I had some canned tomatoes in my pantry and decided to make Italian spaghetti sauce. I bought the ground beef, eggs, and parmesan cheese and wanted a small package of ground pork to make the meatballs tender, just like my Grandma used to do. I never imagined that ground pork would turn out to be such an ordeal.
Italian food is a favorite of mine, and I could eat it every day. The problem is that I hate to cook, so it’s a big production whenever I get the urge to channel my ancestors and make our house reek of pungent garlic. My Sicilian Grandma taught my Irish mother how to make her sumptuous meatballs, and Mama became a pro in no time. It became her most requested meal. They used to add some ground veal as well, but that is no longer economically feasible without a bank loan.
After searching the meat counters of three grocery stores, I got the bright idea to just buy some pork chops and grind them myself. The good news was that I kept my grandmother’s heavy-duty meat grinder, which was older than me; the bad news was that it was somewhere in my kitchen cabinets.
I got the sauce (aka gravy) simmering on the stove and set about making my meatballs. I recalled having seen the box that contained the grinder on several occasions when I was not looking for it, but trying to recall precisely where it was presented a major challenge. After searching all the usual cabinets, I caught a glimpse of it in the back corner of the most cluttered space. In order to access it, I had to remove all the pots, pans, and assorted kitchen necessities. Having nowhere else to put them, they were piled onto the kitchen floor in utter disarray.
Thankfully, all the grinder’s necessary pieces were in the deteriorating original box, along with the yellowed instructions. (Thank you, Grandma, for saving everything). I carefully assembled the contraption, and much to my relief and surprise, it worked great. I heard my grandmother’s voice cautioning me to “grind the meat twice and be sure to remove any bones.” I did as I was told, and wearing one of her aprons, I could literally feel her beside me as I repeated the time-honored ritual.
After the huge pot was filled with meatballs and sauce, I was faced with the dreaded cleanup and that stack of assorted items that needed to be organized and put away. As long as I had everything out of the cabinet, I thought it would be a dandy time to put down the new shelf liner, which I did. I discovered a few items that I thought were long lost and threw away things that should never have been kept in the first place. Now I eagerly await my aromatic dinner to be ready to eat and stare in wonder at my newly organized storage space.
If it takes me as many years to use the grinder again as it did this time, I know I won’t ever find it.
Enjoyed!!! forgot about those Grinders!! Fun as usual, Mary Margaret!!