Meatballs Everywhere

It's the beginning of December. I'm just getting home from school. I forgot my key...again. There is snow on the ground. It is cold. But, the backdoor is unlocked? That's a nice surprise. I smell meatballs. Dado is here, and he's been cooking. He must have brought his cookie sheets with him because there are cookie sheets full of hot baked meatballs on the stove, on the counter beside the sink, balanced over the sink, on the counter above the dishwasher, on the table, and some still in the oven. There is no place to set anything. Meatballs are everywhere.

The first weekend of December, every year, my mom hosts a Christmas party. I know it's coming because we've spent evenings baking dozens of cookies for the cookie exchange, 13 dozen, and small batches of what seems like a dozen different cookies to serve at the party. “There needs to be a variety on the trays to look pretty,” my mom tells me. Rosettes, Krumkaka, Candy Cane cookies, Mint Meltaways, Russian Tea Cakes, Stained Glass Window cookies, Cornflake Wreaths, Peanutbutter Kiss cookies, Star Spice cookies, but NO Chocolate Chip cookies. Chocolate Chip cookies are NOT Christmas cookies. Chocolate Chip cookies are everyday, ordinary cookies. 13 people are exchanging cookies this year. Everybody takes home one dozen of each others cookies, hence the 13 dozen of one kind of cookie we made (really I made, with little supervision – Mom is always busy, and I am a perfectionist, good at following directions).

I never got Dado's meatball recipe. I think they were applesauce meatballs, but I really have no idea. I'm sure the recipe was in his head, not on paper. I remember scalding my tongue eating a meatball, and eating another immediately, knowing, and not caring, that it would burn my mouth too. He made the best meatballs, a once a year treat.

Since then, I've run across a meatball recipe that is as close to Dado's recipe as I remember. My recipe is a microwave recipe, that I have to double to make enough for everyone. I make them once each winter, but not for Christmas (everybody wants ham for Christmas). As the smell fills my kitchen, I remember coming home to my always happy, smiling grandfather, Dado, in mom's kitchen, and meatballs everywhere.

There was no sauce on Dado's meatballs, but he was Swedish, and I like these, and their sauce.

I leave out the allspice and the brown bouquet sauce, but add ginger and parsley flakes.