I can’t believe, as a confirmed Lizziephile, that this little tidbit escaped me: there is a recipe floating around that is supposed to be for Lizzie Borden’s Meatloaf.
Though I should correct this to read: Lizbeth Borden’s Meatloaf. After the unpleasantness and the trial, Lizzie rechristened herself “Lizbeth” and with sister Emma moved to a new, fancy house they called Maplecroft. Lizbeth would not have taken with her a shred of evidence of her old life, and most certainly not her stepmother’s meatloaf recipe from a spattered receipt book. I believe this is Maplecroft Meatloaf, comfort food for a fresh start.
I found it described, by a modern enthusiast who had cooked it as, “Not very good.”
I was crushed. I wanted it to be delicious, to snuggle this up with our existing, contradicting notions of the elusive Lizzie – because it’s not the mystery of “did she or didn’t she?” that absorbs Lizziephiles like me; it’s Lizzie herself.
Lizzie is the mystery, not the murder. Lizzie keeps us hanging on. “Lizzie Borden,” we’d love to say, “Was known to be an excellent cook! (And also possibly homicidal.)”
The excellent website about Lizzie Borden, “Lizzie Borden Warps and Wefts,” has this to say about the meatloaf and the recipe’s chain of custody:
“Mrs. Florence Brigham, the curator of the Fall River Historical Society for many years, had in her possession handwritten 3 x 5 recipe cards in a box of her late mother-in-law Mary Ella (Sheen) Brigham. Lizzie’s favorite meatloaf recipe was among the gems in the box.
“Mrs. Mary Brigham gave testimony at the trial and was a good friend of Lizzie and Emma Borden, and a frequent caller at Maplecroft, her home being very nearby on Belmont St. After Emma and Lizzie parted ways around 1905, Mrs. Mary Brigham stopped dropping by at Maplecroft. This recipe was given to the Fall River Historical Society some years ago by the son of Mrs. Florence Brigham and has been published in the society newsletter.”
Mary Brigham was a friend of the family and her testimony staunchly supported the defense. It would seem Mrs. Brigham would have deserved something better than meatloaf after such an effort to not only defend Liz— Lizbeth, but to continue cordial relations after most of Fall River rejected her.
But nonetheless, the meatloaf must have been good enough for Mary to ask for the recipe, and then jot it down as Emma (I’m guessing) rattled it off from notes she’d hastily scribbled from the cook. I don’t believe Lizbeth ever set foot in the kitchen. That’s what the servants are for.
I never pegged Lizbeth for a foodie, either; memories of her at Maplecroft, from those who knew her then, often mention candy. That tracks. Lizbeth, isolated and socially unwelcome, still enjoyed visitors from time to time and liked children, for whom she kept the candy dish topped off. I get the feeling Lizbeth had a restless energy around her and why go through the tiresome waiting and work of cooking meatloaf, and the similar plain fare you grew up on, if you can eat all the candy you want and nobody will comment on it?
All the same, once in a while you have to put a balanced meal on the table. And so, in case you want to make it to celebrate Halloween and Lizbeth, I give you:
Lizzie’s Meatloaf
1 lb. ground beef, ½ lb. ground pork, 1 egg, 1 small onion chopped, 3 soda crackers crushed, seasoned salt to taste (maybe two teaspoons,) and dash of pepper. Combine and plop in a greased loaf pan. “Cover loaf well” with hot water and bake for about an hour at about 375 degrees. Let rest ten minutes before cutting. Serve with a generous side of candy.
Questions for Journaling or Reflection
If your meatloaf recipe came with a helping of lifelong neighborhood exile, a hundred or so years of speculation, and people calling you day and night on the Ouija board, would you still serve it with pride… or would you presciently sabotage it with the completely random instruction to “cover loaf well with hot water” because you’re petty like that?
If history remembers you for one domestic accomplishment, would you prefer it to be your cooking, your housekeeping, competitive hatchetry, or your ability to decisively resolve family disagreements?
If you could trade one hour of actual cooking for a lifetime supply of unjudged candy and the ability to never set foot in a kitchen again, would you cook and eat Lizbeth’s meatloaf for dinner (and for three more unrefrigerated days in August until it was gone?)
Reflect on this: history remembers you either for a double homicide or for a mediocre meatloaf that a modern cook once called “not very good.” Which legacy are you secretly more worried about?