Oh, wait, that reminds me of something… what is it? Oh yes, a quote from one of my all time favorite movies. Dave’s favorite too…Lets see if rings any bells for you:
Eleanor: And when you die, which is regrettable but necessary, what will happen to frail Alais and her pruny prince? You can’t think Richard’s going to wait for your grotesque to grow. Henry II: You wouldn’t let him do a thing like that. Eleanor: Let him? I’d push him through the nursery door. Henry II: You’re not that cruel. Eleanor: Don’t fret. We’ll wait until you’re dead to do it. Henry II: Eleanor, what do you want? Eleanor: Just what you want, a king for a son. You can make more, I can’t. You think I want to disappear? One son is all I’ve got, and you can blot him out and call me cruel? For these ten years you’ve lived with everything I’ve lost, and loved another woman through it all, and I am cruel? I could peel you like a pear and God himself would call it justice!
Aren’t the lines here great? This movie is all about the lines. And the awesome acting with Peter O’Toole, Kate Hepburn, a young Anthony Hopkins and others. Need more clues?
Eleanor: What would you have me do? Give out? Give up? Give in? Henry II: Give me a little peace. Eleanor: A little? Why so modest? How about eternal peace? Now there’s a thought.
No? Its Lion in Winter! If you haven’t seen it, rent it quick.
In the meantime where were we with dinner. Oh yes. Its spaghetti and meatball night. Oh but first let me draw this out a little longer and tell you about going to Target yesterday. I went to get a couple little things and while I was there why not pick up a can of something I needed for last nights enchiladas? While looking around at their new grocery area (complete with lights in the refrigerated sections that turn on when someone walks by!) a young asian woman stops me with a smile, holding a package of ground meat up and saying in her pigeon english “I want make spa..spaghetti?” Is this good for spaghetti?”
“Yes, that would be good for spaghetti. Just cook up the hamburger and put it in the sauce.” Her smile dropped for a moment and she looked confused.
“No, not hamburger… spaghetti!”
“Yes, spaghetti, this is just right for spaghetti” I said and she smiled and thanked me and continued her shopping. I almost wanted to go home with her to make sure it turned out all right.
So tonight (here we go, finally) I made my meatballs and as usual I was too busy to start this when I should have, like say 4 or 5 o’clock. Its 6:00 and I am just starting dinner. I mixed up the meatballs with wonderful things like parsley, garlic, pixie dust, magic stuff…then shaped them into balls. And I got to thinking.
“Hmm” says I to myself. ” When I make spaghetti and meatball stoup, a recipe from Rachael Ray (the only one of hers I have ever used I believe), the recipe calls for dropping the meatballs directly into the “stoup” without cooking them first. I remember being awed and horrified the first time I tried it, but they turned out wonderful! I wonder if I should do that now?”
So I looked it up on the worlds reference source, the internet and of course, as I thought, 99% of the people I read from baked or fried their meatballs first. Which means I have to try putting it directly into the sauce. After all, we loved the spaghetti and meatball stoup. It worked, against everything I believed to be right and moral, it worked. So here is my sauce, with raw, unadulterated, gourmet meatballs, just as plain and naked as the moment I shaped them. dropped into sauce to simmer while I heat the pasta pot and slather the garlic sourdough bread with butter and parmesan cheese.
We will have to wait and see. While it cooks (with the lid on and with low heat) I will include a couple more of my more favorite quotes from “Lion”.
Prince Geoffrey: I know. You know I know. I know you know I know. We know Henry knows, and Henry knows we know it.
[smiles] Prince Geoffrey: We’re a knowledgeable family.
Prince John: I thought I’d come and gloat a little. Eleanor: Mother’s tired. Come stick pins tomorrow morning; I’ll be more responsive. ( I feel like this sometimes) Prince John: It’s no fun goading anyone tonight.
Prince John: [rushing in] What’s wrong? What’s happened? Eleanor: Richard’s getting married. Prince John: Getting married? Now? He’s getting married *now*? Eleanor: I never cease to marvel at the quickness of your mind.
Henry II: What is this? I’m not mouldering. My paint’s not peeling off. I’m good for years. Eleanor: How many years? Suppose I hold you back for one. I can. It’s possible. Suppose your first son dies, ours did. It’s possible. Suppose you’re daughtered next, we were. That too is possible. How old is daddy then? What kind of spindly, ricket-ridden, milky, wizened, dim-eyed, gammy-handed, limpy line of things will you beget?
It’s not exactly something to go with an Italian dinner, but after dinner, whoever is left might enjoy this one. Probably not the little ones, they would not get the clever lines, the sarcasm and the twists and turns they play against each other.
Well there you have it. A meatball cooked in the raw. Results are in. Dave loved them. Paul was indifferent. I think the meat releasing its grease into the sauce gave it a different feel and flavor. I took some of the grease out and it helped that I started with organic lean-ish beef. But I know it worked. I would not say this way of cooking made it fabulously more tender (as I’d hoped) or anything but it did not hurt either. So when rushed for time, you know you can skip the precooking of the meatballs and cook them right in your tomato based sauce instead and the meatball police will not come after you.
Actually, if you care to know, here is what is in these meatballs. Hamburger, bread crumbs (bread I had crumbed in a food processor with garlic, parmesan and parsley, then frozen until needed) more parmesan, a slice of white bread with crusts removed, ripped up and with some (couple of tablespoons) milk poured over them, an egg, some chopped parsley from the garden, italian seasoning, salt and pepper. I think thats it. We like em. How do you make yours?