spaghetti and meatballs

Alright, before I start seeing fingers wag and hearing tongues a-clucking let me first say I’ve only been holding out on you because summer has been holding out on me. Are we better now? Do you love me again? Grrr. What if I promise you bagels and baked goods and all things daisies and sunshine and butterflies? …Ok, we’ll work on that.

So as much as I love spring, and as much as I have desperately cried to mother nature and begged her for warm, tree-budding, grass growing days, I have actually been wanting spring to get a move on it because I am yearning for summer like I yearn for… well, summer.

It’s the most yearning I do all year because everything good happens in summer. The weather’s warm, the sun is always out, there is suddenly wildlife, like birds, and worms and chipmunks and bumblebees and caterpillars that turn into beautiful butterflies, and it’s bikini season which really means beach season, and there is of course me, I was a product of summer which only makes summer all the better, but people, that is not even the best part. Produce! Fruits, vegetables, stands filled to the brim of overflowing as my eyes are shiny with lusty want as I pick over strawberries, cherries, tomatoes, watermelon, raspberries, and of course the non-red stuff too like peaches, nectarines, blueberries and blackberries and berries, berries, berries. I mean, spring I love you, but you can’t bring me berries like summer.

And how could I resist when I read: summer’s first tomatoes. Seriously people, I go weak in the knees for this sort of thing. So yes, I ignored the somewhat hefty price and picked up five pounds of bright red, shiny, smells so good I could just die tomatoes, and I really don’t regret it for one minute. I barely got them home before I started my ex-y, blanchey, dicey, tomato sauce fun. But of course my sauce needed a friend, like the meatball. Am I the kind of person who refuses my fresh saucy tomatoes a friend? No.

But I have a thing with meatballs, perhaps because it is a slightly new venture choosing to make my first batch last spring and falling completely head over heels, but wait, I need to squish meat, three kinds of meat, and soft translucent onion chunks and cheese and breadcrumbs all between my summer sun-kissed fingers? And I have to roll them between my hands getting sticky meat clumps left and smeared behind on my summer sun-kissed hands? So, yes. I can be a bit of a girl sometimes, which frankly, I mean, cummon. I am, so why the face? I only feel like being a smarty-pants tom boy on special days, days where I feel invincible and I can be a hard core lobster killer, but I mean, that only lasts for like 5 minutes before I start to get teary-eyed with the little screams that will eek out of the pot as I boil them….alive. But back to meatballs.

I decided to suck up my sudden and uncalled for meatball fear and try the pan sear then bake method, adding that small little skillet step from last time. Well, my heels definitely flew up over my head, I think I may have had to frantically push down my skirt that flew up too, but I’ll spare you the no I did not look like Marilyn; I looked, less classy image and just tell you that, though the baked version was kick-up heel good, meatballs seared until brown and crispy on all sides and then plunged into a deep red, fresh tomato sauce paired with some pasta is skirt fly over your head good, and dare you to make this and find out just how high your skirt will fly.

One Year Ago: Buttermilk Honey Biscuits and The Disastrous Peanut Butter Graham Crackers

Spaghetti and Meatballs
Adapted from Anne Burrell

Notes: This recipe is not as saucy as most recipes, perhaps because I stopped at five pounds where the original recipe called for 7 pounds (canned) tomatoes. In the end, I added a 28-ounce can of tomatoes to my fresh tomatoes slightly blaspheming the whole point of my fresh tomato sauce, but I calm myself down by saying it was for the husband.

Serves 6

Sauce:
5 pounds tomatoes, any variety*
2 tablespoon olive oil
6 ounces pancetta, diced into 1/4-inch lardons
1 large yellow onion, cut into 1/4-inch dice
4 large cloves garlic, minced
Kosher salt
Crushed red pepper

* For a winter sauce/time saver you can substitute 4 28-ounce cans of whole San Marzano tomatoes.

Bring a large pot of water to a boil. In another large bowl, fill with cold water and ice cubes. Cut a small X on the bottom of each tomato. Blanche the tomatoes in boiling water for 30 seconds then remove and place in an ice water bath to stop cooking. Remove the tomatoes from the water and peel off the skin which should be cracked and at this point and almost sliding off the tomato. If you find the skin to still be stuck to the tomato, plunge it back into the boiling water for a few seconds until the skin becomes loose, then remove and peel.

Cut your tomatoes into quarters and squeeze out the seeds over a large bowl fitted with a mesh strainer. (I find this step necessary as the seeds impart a bitter taste.) Reserve the juices and discard the seeds, you should have about a cup or so of juice. Roughly chop the tomatoes and set aside. Or you can save yourself some time and use a food mill, if you have one. If using canned tomatoes you can dump them right into the food mill, and pass them through leaving the skins and seeds behind; or if you are like me and don’t have an inch of cabinet space for another appliance no matter how much you tell your better half you swear you will use all the time you can remove any skin that may be left behind, and squeeze out the seeds as the directions above say.

Wipe out the large pot that was used to blanch the tomatoes. Add olive oil and heat over medium heat until hot. Add pancetta and cook until crisp. Add onion and cook until the onion becomes soft and translucent, about 4 minutes. Add garlic and cook for 30 seconds. Add tomatoes and their juices and season with salt and crushed red. Place lid over pot and simmer sauce for about 30 minutes, stirring occasionally and breaking down the tomato bits into a thick puree-like consistency. If you prefer more of a chunky sauce you can skip this step. If you like a thinner sauce feel free to add a glug of wine or vodka. If you want it a little more thicker, add some tomato paste.

Meatballs:
1 large onion, chopped into 1/4-inch dice
3 garlic cloves, minced
1/2 pound ground beef
1/2 pound ground veal
1/2 pound ground pork
2 eggs
1 cup grated parmesan cheese
1/3 cup minced flat-leaf parsley
1 cup panko breadcrumbs
1/2 cup water
Kosher salt
Crushed red pepper flakes
Olive oil

In a large saute pan heat 2 tablespoons olive oil over medium heat. Add the onions and and season with salt and crushed red. Cook for about 5 to 7 minutes or until soft and translucent. Add the garlic and saute for another 1 to 2 minutes. Turn off heat and allow to cool.

In a large bowl combine the meats, eggs, parmesan, parsley and bread crumbs. Mix thoroughly, using your hands works best. Add the onion mixture and season generously with salt and squish some more. Add the water (seems like a lot of water, especially when the meat mixture looks and feels pretty moist. Add it all, trust me.) and do 1 final really good squish. The mixture should be quite wet. Test the seasoning of the mix by making a mini hamburger size patty and cooking it. Add additional salt/crushed red if needed.

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F.

Shape the meat into golf ball sized rounds. Coat a large saute pan with olive oil and bring to a medium heat. Brown the meatballs on all sides. Place them on a cookie sheet and bake them in the preheated oven for about 15 minutes or until the meatballs are cooked all the way through. Add them to your big pot of tomato sauce. If not using right away, they can be frozen for later use.

Assembly:

Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Add spaghetti and cook until al dente, or right before it is completely cooked through. Drain pasta and add directly into the pot of sauce and balls. Cook together making sure all of the pasta is coated in sauce. Cook until heated through and pasta is completely cooked. Serve with an extra shaving of parmesan.