Experiments

The past few weeks have been an adjustment living alone. I love it, I love having my own space (even without a dresser and the apartment still largely packed) and the knowledge that the entire area is mine. But I'm social and I'm used to being around people a lot of the time, so sometimes it gets lonely. I don't have a TV right now, so when I'm looking to relax, unwind, have some mindless distraction, I have been reliant on my little Mac and the world wide web. I have cruised through most online shows offered for free on ABC, NBC, CBS, FOX, FX, CW, and MTV. I have even downloaded (for $1.99) and episode of Top Chef since Bravo doesn't give shows away for free. I have sampled most of iTunes's free TV shows (and have gotten hooked on a few: Gossip Girl, to name one) and have been loving my Netflix subscription.

My current obsession (since there were only three seasons of Arrested Development. Robbery!) is The Sopranos. Yes, I am one of the few 20-30 somethings in the free world who has not ever seen this show. But people talked enough about it for the last 6 years I decided I, too, would see what all the fuss was about.

I love it. I'm totally into the whole "sensitive conflicted mobster who goes to therapy and then blows people's faces in" thing. Love it. I mean, I have thought for a long time that everyone could use an hour a week of talking to an unbiased listener about everything happening with them. I can't wait to start working at the Firm so I can get quality medical insurance that will let me have a therapist of my own! But I digress. There is only so many Sopranos episodes one can watch consecutively. I just finished the first season this weekend and realized I had an unrelenting craving for Italian food.

Every episode revolves around food and therapy. And the food always looks GOOD. So today, after a little law school reading I decided to enjoy the gorgeous weekend weather and take a stroll to the grocery store. Along the way I passed Blockbuster...ooh the temptation of another disk of the Sopranos. It was too much. I couldn't resist. And then I thought OOHH Meatballs! So my plan for Sunday evening materialized.

Moving into my new place did inspire me to actually use my kitchen. After all, it would be largely wasted space if I just let it sit there for show, right? But I've never been a good cook. Or a cook at all. So anytime I take on a cooking endeavor it's never clear what direction it's going to go. I'm not good at "following directions" or "using cookbooks" or "knowing what kitchen terminology means". So when I went home and found a recipe online for what one online guru deemed "the best meatballs EVER" I scanned the recipe and hit the streets again.

It seemed easy enough. Meat, eggs, breadcrumbs, cheese. This recipe used a combination of veal, beef and pork. A fancy endeavor indeed. I imagined, as I walked to Whole Paycheck, my upcoming meatball glory. Making them and having the other apartment dwellers in my building knocking down my door by the end because the aroma was just so overwelmingly intoxicating. I was inspiring myself!

And then I got to the store. Note to D.C. dwellers: Do not attempt Whole Foods on a Sunday at 4:45pm. It's hell. My plan, to save money, was to get the meat at the expensive store and then stop at our Soviet Safeway on the way back up for the basics--eggs, breadcrumbs etc. I got to the first place and almost threw in the towel altogether. It was a zoo. I dodged couples and baby strollers for 10 minutes and decided that braving two city grocery stores in one weekend day would be too much--I would suck it up and buy everything I needed at the expensive place. 3 kinds of meat (all free range), one pound each. Check. Cage free eggs. Check. Parmesean cheese. Check. Now where the hell are the breadcrumbs? I thought FOR SURE Whole Foods would have 17 different kinds to choose from. Up and down aisle after all aisle. Not a bread crumb to be found. And this is from a store that stocks 27 different kinds of wheat flour.

Tap Tap Tap. Excuse me, sir. Hi. Can you tell me where a breadcrumb might be? What? You're kidding. Are you telling me there is not ONE breadcrumb in the entire store? Huh? Oh, what's this. Hmm. Wait, this looks like some sort of Japanese thing. Are you SURE this is a breadcrumb? I'm making meatballs and I really don't want them to suck. No, I see that it says "Italian flavored" right on there, but it just doesn't seem too breadcrumby. Ok, I'll try it. Thanks!

Seriously. That was an interaction with a kind Whole Foods employee. Suddenly my illusions of meatball greatness started to fade. After 20 minutes in the "express" line and 60 dollars later I headed home to try my hand at the meatball. I mean, at this point there was no turning back. I had 3+ pounds of meat that I had no other plans for. I turned my computer back on and brought the recipe back up. Reading it more carefully this time, I noticed something interesting: In the ingredients section it said "One pound combined ground pork, beef and veal. Not one pound each. Damnit. What the hell am I going to do with all this meat! Well, how many meatballs can one pound of meat REALLY make? Hmm. 20-25. Wow. I'm going to have *a lot* of meatballs by the end of the night.

Knowing that I couldn't possibly make 75 freaking meatballs, I decided to make some tonight and save part of the meat (without having ANY clue what to do with the rest of it. Suggestions??). So I kind of added about 2/3 of the meat to a bowl and decided I would "eyeball" the rest of the ingredients until they seemed right. You know, from all my meatball making experience from the past.

I added an egg to the recipe. Decided to just dump some of the suspect breadcrumbs until it seemed right. Used the entire thing of cheese I bought. 4 cloves of garlic rather than one. I did follow the directions to mix it all with my hands (icky poo) and thought the mixture seemed a little dry. Hmm. I really didn't want to add another egg because of the ick factor of mushing it around in the meat mixture (for all those vegetarians, hang in there, it gets better) and had a stroke of genius (I thought) while gazing around my kitchen for other options. Wine! I mean, when doesn't booze make something better? I dumped a little Fat Bastard Shiraz into the pot and gleefully mushed it in, enjoying the purple tinge the mixture took on.

The recipe called for putting the meatballs on the rack over a cookie sheet, but who the hell has this kind of rack contraption in their kitchen? Seriously. So I threw those suckers (far larger than called for, but I didn't want to be making meatballs ALL night) right on the cookie sheet and threw them in the oven. I had no idea how long they would actually need to cook, so I used my killer cooking instinct as well and gave them 5 extra minutes after I was sure they had to be done.

The result? PERFECTION. I'm not kidding. I could open a meatball store and have customers lined up down the street. I was so thrilled with the result I wanted to call everyone I know. I mean, I feel a sense of redemption from cooking gone wrong so many times in my life, like the now infamous pumpkin pie incident of 2001 (so fine, I tripled the recipe accidentally and made enough pie filling for 9 pies instead of three. Who doesn't love pumpkin pie at Thanksgiving?) I'm hoping my meatballs will redeem me this Thanksgiving and get me off of napkin and tablecloth ironing duty. And silver polishing duty. And "anything we can do to keep DLS out of the kitchen" duty. My prize winning meatballs deserve better than that....