For those of us of a certain age, the word “meatloaf” will for ever be associated with disappointing discos; at 13 I would have done anything for love, up to and including the mysterious “that”, had the opportunity only arisen. But before those trembling vocals tattooed themselves on my eardrums for life, I knew of meatloaf only from the world of the Hardy Boys and Nancy Drew, where it was something strange and exotic, like the equally puzzling popsicle, or the bizarre-sounding jelly sandwich.
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