Tuesday night I prepared spaghetti and meatballs for supper. As I’ve done dozens of times, I used Romaine Stanton’s recipe for meatballs from the St. Paul’s Lutheran Church cookbook. Perfect results every time.
Until this week.
“These meatballs taste different,” JoAnna observed after taking a first bite of one.
I had noticed the same thing. Not only was there an odd, impossible-to-specify flavor, the texture was off-putting, like a cross between a dense sponge and small, soft rubber ball.
Undeterred, JoAnna ate all three meatballs that I’d served up for her, but I couldn’t finish the first one.
“I’ve completely lost my appetite,” I sighed, putting down my fork and pushing my plate toward the center of the table. “What could have caused this disaster?” I continued. “I’m sure I didn’t forget any ingredients.”
I even double-checked the recipe to verify. A cup of cracker crumbs, ½ cup of grated Parmesan cheese, 2 eggs (beaten), 1 cup milk, and the rest of it. I retrieved the milk container from the refrigerator, took off the cap, and sniffed the contents. No sour odor. I had just purchased the cheese that morning – along with the pound of ground chuck. While mixing all the ingredients, however, I had noticed that the meat had seemed a little uncooperative, as though unwilling to mingle and tingle.
Romaine's page
“It’s gotta be the meat,” I said. “After all, it’s the main ingredient. It’s not the cracker crumbs that give them flavor.”
I purposely prepared the full recipe, which makes 24 meatballs, so we’d have leftovers – I was particularly looking forward to a sub sandwich on a French baguette – to get us through today as far as meal planning was concerned. So much for that idea.
As Tuesday evening progressed, JoAnna and I monitored our bodies for menacing rumblings, fearful that two cases of food poisoning might be on the horizon. Fortunately, everything remained calm.
Until yesterday afternoon. For JoAnna, anyway, when she found herself having to make frequent trips to the rest room at work. Once she returned home, she spent another 15 minutes in the bathroom, followed by an evening on the family room couch with a afghan wrapped around her.
Maybe it was a delayed reaction to the meatballs. Maybe it was just the slightest touch of the flu. Whatever the case, JoAnna felt 100% when she left the house this morning. Now, of course, three days before we leave for Paris, is NOT the time to get sick.
From now on, I think I’ll purchase all of our meat from Knoche’s Food Center and Butcher Shop, a still-surviving version of Foreman’s “little store”, just a 5-minute drive from our house. Its prices for meats – nothing is pre-packaged -- are very competitive, and they always have three or four specials going on simultaneously. As for everything else they have in stock, it’s best to shop elsewhere.
Related post:
(Not Swedish) Meatballs. (5/14/2009)
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