“Italians don’t each Chicken Meatballs!” And that was that. From that moment on, in my Mother’s mind, Italians could not possibly, under any circumstances, for any reason, eat meatballs made with chicken. “It just seems wrong.” My Mom had a tendency to make assumptions with regard to what people should and should not put in their mouths. And as of that moment, chicken meatballs had been added to her ongoing internal list.
It reminds me of an incident that happened during a family gathering in the 80's. (If you happen to play the harp, now would be a good time to run your fingers across the strings in a cascading fashion and provide a musical transition to help launch us back in time.) Anyway. I can't remember the reason, but everyone was at the house for something. I'm not sure if it was a graduation, or a birthday, but I do remember there was cake because I nearly choked on it.
A lot of us were in the family room watching Oprah. This was back when Oprah was trashy. This was pre-"Ah-Ha Moment" This was Oprah when the topics ran along the lines of "I think my dog is trans-gender" to "Men who lactate and the women who love them." These were not Oprah's finer television moments. None of us was really paying attention until Oprah said the phrase "oral sex."
The room became quiet.
Very.
Very.
Quiet.
Well, Oprah's guests seemed to have a great deal to say about the subject and with each audience comment, the home audience at the Zila household became more and more uncomfortable. But the cake-choking moment came when my Mother stated with disgust, "People don't do that!" Then my Father, sitting in the corner, shook his head slowly and softly said, "Nope, they sure don't." At that moment, I learned more about my parents' relationship than I really cared to know. Ever. And I also learned about the hazards of eating dry cake without a beverage close at hand. But now my Mother had made the declaration. And once my Mother made this type of statement, it became fact in her mind.
You see, for my Mom, any type of food she did not grow up eating sounded either exotic or disgusting. When cooking for her I have found that it is best to keep things simple if not completely identifiable. Occasionally I can sneak in new things, but there is always that risk of a culinary confrontation. The problem more becomes trying to explain what it is before the dish gets cold. And God forbid a meal gets cold! By the time I finished telling her what broccolini actually was, it was as cold as ice. I had made the mistake of telling her it was a cross between broccoli and Chinese kale.
“Kale? Isn’t that a garnish?” I knew at that point she would have no part of it. I could see it on her face. All she was imagining was the prickly green with a lemon wedge nestled into it accompanying her favorite TGI Friday’s fried jumbo shrimp. There would be no convincing her that kale, in any derivative form, would be edible. But we had been down this culinary road before so I have been forced to develop covert methods of introducing foods that had been previously deemed as inedible. I had my ways.
And wasn’t her fault really. She was a Midwestern meat and potatoes girl. Most of my friends’ parents were the exact same way. It was a generational thing, I understood this, but being a chef made it not a little frustrating. Although, when I do make her something she has never had before and she loves it, I am a golden god! To this day, my Mom is convinced I invented quesadillas. God bless her.
I tell her I’ll cook for her and she’ll sometimes ask, “Could we have those things?” And by ‘things’ I know she means quesadillas. I have made them for her 30 times over the years and each time she is more thrilled than the last.
Anyway, I have learned my lesson: just don’t tell her what it IS! Mentally, my Mom is sharp as a tack, but culinarily, I have to treat her like a kid.
“What is this?”
“They’re meatballs Mom.”
She started eating and then smiled. I realize I have achieved victory!
“But they’re so light. What’s in them?”
“They’re Chicken Meatballs.”
“You tricked me!"
"I could get you something different if you'd like."
"Not on your life!........So we’re eating like Italians then?”
“We’re getting there Mom. We're getting there.” And I happily watch her devour her meal. Now the broccolini hurdle.
Chicken Meatballs (Polpette di Pollo)
Serves 6
For meatballs:
3 slices Italian bread, torn into small pieces (1 cup)
⅓ cup milk
3 ounces sliced pancetta, finely chopped
1 small onion, peeled and finely chopped
1 small garlic clove, peeled and minced
2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil, divided
1 large egg
1 pound ground chicken
3 tablespoons finely chopped flat-leaf parsley
1 tablespoon tomato paste
1. Pre-heat the oven to 350°F.
2. Soak bread in milk in a small bowl until softened, about 3 to 4 minutes.
3. In a large sauté pan, cook pancetta, onion, and garlic in 1 tablespoon of the olive oil with
½ teaspoon each of salt and pepper over medium heat until onion is softened, about 6 to 8 minutes.
Cool slightly.
4. Squeeze bread to remove excess milk and then discard milk. Lightly beat egg in a large bowl and
then combine with chicken, pancetta mixture, bread, and parsley. Form 24 meatballs and arrange in
another 4-sided sheet pan.
5. Stir together tomato paste and remaining tablespoon of olive oil and brush over meatballs, then
bake in upper third of oven until meatballs are just cooked through, about 15 minutes or until an
instant-read thermometer reaches 145ºF when inserted into one of the meatballs.
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