An Irish Grandma’s Italian Meatballs
And a Sunday Sauce Cheat
BY ERIC GUIDO |
I can still hear it now...the 1940s big band music that was always playing in my grandmother’s kitchen. Like something out of a movie, she was the patriarch of the family, having devoted every moment of every day to her family. When you were in her home, you wanted for nothing. Each end table had a small bowl of spice drops and one of chocolates; there always seemed to be tea and coffee made, not to mention a piece of cake or biscotti to accompany it. What’s more, she never sat down when the family dinner was served. Instead she would continue to usher in plate after plate of food to the dining room table, until finally my grandfather or father would holler for her to sit down before everything got cold. Through it all, the music played.
The funny part about my grandmother and her Italian cooking, which was pretty much the only kind of food that she made, is that she wasn’t even Italian. Like many Italian men in the 1920s and 1930s, my grandfather fell in love with an Irish girl, and so in order for her to be accepted into his family, she had to go to school in my great grandmother’s kitchen. You see, it wasn’t proper that their son would marry a woman that couldn’t feed him ‘properly’. That’s how it all started. Like nearly every Italian American family of the time, the food wasn’t the traditional cuisine of their region of Italy - it was Italian-American cooking. Sauce, sauce and more sauce over every kind of pasta, along with all the breaded and fried foods you could imagine. Of course there were bitter greens, calamari and seafood salads, but these large-scaled meals were all about the ziti, eggplant parm, lasagna, and of course, meatballs.
Thinking back to that kitchen, there I was as a little boy who thought that his grandmother was the most important person in his family’s world, and I was probably right. Since I wanted to spend as much time as possible with her, and I had a desire to understand cooking, I found myself in that kitchen with her up until the very moment that I was forced to sit at the table. With me underfoot, she decided that it was time that I learned to cook, and so the first recipe I was ever taught became the thing I was responsible for making each Sunday at the young age of six: my Irish grandmother’s Italian meatballs.
In the end, these meatballs would be served both dry, in a bowl, but also added to her Sunday sauce (which is an article unto itself), and so I decided to include a little Sunday Sauce Cheat, just to give you as close to the experience as I can. However, be aware that although I make these two items together in my video, to save time, I highly recommend making the sauce first, and letting it rest and slowly simmer while you finish up your meatballs.
As for the meatball recipe, to this day I still mix my meatballs by hand, and I will often adjust the ingredients by the feel of the mixture because that’s how I was taught. However, over time, an actual recipe came from it all, and that’s what I’m happy to share with you today.
video tutorial is packed full of hints and tips to cook the perfect Italian Meatballs. " src="https://s3.amazonaws.com/images.vinous.com/uploads%2F1591987798626-eric_italianmeatballsvideo.png">
The video tutorial is packed full of hints and tips to cook the perfect Italian Meatballs.
The Sunday Cheat Sauce:
You’ll notice that there’s no sugar added to this sauce. However, if you properly de-seed and remove any woody parts from your tomatoes, you won’t have to worry about balancing out any bitter flavors.
Ingredients:
I can still hear it now...the 1940s big band music that was always playing in my grandmother’s kitchen. Like something out of a movie, she was the patriarch of the family, having devoted every moment of every day to her family first. When you were in her home, you wanted for nothing. Each end table had a small bowl of spice drops and one of chocolates; there always seemed to be tea and coffee made, not to mention a piece of cake or biscotti to accompany it. What’s more, she never sat down when the family dinner was served. Instead she would continue to usher in plate after plate of food to the dining room table, until finally my grandfather or father would holler for her to sit down before everything got cold. Through it all, the music played.
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