I can be a wordy motherfucker. I’m a fan of, you know, lots of words and shit.


Not tonight. Because I am tired as all hell. Perhaps more words will come later, but they will not be coming tonight.

Plus, disincentive: even though these Scandinavian spiced meatballs with caramelized apples from the excellent The Splendid Table’s How to Eat Supper came out just as they were supposed to and Brian sucked them down like a Hoover on crack, I just wasn’t a fan.

(Above: the ingredients for cheater’s broth. Chuck this shit into some boxed stock, simmer for half an hour and poof! Less sucky stock.)


It also required me to put meat – ground beef and chicken –  in a food processor. And as anyone who’s been reading for any length of time knows, I am EXTREMELY WARY of putting animal protein into the food processor. As it turns out, I’m also not a fan of nutmeg and ginger in my meat. Who knew?

Prior to this, in a photo I could not bring myself to inflict upon you, I had to make a slurry of wine, onion, the spices and egg yolk in the FoPro, into which the meat then went. Really, even the word “slurry” is kind of gross. Say it to yourself a few times. Slurry. Slurry. Slurry. Don’t you feel a little queasy? And you didn’t have to SEE it.


And then there were prunes, and the less said about them the better. Suffice it to say, I feel the same way about prunes in my meat as I do about nutmeg and ginger.


The meatballs were cute and cooked up all brown and pretty like, but they gave me the heebie jeebies. I knew too much about them, and having to form meatballs, dealing with the cold slippery mush… never fails to squick.


Along with nutmeg, ginger and prunes, let’s add caraway seeds to the list of things I don’t like with my meat. In my rye bread, sure, bring it on. But keep it away from my meat.


I’ll take this part: caramelized apples and onions in wine reduction fortified with the cheater’s stock. The only problem: it was destined to go over those damn meatballs.


And there it is, and although the apples tasted good, I can’t help but think the whole thing looks a little like Alpo with a spring of dill, if you served your dog his or her food over white rice in expensive dishware.

I still recommend the book; much other good has come from it. And like I said, Brian had a moment, and I almost had to bodily restrain him from eating the entire pound-and-a-half’s worth of meat. But these meatballs? Not for me.

Also not for me tonight: words. G’night.