On Meatballs and Madness: A True story of One Man's Redemption in a World Gone Wrong. PART XI.
Well here we are Fäbloggers, the tail end of another Holiday season. We have crumpled wrapping paper, swollen tummies and a crackling fire in the fire place. A time to be thankful for the incredible gifts we have and those we will be returning because Dear God what were they thinking ? I WANTED AN OLDE BROOKLYN LANTERN PEOPLE IT CAN LIGHT UP A WHOLE ROOM. DO YOU KNOW HOW HARD IT IS TO EAT HOLDING A FLASHLIGHT ? DO YOU ?
Let me just put this right out there. FORGET IKEA. This is the real shit, these are a Swedish family recipe handed down from generation to generation.
AND THEY ARE THE BEST THINGS EVER.
Now for once we have photo documentation not done by me and a shaky i-phone, this shit was shot professionally by my future bro-in-law M.Marerro and it is so swag its swug. That's the past tense of swag. You learned a thing today, good for you !
LETS GET TO THIS MEATBALLS WAIT FOR NO PERSON.
To set the mood, this is what cooking in the Fabian house sounds like.
SWEAR TO ME
Mix that meat into a meat-a-rita, or just like mix it together with your hands like a caveman.
OH god its HD look at that meat its like Blu-ray meat.
Slice white bread so that the crusts have fled. Real Swedes use.. Peppridge farms ? I guess ? whatever play through.
Eggs. Ground White Pepper. Heroin Ground Allspice. Did you know that Allspice is not a blend of spices but a fucking Berry called Allspice ? I think thats a little goddamn presumptuous of whoever named it. Right ? I'm mad about spices.
Combine sauce with Bread and Mush.
Add ALL OF THE ONIONS IN THE TRISTATE
You gotta grate the onions and this will make you weep the tears of a spurned tapir. They just look kinda sad y'know ?
Awwwww. Sad Tapir is Sad.
COMBINE. WORK WITH GRANDMOTHER. This is my grandmother on my father side. We refer to her as Farmor, the traditional swedish appellation for the Fathers Mother. (Far-more) She is the best ever and I love her more than tapirs.
AND I LOVE TAPIRS. full stop.
Just for scale purposes. It is apprx. Three (3) Farmors to One (1) Fabes.
Mush it all up. MUSH MUSH MUSH MUSH MUSH MUSH MUSH MUSH SMUSH.
OUTTA MY GRILL SON I GOT MEAT HANDS
Did I mention mushing ? Cause there is a lot of goddamn mushing involved. 
"A Veritable Embarrassment of Cutting Boards" might be the title of my Memoirs.
This is pretty indicative of the whole process.
You gotta roll meatballs. It is a process. Wet the palm of your hand, take meat out of bowl, roll meatball, receive criticism from entire family on size and quality of meatballs, yell for 15 minutes. Roll another meatball, etc. etc. repeat.
Spheres on spheres on spheres
OH GET MACRO ON IT OH MAN. OHH YE#AAH.
Fry them puppies up with a little butter.
Serve with mashed potatoes and gluttony
ZOOOOOOOOOOOOOM for details.
The sauce is the juice in the pan with some tweaks
I DONT KNOW I DIDNT DO THE SAUCE.
Its ok to be jealous, I mean what did you have for Xmas eve, a ham ? Scrub. A fine Christmas goose ? Pleb. This is a straight up SMORGASBORD in the truest sense of the word.
True story one year we cooked a goose for Christmas for the SOLE REASON of being able to talk about having a "Christmas Goose" for dinner.
I think that might be the first completely Ironic Meal we ever shared as a family. Shit was post-modern as hell though.
All thanks go to Farmor for passing down the recipe to your humble chef de cuisine, and for the 22 years of love and meatballs before then. I hope everyone had a wonderful holiday, no matter what you celebrate, and a happy New Year !
This is Chef. Fabes signing off !
