artt.

Tonight, I tried out a place that everyone in New York but me has tried: the Meatball Shop. It must be said that my Italian mother’s meat-a-balls are in a category of their own. However, as far as meatballs my mother didn’t make, these are pretty much number one.
I met Eileen there, and in my five-minute walk from the subway, I got two text messages from her. The first one said there’d be a two hour wait; the second one said she negotiated with some dudes at the bar and we could sit at the bar as soon as they got up. It is a tiny restaurant, so eating at the bar was way better than waiting. I started with the sangria, and I did not regret this decision. Usually, sangria feels like it’s leaving a film of sugar on my teeth, but this had just enough sweet and sour.

I chose the classic beef balls, despite wanting to get the family jewels, just so I could say so. I asked for the classic balls over spaghetti and with spicy meat sauce. I’ve never had Italian that was too spicy for me, so I figured it would probably just be tangy, and tangy it was. The sauce was pretty close to perfect.