When I was growing up, every Thursday afternoon my mother would take the big, bright-yellow Pyrex bowl from the cupboard, sit on one of the long benches that ran alongside our kitchen table, and begin the process of making meatballs.
This was our standing Thursday night dinner. I looked forward to that spaghetti, red sauce, and those savory little orbs of meaty love every week like it was nobody’s business. I would come home from school and tell my mom all about the woe-is-me trials of teenagehood while she sat there tearing up pieces of milk-soaked white bread into small bits, which she would combine with chopped meat from my dad’s butcher shop, parsley, and several other tried-and-true ingredients that made me go back for seconds and thirds—and sometimes get into a tussle with my older sister Laura over the last one.
My mom passed away when I was 21, right around the time I was moving into my first apartment. My roommate back then was a vegetarian, so no meatballs were made on that tiny little stove; there was no sense in making a big pot of sauce and meat when only I would eat it. Plus, we were perennially broke, so I slipped into vegetarianism for that brief period for all obvious practical reasons. After that, I kind of forgot about meatballs—until recently when I realized I’d utterly forgotten how to make them, or, more accurately, make them well. The thing was, I’d spent years experimenting with all sorts of exciting new foods and recipes and cuisines; meatballs just seemed, well, boring. This coincided with a time when the whole culinary world at large was eschewing Italian-American cooking in search of "the real Italy," seeking out the most authentic ingredients from the wives of fisherman in Sciacca or the owner of a trattoria in Tuscany. It started to feel that meatballs were passé. And anyone can make them, right? Well, no, actually.
About a year or so ago, I was thinking about my mom and those great Thursday night dinners, and in a fit of hungry nostalgia, I threw together a batch for dinner with my very Italian husband, Dan. We sat down to eat them and…feh. He chewed and chewed, avoiding my anxious gaze. “They’re not that good, are they?” He smiled supportively, but gently shook his head. “No. They really aren’t.” It was total meatball failure. How could this happen? How could I be such a whiz in the kitchen and be unsuccessful at what I considered the most basic of dishes? The acute failure I felt was doubly hard to swallow because it made me yearn for my mother’s cooking and the incredible attention and love she put into it (and us). I could almost smell a phantom pot of her sauce on the stove. If only as a tribute to her, I needed to learn how to do this.
It’s been over a year now, and as I sit here writing this I'm enjoying the heady smell of meat, cheese, garlic, and parsley cooking on my stovetop. It took me all this time, but I finally figured it out—in part from looking at good recipes that made sense and figuring out what I liked, but also from allowing myself to remember those days of sitting and watching mom at the kitchen table with her big, yellow bowl. I’m making this batch for Dan tonight; I can’t think of a better way to show someone you love them than by taking the time to make something nurturing and delicious.
Amy’s Meatballs
1 lb ground chuck
1⁄2 lb ground sirloin
2 eggs, lightly beaten
1⁄4 cup fresh grated Romano cheese
1⁄4 cup chopped flat leaf parsley
1 garlic clove, finely minced
1⁄4 onion, finely minced
1 tsp kosher salt
1 tsp black pepper
3 slices white bread, crusts removed
1⁄2 cup to 1 cup milk
2 Tbsp vegetable oil
1. Soak the three slices of bread in milk in a small bowl. Set aside.
2. In a large bowl, add all other ingredients.
3. Tear the milk-soaked bread into small bits and add them to the other ingredients
4. Using your hands, mix well until all ingredients are thoroughly combined.
5. Wet fingers to keep meat from sticking to your hands, and form meat mixture into 1 1⁄2 inch balls.
6. Heat vegetable oil in a large frying pan and place meatballs in the pan, frying in batches (do not crowd them); brown on all sides.
7. Transfer to pot of sauce, or to a plate lined with a paper towel.
8. Enjoy.
A few of the books I recommend for learning how to make meatballs just right, and use them in different recipes, are:
Meatball Cookbook Bible (This one comes out in October, but you can pre-order it now!)
