Cheese Meatballs

One week until Joy moves. Seven days. I count them the way a woman counts contractions — not because the counting changes anything but because the counting gives the mind something to hold while the body endures. The house is full of small preparations: Joy's room on the third floor being emptied, her paintings wrapped in tissue paper, her clothes folded into the suitcase Mama bought her thirty years ago for a trip to Myrtle Beach that Joy remembers as "the beach with the big water."

Joy is calm. She has been told that she is going to live in a new house with friends and paints, and she has accepted this the way she accepts everything: with the equanimity of a woman who has never had the luxury of control and who has therefore never suffered the loss of it. I envy this. I would give anything for the peace that Joy carries, the peace that was purchased at the cost of a bicycle accident on Route 21 and that has been paying dividends ever since in the currency of uncomplicated acceptance.

Mama does not remember that Joy is leaving. She asks every morning, "Where is the girl?" and I say, "Joy is at her program, Mama," and Mama nods, and the nod resets the cycle, and the cycle begins again tomorrow. The repetition is both mercy and cruelty — mercy because Mama is spared the prolonged grief of anticipation, cruelty because she will experience the loss fresh every time she notices Joy's absence, and the freshness will never wear off.

I made Joy's favorite dinner for Saturday: spaghetti with meat sauce. Not Lowcountry. Not refined. Not anything that a food writer would celebrate. But Joy loves spaghetti the way Joy loves everything she loves: completely, without reservation, without the critical apparatus that makes the rest of us qualify our pleasures. The spaghetti was from a box. The sauce was from scratch. The combination was the meal of a sister who wanted to give her sister one more Saturday dinner in the kitchen where they became adults, one more plate of the food that Joy loves most, one more evening of the life that is about to change.

I’m not going to give you a recipe for the whole bowl — the spaghetti was just spaghetti, and you already know how to boil water. What I’m giving you is the meatballs, because the meatballs were where the care went, where the hour I had to myself in the kitchen went, where the love that couldn’t find the right words went instead. Joy ate four of them. She said “more balls” twice, which is Joy for this is the best thing, and I wrote the recipe down afterward so I wouldn’t forget, because I have a feeling I’m going to need to make these again — for myself, on a Saturday when the third floor is quiet.

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 25 min | Total Time: 40 min | Servings: 6 (about 24 meatballs)

Ingredients

1 1/2 lbs ground beef (80/20)
1/2 cup Italian-seasoned breadcrumbs
1/2 cup finely grated Parmesan cheese
1/2 cup shredded mozzarella cheese
1 large egg, lightly beaten
3 cloves garlic, minced
1/4 cup whole milk
2 tablespoons fresh flat-leaf parsley, finely chopped
1 teaspoon dried Italian seasoning
3/4 teaspoon kosher salt
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
2 tablespoons olive oil (for browning)
1 jar (24 oz) marinara or crushed tomato sauce, for simmering

Instructions

Combine the mixture. In a large bowl, add the ground beef, breadcrumbs, Parmesan, mozzarella, egg, garlic, milk, parsley, Italian seasoning, salt, and pepper. Mix gently with your hands just until everything is incorporated — overmixing makes tough meatballs, and these should be tender.
Shape the meatballs. Roll the mixture into balls about 1 1/2 inches in diameter (roughly the size of a golf ball). You should get about 24. Set them on a baking sheet or plate as you go.
Brown in batches. Heat olive oil in a large, deep skillet or Dutch oven over medium-high heat. Working in batches, add meatballs in a single layer and brown on all sides, about 4–5 minutes per batch. They don’t need to be cooked through yet. Transfer browned meatballs to a plate.
Simmer in sauce. Pour the tomato sauce into the same skillet, scraping up any browned bits from the bottom. Nestle all the browned meatballs back into the sauce. Reduce heat to low, cover, and simmer for 15–20 minutes, until meatballs are cooked through and the sauce has thickened slightly around them.
Taste and serve. Adjust seasoning if needed. Serve over spaghetti with additional Parmesan and fresh parsley, or just eat them straight from the pot with a spoon, which is also a valid choice.

Nutrition (per serving)

Cheese Meatballs — The Meat in the Sauce That Said Everything a Sister Couldn’t