PlazaJen: Passion Knit

I have spent the past two days mashing up meat with my hands. Yes, yes, I have. On Sunday, I decided that enough time had passed since the Great Swedish Meatball Debacle of 1988, and I would attempt, once more, to make meatballs. JWo had been pining for a meatball sub for a couple of days, and I thought, Well, WhattheHell? I surely could make a homemade one that would tantalize his palate...

Brimming with confidence, I bought burger & spicy italian sausage, mixed it up with parsley, italian breadcrumbs, minced garlic, egg, and black pepper. Made mounded balls (heh), baked them in the oven at 400 degrees until done, simmered them in some Cascone's marinara (hey, I wasn't up for EVERYthing from scratch), slathered them into toasted buns (heh heh), topped with provolone & back in the oven until toasty-melty-goodness was achieved.
YUMMEH!

While I was grocery shopping, I picked up ingredients for one of my favorite meals, one I haven't made since I left home, I think. Stuffed cabbage rolls. Ohhhh, goody gumdrops, I must have some Polish blood in me somewhere, I LOVE those things. Beef + rice, plus more egg, onion, seasonings, and a couple tablespoons of tomato soup. Packed into par-cooked cabbage leaves, toothpick-secured, topped with more tomato soup & cooked to completion in a dutch oven on the stove. MORE YUMMEH!

As I was mashing and mushing and massaging and blending all of the meat & other ingredients tonight, I thought about how I'd now done this two nights in a row, and how I'm NOT making a habit of it. The payoff is great, but the manhandling of the meat is - well - kinda icky.

YOU just go ahead and read ALLLLLL the double entendres into this as you will. Because I know you will. In the meantime, I will explain the Great Swedish Meatball Debacle of 1988: our Swedish exchange student, Maria & I decided to MAKE this dish, since she was, after all, Swedish. So we made the meatballs as instructed, but these were small balls, sauteed in a frypan. Apparently we were not the experienced chefs, for we did not know we were supposed to DRAIN the pan or pat the balls & degrease them. (OK, I see you out there TITTERING.) So we made the creamy white sauce, and it became two-toned, cream and ORANGE from all the grease, and my father gave it the hairy eyeball & made himself a peanut butter sandwich, and we were mortified. After all that work, we'd done-gone & destroyed her Swedish heritage in one evening. Up until Sunday, I hadn't made meatballs since. Hey, it only took me 17 years to get past that failure. Should have a field day with my therapist over THAT one, hm?