I’ve been in the spaghetti game for years and I’ve tasted every meatball in this city. You don’t tread the sidewalks of Brooklyn for as long as I have without trying a few of Nonna’s secret recipes. That’s right, I know meatballs like the back of my hand—which after years of rich eating is starting to resemble a meatball too!
Tell you what, nobody does them better than they do here in New York. We’ve finessed it. It’s the interplay between sweet and savoury, the slight saltiness of the pasta playing with the juiciness of the ball. Hints of oregano and cayenne. Shavings of parmesan. Perfection!
So listen to me: this here meatball is boloney—and I’m not saying it’s like a tasty bit’ta Bologna sausage, I’m saying this is some fugazi ballwork. I see you kids eating at this restaurant, sweat running down your brow, chugging on your Schlitz. You think this is spicy? Forget about it! This meatball lacks depth! The basil’s overpowering and it’s loose like chow. I’ve seen a lot of people like you come and go in my time and I’ve got just one piece of advice: you ain’t gonna cut it in this business if you think this is a spicy meatball.