Elvira who is technically not a nonna says that the “best” of meatballs does not exist. Although she fit an American image of a nonna with her stern criticisms about the slight changes I made to her meatball recipe, it was still a good example of her. When she found out that a journalist was going to be at her daughter’s friend’s house on Thursday night, she rushed over. Rome It is difficult to determine the best way to prepare meatballs in Roman style.
Elvira used to run a restaurant, and according to Debora Lanini, who teaches cooking classes from her home—which is incidentally filled with more than 370 pieces of frog-themed decor—Elvira was known around the city for her meatball prowess. I was in Rome for the hottest summer week to indulge in salty meat. I didn’t check the weather when planning my trip, which included a series of appointments to master the art of Italian meatballs and an extended visit to Festival del Prosciutto Di Parma in the Langhirano Valley. Emilia Romagna. The Langhirano Valley was windy and Rome had all those fountains, right? In the ten minutes that I had between landing in Rome and Debora’s house in Trastevere, I ate a plate thinly sliced cured beef jowl, and scrolled through the marketing materials of the upcoming Prosciutto Fest.
The sow that was the mascot used for the school had been replaced by a large metal frog mailbox. Festival del Prosciutto di Parma. A second frog in miniature gingham pant glanced accusingly from the glass case. A married couple had already arrived at Debora’s with plans to travel to Italy’s second meatball capital.Naples) the next day, as well as a friend of Debora’s who renounced all meatballs shortly after I showed up, citing a wedding diet. There was the bride’s fiancé—a local magistrate who was introduced to me only as “The Judge”—and the bride’s mother, Elvira. Debora graciously invited me to dinner with her friends one of the few nights she had off after I sent her a desperate email about wanting to know how to make meatballs. She was one of the first people to tell that there is no such thing as “best meatball” because meatballs are humble things, created from leftovers. This would be the equivalent of flying to an asphalt plant and asking for the best way to make highway paving.
One Roman meatball, the polpette di bollito, is a great example of how leftovers can be used to make a delicious, tender, and tasty dish. It’s a blimp made from days-old stewed brisket, and it’s held together with a fried casing, like a croquette. (Two excellent versions can be found on the Mordi e Vai Booth at the Testaccio markets and restaurants Trattoria Da Cesare al Casaletto Villa Doria Pamphili is nearby. Debora & Elvira demonstrate how to pre-soak the stale bread in milk, just until the liquid stops absorbing. Pour no more. Debora grated a little lemon zest and added a pinch of salt to the mix, but she stopped before the bitter white pith. Elvira continued to add salt as Debora turned her back, and then began mixing the mixture with a black glove. Debora said it was slightly salty after we each took a spoonful. They showed us the different sizes and discussed possible uses. One, about the size of a newborn eyeball, can be used in a pasta dish. Elvira was always kind enough to correct me when I asked her about the ideal way to chop parsley or what ratio to use of pecorino to beef. She said that meatballs were all a matter personal taste and habit. She told me that meatballs are so personal you can tell which grandson (or son-in law; she winked to The Judge) the nonna likes by how she tweaks her meatballs. But that doesn’t mean they are the best. They’re just meatballs. In my travels, I often heard that the best was not as important in other countries.
