In which my Domestic Goddess status is announced*, as well as my nostalgia for plonk

So here I sit on a freezing Norwegian winter's night. (Yeah yeah it's technically still fall, but fuckin' A it's cold and windy out there, so for all intents and purposes, let's just call it winter and be done with it, hmm?)

I am drinking Georges DeBouf Beaujolais Nouveau (thank you spell check) and have a meatloaf in the oven. Yeah, I'm making meatloaf. I've never made meatloaf, but Rich keeps talking about meatloaf, so I am making meatloaf. **

It needed 3 tablespoons of wine, so of course I had to open one of the bottles I got today at the Vinmonopolet, and once that bottle is open it seems a waste to not drink any, doesn't it?

I love Beaujolais Nouveau. Not because it's like the best wine in the world or anything, but because it comes out around Thanksgiving and I like Thanksgiving. I discovered the Georges DeBouf one year at Rich's sister's house, it being her year (one of many enjoyable ones) for the hosting of the FoodFrenzy that is Thanksgiving. So we drank a shitload of plonk (it being a bit classier because it's a special yearly event instead of just Cheap Grocery Store Wine) and ate and talked and an instant tradition was born in my little brain.

And then we moved to Norway and I didn't have Beaujolais Nouveau (is that a pain in the ass to type or is it just me?) for 6 years. Why? I didn't know I could get it. (Once again, proof of my life motto, "it's always a no unless you ask.")

So imagine my happiness when, last week, on a whim, I asked if they might have it and they were like "Zoot alors! But of course we will have zee Beaujolais Nouveau! Would you like zee cheep sheet or zee good stuff? You can peek it up next Thorsday mon petit Viking!***" I opted for the cheep sheet, it being my nostalgic pal Georges, reserved 4 bottles, and so here I sit, drinking a fresh and fruity little red with a nice plummy/vanilla/oaky finish for such a cheap ass bottle of zee plonk.

With the meatloaf (Grandma's recipe, and no, I don't know WHO'S Grandma's recipe as I pulled it off the web somewhere, but it's got all the hallmarks of classic meatloafiness such as ketchup, worcestershire, an egg, Lipton onion soup and, in a New Agey twist, oats instead of bread crumbs) happily baking in the oven, my fruity glass of red and Wait Wait Don't Tell Me nattering away on my iPod speakers****, I feel relatively content right now. We'll see how long that lasts, once the meatloaf is done.

Hey, look, my glass is empty, I should rectify that sitch! 35 more minutes until the meatloaf is ready. I'm going Total Trad and making mashed potatoes to go with it (from flakes, I'm a Domestic Goddess, but I work, too, so there is only so much time.)

*Hey, I like to cook, ok? This qualifies me as a Domestic Goddess, in my book. (I am not, however, a particularly tidy or housecleaney sort of DM, though. Eh, we all have our quirks.)
**I made it once before but it fell apart. It was not so much a Loaf as a Pile. Meatpile....doesn't sound all that great, does it?
***OK, so they didn't speak French, they snakkered Norsk, but we were talking about French wine and I never said this was a non-fiction blog, did I? I can imagine at will. Deal wid it.
****Tom Brokaw is talking about nipples. Is it strange that it made me a little hot?