texnbob

President Trump ended the Biden administration’s LNG export permit ban on day one. Today, America is the largest producer and exporter of natural gas in the world, with LNG exports expected to double by the end of the decade.

American strength back on the world stage. 🇺🇸🇨🇳

Every one of my buddies from the LAPD knows what’s best for the people of Los Angeles and that’s… Spencer PRATT!

Hmm

In the early months of the war with Gaza, soldiers found an abandoned, broken and abused dog. Muslims hate dogs and you can see the fear the dog has for humans after years of abuse. So a soldier decided to help. He brought the abandoned dog back to Israel, looked after it, cared for it, nurtured it back to health, and gave it real love. And just look at this dog now. Healthy, happy, confident, playful. This is who we are. We love life. And dogs truly are man’s best friends.

Such a good boy! Summer approaches quick, fresh air and water are important.

The American meatloaf was the Wednesday-night meal of every working- and middle-class family in the country for about ninety years. The recipe: two pounds of 70/30 chuck, ground that morning by the butcher down the road. One onion, finely chopped. Two cloves of garlic. Two eggs. A cup of breadcrumbs from yesterday's loaf, torn up and dried in a low oven. A cup of whole milk. A spoonful of Worcestershire. Salt and black pepper. A handful of parsley from the back garden. A topping: half a cup of ketchup, two spoonfuls of brown sugar, a dash of cider vinegar. The mother mixed it with her hands, because a wooden spoon would not get the breadcrumbs through the meat properly, and because her own mother had taught her that the mixing was where the meatloaf was decided. The mixture went into a loaf pan. The glaze went on top. Into the oven at 350°F for an hour. By half past five the kitchen smelled of beef, onion, and caramelising ketchup, and the children, hearing it from upstairs, knew without being told that it was Wednesday. A meatloaf served four for dinner and two for sandwiches the next day. Thirty-five minutes of work. The cheapest hot meal a family could put on a table. A 2026 family of four, on a Wednesday at half past five, is more likely to be eating a Hello Fresh kit assembled from a cardboard box by a parent who got home at twenty past, or a frozen lasagne reheated in a microwave by a teenager who has not seen the rest of the household since breakfast. The meatloaf is not dead. The 70/30 chuck is at any butcher who will grind it on request. The pan is in the cupboard. The recipe is in the cookbook. The Wednesday is still there.