The mob is not your thing. Sure, you like to think you have a tight circle of friends. That you are close to your family. That you hew to some code of conduct, no matter how skewed. And though you are reasonably fond of red lipstick and black pumps, your fantasy self has never posed as mob moll. So when the idea of watching 12 consecutive hours of “The Godfather” comes up, you’re all over the menu. Stirring tomato sauce will give you something to do during the bloody parts, which is to say about 12 consecutive hours.
Not that you’ve actually watched these movies. But you can fake your way through the treacherous plot, throaty delivery and tough-guy lines with Cliffs Notes concision. It’s difficult to maintain complete ignorance of “The Godfather.” When your husband suggests a convivial get-together witnessing men with murky diction do in their friends, you’re comfortable responding: “My offer to you is this: nothing.”
And yet, you find yourself staring down a guest list approximating that of an Italian wedding. These people expect to watch “The Godfather.” Which is to say, they expect to be your guests for 12 bloody hours.
You think sausage. But reconsider, given what you’ve gathered from “The Sopranos” reruns about what goes on in the sausage factory. Eventually you settle on the meatball, out of fond appreciation for its predicament, continually typecast as Italian staple. Even though, cookbook gossip has it, the meatball is an American contrivance ascribed to Italians. Much like the Hollywood mobster.
You draw on a vague recollection of a frantic climactic scene, in which one overworked gangster is trying to produce a tender slow-cooked meatball, shuttle his brother around town, field annoying phone calls, dispose of contraband and keep an eye on the surveillance helicopter overhead. You can relate to frenetic multi-tasking.
Of course, some snide guest who spent college locked in a screening room is bound to point out that the meatball scene comes from “Goodfellas.” Which, it turns out, is an entirely different movie with more or less the same title, and more or less the same ratio of good food to bad behavior (50 feasts and 23 corpses, according to one casual estimate).
Not to worry. The meatball has the stamina for a 12-hour dinner party. Gets along admirably with any number of side dishes. And makes a nice prelude to dessert. Which would be chocolate cake, sculpted to resemble a horse head. Dripping raspberry coulis.
MEATBALL MUDDLE
Serves four
For the meatballs:
1/2 pound ground pork
1/2 pound ground beef
1 egg
2 tablespoons freshly grated
Parmesan
1 clove garlic, minced
1 teaspoon dried oregano
3 tablespoons fine bread crumbs
Black pepper
1 teaspoon salt
1. Mix: Combine all ingredients in a large bowl, gently, by hand.
2. Shape: Roll 36 small balls, each about 1 inch in diameter. (The idea is to diminish the skinny spaghetti to portly meatball ratio that plagues traditional presentation.) Line them up on a baking sheet. Refrigerate.
For the sauce:
1 onion, cut in half
2 cloves garlic
1 teaspoon dried oregano
1 tablespoon unsalted butter
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 24-ounce can tomato puree
1 cup water
Salt and pepper
1/2 cup whole milk
1 pound dried tagliatelle, or homemade tagliatelle
1. Grind: Defying conventional wisdom, let the food processor have its way with the onion, garlic and oregano. Heat the butter and oil in a deep, wide pan. Scrape in the onion mix and cook over medium-low until soft, about 10 minutes.
2. Simmer: Add tomatoes, water, salt and pepper. Cook 10 minutes. Stir in the milk.
3. Coddle: Settle the meatballs into the sauce, one by one. To prevent meatball breakup, don’t stir for a few minutes. Simmer, partially covered, about 20 minutes. You may need to add some water to keep the sauce bubbling cheerfully.
4. Boil: Cook pasta in boiling salted water (fresh pasta only needs 1 to 2 minutes). Drain, letting some water cling to noodles. Ladle on some tomato sauce (without meatballs), toss and transfer to a serving bowl. Cover with the rest of the sauce and meatballs. Eat like a boss.
-Adapted, with respect, from “Nigella Bites”
SICILIAN BLOOD ORANGE SALAD: Toss together 2 blood oranges, peeled and sliced; 1 large bulb fennel, thinly sliced; 1/2 cup thinly sliced red onion; 3 tablespoons olive oil; a few small mint leaves and a handful of oil-cured black olives. Season with salt and pepper.
-Adapted from Bon Appetit
TAGLIATELLE
Serves four
2 cups semolina flour
4 eggs
1 pinch of salt
1. Rationalize: What with murders unspooling in the study and guests roaming the halls, you are effectively under house arrest. Why not embark on a lengthy, superfluous and yet surprisingly satisfying venture? You can always corral other squeamish guests into helping. Lure them with Chianti.
2. Mix: Heap the flour and salt in large bowl. Crack in the eggs. Plunge in your hands and cajole. After a few minutes, when the mixture looks less like a mess and more like dough, transfer to a lightly floured work surface.
3. Knead: Take your time, 10 to 15 minutes. When the dough becomes less springy, when something in its tender demeanor and smooth shape makes you feel motherly, stop. Dust lightly with flour, wrap in a dish towel and put down for an hour’s nap.
4. Roll: Get out that neglected pasta machine. Cut the dough into 4 sections and rewrap. Pass one section through the widest roller setting. Fold in thirds, like a letter. Pass an open end through the widest setting again. Repeat several times until dough looks perfectly smooth. Now stop down the settings, passing the dough once through each, without folding. When it’s as thin as you like, usually the second to last setting, stop. Drape over the backs of chairs or across towels, like laundry, and let dry about 15 minutes. Repeat with remaining sections.
5. Cut: Slice into wide noodles with the machine’s cutting blade, a sharp knife or one of those adorable scallop-edged pastry cutters. Don’t you feel a sense of accomplishment?
