When my brother became obsessed by meatballs last year, he asked his friend Stefano for the family’s recipe. Stefano grew up in the heart of Greenwich Village, but both his parents are from Italy and still cook in their native language. “We never ate meatballs growing up,” he told my disappointed brother. “Never ate them?” “No, no.” There was a pause. “Well, of course we had polpetini.” “Stefano,” my brother urged gently, “I thought polpetini was Italian for ‘little meatballs.’” “No, no,” insisted Stefano. “These are not meatballs. They’re oval.”
It is my year, apparently, to go on a meatball spree. I’ve been inspired by the cold, gray weather and by the ground pork and ground veal (new this year, and more information to come next week) available at Flying Pigs Farm. A meatball is close kin to meatloaf, and you can subvert a fancy meatloaf recipe if you like. Or you can wing it, which seems more in the spirit of things.
In my book, meatballs contain ground meat of any denomination; a small proportion of ground or diced bacon, prosciutto or guanciale; fresh breadcrumbs; eggs (1 to 2 per each pound of meat) and enough milk to moisten; a little cheese (ricotta or Parmesan); some fine-chopped herbs or fresh-ground spices; perhaps a little fine-diced onion or shallot; and generous amounts of salt and pepper. More bread makes for lighter meatballs, and a fancy cheese is not out of place if you’re feeling indulgent. Dump everything in a bowl, mix it all up, and form it into balls or ovals, as you prefer. (This goes more quickly with a two-ounce ice cream scoop.)
Meatballs want to be well-browned on the outside and cooked all the way through. Marcella Hazan, among others, suggests frying them on all sides in olive oil. You should probably listen to her, but I often roast mine on sheet trays in a hot oven for half an hour or so—just long enough to make a simple tomato sauce, into which the brown meatballs nestle happily for another half-hour or so. Sensible people probably eat just the meatballs in sauce (or use the Marcella Hazan recipe and serve them with braised winter cabbage instead of tomato sauce), but I can’t resist putting them over perciatelli. The first time I served them this way, my wife scarfed down three-quarters of her plate before she hit a wall and retired to the couch with a glass of Chartreuse (“It’s a digestive!”) and a glazed look for the next two hours. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.
Pinterest
