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Health & Fitness

The Great Meatball Debate

The great argument of 1998 about the 'correct' way to make Italian-style meatballs continues.

My husband is a saint.

Most people say that about their significant other in jest. In this case, I really do mean it. It is not that I am a demanding or high maintenance wife—I am just Italian.

I am a fiery, bold, strong-willed and outspoken woman who has a specific way of doing things. In certain circles, the later description might be considered bossy. I just like to refer to it as having a strong sense of self direction.

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OK—I'm a little bossy.

I really can’t help it; it is in my blood. All the women in my family are just this way. My poor daughter does not stand a chance—the genetics are just too strong in this area. She will be the next generation of bossy Italian women.

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I do not want to bore you with the story on how I met my husband, but I will say this: When I first met him he was living on his own, cooking, cleaning and doing laundry.

He was finishing up his postdoctoral work and on his way to becoming an academic. Nothing has really changed with his career path or his domestic abilities. He just happened to make a wrong turn at the office where we worked (he literally ran into me), fall in love and marry into a typical Italian family.

Billiam (a combo of Bill and William) is the complete opposite of me. He is quiet (like he could get a word in edgewise), reserved and level-headed. He does not anger quickly, nor does he ever raise his voice.

I need to clarify something here—I am from a loud family, so therefore I am loud. I do yell when I get angry. It is not really yelling in the traditional sense, I just kind of turn up the volume on an already loud voice.

My husband is Italian on his mom's side. He learned so much from both his mom and grandmother. He can make some of his family's delicious Italian dishes. He is a great cook and creates so many incredible meals. He can think outside of the box when it comes to cooking. He makes things as he goes along and he rarely uses recipes.

Not to be goofy or mushy here, but we just never really fight.

We are not the perfect suburban couple—far from it, but Billiam is just mellow and rational. Who can argue with that type of person? Trust me, I have tried and it doesn’t work. He is not a meek individual. On the contrary, he has a strong intestinal fortitude.

There were several memorable “discussions” in our first months of marriage and with that being said I need to inform you about one of them: "The Great Meatball Argument of 1998."

First, a little bit of history about meatballs and my family.

On Saturdays when I was a kid, I always made meatballs and sauce with my mom. I used to roll out dozens, and cook them all day in a sauce. Ma would freeze them and she would use them whenever she wanted.

When we were first married, I wanted to follow this tradition. We both worked and this was a great way to have home-cooked meals whenever we wanted.

“Meatballs need to have ground VEAL, PORK and HAMBURGER—that is the only acceptable meat combination there is !!!!!" I bellowed. This was my argument when the issue of how to make meatballs came up.

I was standing in our apartment at the kitchen table asking (OK, kind of yelling) my husband, “But how can you not like veal in the meatballs? Meatballs can’t be all ground beef—period. End of story."

Well, this discussion continued for several more minutes.

At the end of the day, I made the meatballs my way (with veal!). My meatballs are good—just like Ma’s. Due to our mincing of words, it was a little chilly in the apartment that night. But I was vindicated! The Holy Trinity of meat combination was perfect. I was the official meatball maker in my house!!

The next time the subject of making meatballs came up, well, things got dicey.

Billiam confessed that he did not care for veal—he didn't like the taste. Loudly, I asked him, “How, that for several months prior to us getting married, you ate every Sunday dinner at my parents' house and the veal-laden meatballs.”

His response?

“I was just being nice."

I was stunned! Standing there slackjawed, I had a meatball revelation. His professed love for Ma’s meatballs was a sham.

All this time, he was suffering in silence—chewing each unappetizing morsel with a smile on his face. Knowing full well that if he registered a complaint about the meat combination in an Italian woman's meatballs, he would have caused a war!

He just ate them without saying a word. He did this all because he loved me—poor bugger.

On a side note, I am not that compassionate or that nice. If I do not like a particular food, I will take the obligatory “no thank you bite.” I am not good at hiding my dislike for a certain dish; you can see it in my face.

From that point on in our relationship, he became the meatball maker in our little family. 

How could I not let him make the meatballs? He enjoys making and cooking them, and they are quite tasty. Seeing the joy on his face as he rolls them out, and the gleeful expression from the kids as they eat them, I agreed to surrender this kitchen task.

A caveat about his recipe, there really is nothing written down so I can’t share it with you. Also due to my “take charge attitude” in the kitchen, I am banned while he makes the meatballs. Who knew that a little self direction could be considered a bad thing?

He created a hybrid recipe for the meatballs. It is the perfect combination of Ma’s and his grandmother’s recipes. They are very good and they have proved the test of time. He has been making them this way for the last 15 years and they are always delicious.

Just know this about the meatballs and the recipe—there is no veal.

Here is what I can share with you.

It is a link for Rachael Ray's Sunday Gravy and Macaroni (Spaghetti, really), very similar to Ma's.

Click here for the recipe.

Buon Appetito!

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