I don’t believe you were being critical.
Now if you had said “This meatloaf is fit for a king!” and then started whistling and continued “Here King! Come here boy”
This concept of one’s cooking being criticized, it is unknown to me!
Davebear
I can do the “sloppy preparation” part in the time it takes for “The Simpsons” opening and the commercials that follow. Pretty damn quick. The next step is… taking the damn thing out of the oven. That’s EZ.
You make good points, though.
pkbites - fill up on bread on meatloaf night or make your own dinner.
Hmmm. Well, my recipe calls for mxing two kinds of ground meat, crushing two dozen crackers, beating eggs with about eight different spices, mixing all that together, making the sauce, shaping the loaf, applying the sauce, and popping it in the oven. I can’t do that in five minutes. Either you’re really, really fast, or your recipe is simpler. But, I like my recipe enough to stick with it, and my GF LOVES it. 
Thanks!
Sorry for the highjack, pkbites.
I’m gonna have to sympathize with ya, Davebear.
My story is a bit different, though.
Ex-GF is vegetarian. She insisted taking me to veg restaurants all of the time. Fine, I says, I’ll eat the hell out of some spinach quiche, or whatever. This however does not satisfy her. Since I loves me meats, she says, I MUST TRY the chicken flavored tofu at (fill in blank with sacriligeous evil vegetarian restaurant here) I say I hate tofu. I have tried it in many flavors at many restaurants in many dishes, and I still get more pleasure out of giving a blow job to the exhaust pipe of a running Honda Civic. But this place is different, says she. They use “yummy spices” that you’re really “gonna dig” OK, says I, I’ll try it because it seems important to you. So we go to this wonderful vegan thai restaurant, and I eat the tofu. “Do you like it?” says evil hell bent wench whos ultimate goal in life is to wreak havoc on my poor innocent tongue. “Nay” I say, “I tried it, but I would still rather masturbate with a rabid porcupine than eat this vile slop.” “Feh at you,” she says. “You’re just closed minded because it’s tofu.” “If you say so, sweetheart.” I politely reply, whilst dreaming of eating the flesh of dumb lesser beasts.
So after that, she let it die for a week or so, but then decided to suprise me with spaghetti with tofu that she had taken the trouble to “beef flavor”
Dear god, the tofu! The horrible tofu!