week 29: the meatball shop

i was not afraid of the boogie man.
i was not afraid of the dark.
my biggest fear as a wee one
was sitting down at the dinner table on spaghetti night
and looking down at my plate
and finding that my poor poor spaghetti
was contaminated by a 

why? oh why must i eat this, mum? it is ruining my beautifully olive-oiled spaghetti!! 
i cried. i begged for mercy.

protein blah blah blah you wanna grow old and be frail and brittle bullshit bullshit?
{was something like her response}

it was clear:
if i wanted dessert,
that ball was going in my mouth.
boy, was life was tough. 

the struggle continued 
and continued
and my adolescent years proved to be successful in finding ways around the dreaded meatball
but eventually
hype and hipness persuaded me to go to
this is me at the meatball shop
and this is maria's best attempt at taking a picture of her newest celebrity crush,
the owner
{scruffy dude in the back}

what a fun place!
i love all the hustle and bustle of the lower east side
and i love looking at all the stylish kiddies that hang around that area.
there was a bit of a wait for a table, but that adds to the tastiness :-)
above is a picture of the multiple choice dry-erase marker menu on which maria and i kind of blindly picked our balls.

yay balls!!!
they were nothing like my childhood meatballs.
these were really good, and juicy, and rich in flavor
and big
but emphasis on the juicy!
and there was an amount of taste that you don't expect with ground meat.
it just bursted with flavor!
the balls just burst!
and the fact that they weren't corrupting spaghetti 
by being served in non-offensive sliders and heros
calmed my dark-childhood-memory-induced anxiety.

we also got a hero:
beef balls
on a whole wheat baguette
sometimes the thought of a baguette gets me nervous.
is it going to be hard to bite?
is it going to scratch the inside of my mouth?

you will all be relieved to know that this baguette was soft and doughy
and worked well with the balls
as to not make the sandwich self-destruct upon consumption.

it was like a neater, more highbrow, italian version of the sloppy joe. 

it was a comfy sandwich, indeed. 
one that i've since dreamt about numerous times.

ok, let it be known:
if you go to the meatball shop and do not order dessert, you are an idiot.
their ice cream sammiches are monstrous.
so monstrous that eating one like a sandwich might be impossible. 
but when thur's a scoop of house-made chocolate ice cream sandwiched between two no-bake peanut butter cookies sitting in front of you, it doesn't matter how it gets to your face, you just want it.

maria got the ginger snap and vanilla combo.
it was fine, you know, if you like ginger snaps.

i'm really glad that my meatball spell has been broken.
after having these
i'm not sure i'm going to be able to have any other ones.


23 restaurants to go, boys and girls.



the meatball shop is on stanton and allen in the lower east side
and it's open late!