"So, baby girl, whaddya feel like for dinner?" I had just picked up Siobhan for her 3 day stint at my new apartment. "We could make it together or whatever. I have chicken thighs, ground turkey..."
She stopped me mid-sentence with all the drama of a tweener discovering a new youtube channel.
"Dad! You GOTTA make meatballs like you did that one time...with gravy!"
"You mean the ones with lamb and beef or the turkey ones?" I asked, "the lamb and beef were a little tough because the beef was like 92% lean. Sorry."
Siobhan indicated in no uncertain terms that turkey meatballs would be dinner if she could make the choice. "But, if you have to go to the store, don't worry about it. I could have noodles with butter..."
Oh my goodness, just stab me in the heart with a slotted metal serving spoon! Noodles with butter?! That's like 'honey, my arms were just lost in an industrial accident this afternoon and this is what I can do.' Then, she looks up at you like St. Bernadette and is grateful for the slightest kindness.
"Baby, turkey meatballs it is and gravy, too!" I said, "but, I'll have to thicken with corn starch and not a roux to avoid the butter for me."
As she was walking down the hall with her chin pegged to her chest, watching something on her new cell phone, she barely squawked out, "OK, that sounds fine..."
At that point, I started doing the 'I have a project that needs expedience and I need to hum or sing.' That's when I grabbed the stiff corded, character-coated, digital clock radio I've used since college. There's slack in the tuning wheel, but, that can be fun, too; finding that sweet spot in frequency location. Some of my music tastes are now in the 'Oldies' demographic and tune to hear the Doobie Brothers.
Since I'm in smaller digs, creativity is essential. What can I use to mix 3 pounds of ground turkey with spices, herbs, veggies and such? Shit, shit, shit...
Oh, Hay-uhl Yes! I could use the tub under the drain board; it's perfect! I could mix 10 lbs of meat if need be. I dumped the ground turkey into the tub, measured 1 1/2T of kosher salt and eyeballed the remaining Italian seasoning, remnant diced garlic, chopped parsley and black pepper. The radio station wasn't happenin' any longer, so, I thumbed the wheel down to the local station that features everything from Bluegrass, Norteno and Zydeco to Bosso Nova and Native Chant. Whispering lesbians man the host duties and really put on some brilliantly diverse programming.
After cracking three large eggs and improvising with blasted crackers for the bread crumbs, the mix was ready for blending.
Maybe it's the kid in me or the chef that I became, but, I just love squishing things between my fingers. The eggs gave the mixture a liquid nature and the cracker crumbs quickly absorbed all that. Once all ingredients were combined, a 3 oz. ice cream scooper made quick work; creating a half-sheet pan of perfectly portioned, savory spheres aligned in rows with military precision.
As the canola oil began to heat up in a high-sided cast iron pan, I wet my hands to give each meatball a 3-second roll right before the oil bath. Slipping each one into the oil and creating a pattern of 6 on the outside ring and 3 on the interior, I found myself drifting back to my most favorite meatball dish: the one my mom made...
When you have 6 children in 8 years, the mouths to feed are all 'starving to death' at the same time. One night, I had fallen asleep for a late afternoon nap and was left to sleep through dinner. Mom figured I might have been coming down with something, so, when I woke, she asked how I felt.
"Umm, hungry!" I responded.
"Sit down, honey," she replied, as she ran her hand across my forehead and over my pillow hair.
I pulled the cracked, simple oak chair away from the table and unfolded the paper napkin at my place. Mom filled the clear, plastic green cup with milk, gave the top of my head a peck and smiled gently. She returned seconds later with a plate of 3 large meatballs nestled in a mound of Uncle Ben's rice with a generous ladle of her pan gravy smothering the top.
She pulled a chair next to me as I ate with abandon, cutting the meatballs with my fork into wedges.
"Slow down, honey, slow down," mom cautioned me, running her soothing hand again through my hair. I know I smiled.
Mom made her meatballs with ground beef, eggs, breadcrumbs and a lineup of Schilling spices which were coaxed out of metal containers with delicate shakes and dabs. There was the aluminum Electric Skillet that had a lid with clear glass knob in the center and cloth-wrapped cord with some kind of spring next to the brown Bakelite plug. The meatballs were crisped up in a bit of oil first, then, onions added and reduced to caramelized stage. Then, a sprinkling of flour was administered to make a paste and a single can of beef bouillion for the body of the sauce. Cover with aformentioned lid and simmer.
Meatballs, sweet onions and gravy. The recollection of the aroma has me salivating at this moment. Completely simple, yet, immensely fragrant and savory.
"Dad, when's dinnerrrrrr-uh?!" whined my 11 year old.
"Right now, baby girl. Please set the table and get yourself a beverage," I called.
Dish up was quick with brown basmati rice, meatballs, onion gravy and a side of sweet peppers that she LOVES! We sat and Siobhan led us in a prayer. She tucked her long, wavy hair behind her ears to prevent a sauce mishap.
"How's that workin' out for ya, Sweetheart?" I asked. She loved the smell wafting down to her room and had an appetite. My favorite kind of customer. Hungry!
"It's really good, but, I don't like the bits of onion. They're gross..." she confided as she dissected the gravy by pushing all pieces of sweet, saute'd onion to the side of her plate.
I tried telling her of the memories I had of my mom's onion gravy, but, she'd have none of it.
"Dad, I'm saving them for you because I'm such a great daughter."
"And they're GROSS!"
We both chuckled.
Take care, God bless and remember:
"Food, Faith, Family and Friends
the Best Things in Life aren't Things"
chefbq
