love.
8. Sculpt the meat goo into feet.
Why this delighted me, I don’t know. Neruda’s line about “Your feet of arched bone, your hard little feet” rang in my head with irony.
I made big ol’ clod stompers, separated the five toes with a knife, squished up the ankles and flattened the metatarsals.
9. Put your feet on the cubed potatoes.
Er, put the meat feet on the cubed potatoes. Now wash your own feet off.
10. Punch a divot in the top of each severed ankle. Flood those with ketchup. Plug one onion slice into each bloody stump and watch the ketchup ooze down the ankles and heels.
11. Cut remaining onion peels into toenails.
I never thought I’d be giving beefy dead feet a manicure.
12. Put the pan in the oven for 45 minutes.
13. Wonder what the yeti is doing without his feet.
Best Foot Forward
My four boys came home.
Middleborn and Firstborn had been playing pep band at the football game. The big, sweet twin had been on the trampoline. The little, feisty twin had been playing pool with The Husband.
It was my moment.
But it backfired.
The boys loved feetloaf! No one gagged. No one grimaced. All four of them brimmed with glee.
“What — how — is that MEATLOAF?” asked Middleborn when I pulled the monstrosity out of the oven.
I nodded.
“Woah!” Middleborn said. “I don’t usually like meatloaf but …”
Firstborn grinned.
“That’s so cool,” he said slyly. “I could almost give you a low-five.”
And he gestured to his foot.
The twins had questions.
“What’s the blood?”
Ketchup.
“What’s the bone?”
Onion.
The Husband was suspicious. He raised one slow forkful then another, eyeing me sideways.
“How does it taste?” I asked.
“Is this a trick?” The Husband countered.
“Ummm — “
“Am I going to get to the end of this and find out it’s squirrel meat?” he asked.
Unfortunately, I was too busy that day to shoot and butcher any squirrels. Otherwise, that would have added to the whole feetloaf effect.
But even without squirrel meat, or gagging, or vengeance of any kind, I can honestly say that was the best meatloaf I’ve tried.
And I can honestly say those were the only feet I’ve ever eaten.
Contact Clair McFarland at clair@cowboystatedaily.com
Clair McFarland can be reached at clair@cowboystatedaily.com.
