Nature and Fine Art Prints by Michael Pancier's Fan Box

Sunday, December 6

Nieve for Michael


In October, my Floridian friend Michael saw an actual snowfall/blanket of snow for the first time. In Virginia! He was totally giddy about it. He got pictures of deer in it, even. He still talks about that blanket of pristine snow (several inches, not just a dusting). If he could have taken a snowball back to Florida I think he would have. Of course being a Pennsylvanian all my life I don't do cartwheels over snow anymore, but I can appreciate it.

Well here in my part of PA we got our first snowfall yesterday. And I'd be happy if it were our last. About three inches of stuff to have to shovel. Yes it's beautiful (especially late at night with a full moon) but also a pain to drive in, clean up and it's damn cold when it snows. My Mediterranean blood just can't deal with winter yet.


So for Michael, who asked for some snow for Christmas spirit, here it is.



- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Monday, November 30

The Power of Fragrance

The power of a scent is unmatched. It can be evocative of love, sadness, comfort... the list goes on. The perfume I wear will forever remind me of a romantic evening I had the first night I wore it. The smell of meatballs cooking evokes memories of my mom cooking them in bulk on weekends early in the morning and bringing one to me before I was even out of bed. The body splash Toujours Moi is only associated with my grandmother who liberally doused herself with it every day.

So with my large nose being what it is, I was surprised today to make a very late connection between a flower and my intense aversion to it.

This morning I took a solo trip to Longwood Gardens in Kennett Square, PA. (www.longwoodgardens.org). To me this is the closest thing to heaven on earth. The flowers are abundant, the landscape is breathtaking and only my daughter can tolerate going with me because I take a ridiculous amount of photos, like she does.
I always gravitate towards the beautiful lilies. They are great to photograph and I have years worth of shots of them. Yet I still take more.

The problem with these lovely flowers is the smell. I can't stand it. In the grocery store it hits me as soon as I walk in because they are right by the door. I often have to hold my nose- the smell is that offensive to me.
Today was no different. Fifteen minutes into practically crawling inside the display to get macro shots I began to get a headache from the smell. I finally stopped and moved on.

On my way out of the steamy conservatory where the Christmas displays and lilies are housed, a little girl about 5 years old walked in and announced "It smells like Grandma in heaven." Her mom was behind her and said to the two women she was with "I love it when she says things like that. But why would she think that?" They stopped walking and the little girl skipped along the poinsettia-lined path. I was next to them and it ocurred to me what she meant and simultaneously, why that smell makes me sick. "I think she means the lilies- they put them in funeral sprays." The mom said "Ohhh. That could be it."

In that moment I recalled all my grandparents wakes, the horrible smell of the abundant lily-filled arrangements, holding my nose as if breathing in the scent would make me die, too.
To this day I can't go to a wake without holding my breath when I get to the casket. It is so powerful to me that it makes me sick to my stomach. And now, because of an intuitive little girl, I know why.



Lilies may be lovely to look at, but please don't ask me to smell them, and if you give me a bouquet with some in it, I'll promptly remove them. Just let me admire them from afar, or until I can't hold my breath anymore.


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Saturday, November 28

Happy Birthday, Pec!

Today is my friend Stephanie's birthday. She is an awesome friend to me. Besides being loyal and trustworthy, she makes me laugh and laughs at my jokes, she's a great Spanish teacher who I admire (and who teaches my daughter) and she is my only Italian (Sicilian!) friend out here in the boonies. Plus, she and her husband, Joe ovah deh, are faithful readers of my blog. Or were, until I took a little hiatus. :)

Although I'm a transplant from Philly and she's from New York, our backgrounds are similar. I mean, who else out here in the sticks knows what I mean when I say "Madon! That gabagool was good! Now I could go for a rigut ganool." Nobody, that's who!

So to my partner in crime, have a great day and "chen don!" (that's "cent'anni" for you propah speakahs.) I love you, Pec!


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Thursday, November 26

Where's the Lasagna?

Sigh. I don't like turkey much. I'll eat it but given my druthers I'd rather not. When I was young and we used to go to my late Aunt Rita's house and she always made the American food- turkey, potatoes, veggies, etc. But in a nod to our Italian-ness she always had a huge dish of lasagna, too. Now that's what I eyeballed when the table was heaped with "cibo.". Everyone else took some of everything. Not me. Just lasagna. And my Aunt Carole's ( rest her soul) cranberry nut mold. Madon! I was a happy camper.

Today turkey day is at my younger sister's house and it's all American. I'm bringing sweet potato casserole with pecan topping- my dad loves it. I'm working out extra this morning so I have no guilt later, needless to say.

At dinner I always ask everyone to name something they are grateful for besides health. As I said in my previous post, I'm grateful for my family and friends who have made my 40th year on earth very meaningful.

I'm also grateful for my wonderful career that I absolutely love. Eighteen years of teaching and only one tough one. Not bad. A student asked me last year if I knew when I'd stop teaching. I said "when they pry the chalk out of my cold, dead hands."

I wanted to make special mention today of my dearest friends. I'm grateful, in particular, for Michael, Stephanie, Julio and Sharon who have given me such happy moments and memories this year and for Lou, who has been my rock as we weathered the turbulent waters of parenting a teenage girl. I love you all!

I wish I could be grateful for lasagna today but I think not having it will make me grateful tomorrow at weigh-in at the gym.

Happy Thanksgiving everyone! Think about what you have to be grateful for today and don't forget it!

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Tuesday, November 24

Thankful for Friends and Love This Thanksgiving


Thanksgiving. I’m a fan of giving thanks for all that I have- I think we should do it more than once a year, formally. And this year I have a lot to be thankful for. My family is healthy. I got healthier this year and have a clean bill of health. My puppy, who this time last year was at death’s door, is all better. I have a home and a job that I love and hobbies that I pursue whenever I want to and people who enjoy them with me.


My oldest daughter made her debut as the star of her school’s musical and I am thankful that she got her dad’s musical talent and not mine (which is non-existent) and that she wins art awards thanks to my artistic genes (and not his). My youngest daughter is making great strides in school in spite of earlier setbacks. I am thankful that I was able to travel so much this year- to Florida a bunch of times, to New York many times, to Philly and points between.




Most of all I am thankful to have people in my life who love me. My family is obligated to love me (and they do, or so they say!) but my friends are not obligated to. Yet they do. They can leave my life as easily as they entered. They love me in spite of my flaws and the best part is that since turning 40 last year, it seems that most of us are very open about saying that we love and value each other. I am so thankful for that.

Friendship is a two way street as everyone knows. You have to nurture a friendship or it will wither and die like a neglected flower. If a friend is worth having, he or she is worth checking in on when you haven’t heard from her for a while, she’s worth dropping a note to just to say hi, and she’s worth a phone call to thank her for the birthday card or gift. It’s called cultivating a friendship.


Most importantly, is that we SHOW that we love each other. Anyone can say I love you. Anyone can text it or email it. Sure, big deal. But do you back those words up? Do you do things, little things, to demonstrate your love for someone? If not, you’re just paying lip service to the three most important words you can ever utter- to friends, family, loved ones. True friends back each other up, they are up front, they are loyal, they are faithful and they don’t stab you in the back-- but they’ll pull out the knife that someone else jammed in your back for you. They will sacrifice for you and they will expect nothing in return. They will not make demands of you, they will understand you and be there for you when you need them.

I am so very lucky to have these people in my life- some for over 25 years. Many I reconnected with in the past 2 years through Facebook and have picked up where we left off. It’s beautiful to have someone in your life that gets you, that accepts you, that doesn’t demand you be something you’re not and who supports you when you are at your lowest point. So this year I am thankful for many things, like my family, but along with my family, I am thankful for my friends- the ones from my childhood, the ones I pledged my sisterhood with, the ones in Florida, the ones out West, the ones I see all the time and the ones I don’t. God Bless you for being you, for putting up with me and for being my friends. I love you.

Wednesday, September 23

I'm Back!

Yes, It's been since February since I last posted but in that time so much has been going on in my life- all awesome- and I have been beyond busy. My school year was super busy as usual plus I had a steady stream of translation and web design clients right through the summer.

I did get to relax, though. I made 3 trips to Florida since the spring, plus a trip to a Dude Ranch in the Catskills, NY followed by a visit to the amazing waterfalls in Bushkill Falls. After my second trip to Florida in July, my family and I made a brief but 7 hour trip to the PA Grand Canyon. I had hoped this would hold me over until my trip out west next spring but it didn't. I also got to see the Philadelphia Eagles and the Miami Dolphins at their training camps- in the same week. For a football fan, let me tell you, this was the coolest!






In the interim, thanks to my brother-in-law, I taught myself how to use a DSLR camera as well as Photo Shop Elements and Lightroom.

I went on a few photo shoots including a fantastic one in Philly, my hometown. I also saw "Jersey Boys" on Broadway with my daughter on her birthday and had an unbelievably awesome time.


I did not abandon my culinary enjoyment, however, and cooked up stuffed artichokes, pasta e fagioli, pasta bolognese and many insalatas capreses, among other favorites. At the request of my friend Mike, I am posting my tortellini salad recipe. Note that you can substitute any pasta for the tortellini and even the most inept cook can prepare it.

This has all the ingredients of a full meal and it is quick to prepare.

Two packages of refrigerated tortellini (like Buitoni) (I like the tri color kind)
1 can black pitted olives
5 plum tomatoes- slicked then cut in quarters)
1/2 vidalia onion, diced
1 green pepper, cut in small slices
1 can of black beans
1 cucumber (peeled and cut into slices then quarters)
8 ounces of provolone cheese, cubed
1 package of Purdue cuts roasted chicken (already prepared)
1 bottle of Italian salad dressing
4 tablespoons of grated Locatelli (or a pecorino/romano blend) cheese

Cook pasta per instructions. Rinse pasta in cold water until cool.
Add other ingredients except Locatelli cheese. Blend well.
Pour bottle of Italian dressing onto salad. Mix very well and sprinkle grated cheese on top.


Enjoy!

Tuesday, February 3

Happy Birthday Fuzzy



Eight years ago on February 6th my youngest daughter was born. I wasn't there for her birth. I didn't get to hold her when she was born. In fact, the first time I saw her was in a photo when she was 2 weeks old. But none of that makes her any less my daughter.

My daughter, whose name at birth was coincidentally was both my grandmother's and grandfather's names, was born in Guatemala in 2001. She was given up for adoption at birth by her mother, a generous and selfless woman, and chosen by us from among three babies. She became our daughter on paper in July, but in our hearts on the day we were sent her photo.

She is an adorable, bubbly little girl who has a great memory and is a natural gymnast and soccer player. She's very petite and very determined and you can't put anything past her-- she is sharp! She's a tomboy but she is very sensitive and has a keen sense of right and wrong. She knows where she was born and how she came to be our daughter-- she has known since she could talk.

Today I not only wish my daughter a happy birthday, but I pray for her birth mother and thank her silently for choosing to give her baby a life that she herself could not give to her. She gave me a daughter and her daughter, a mother. There is no greater gift than that.

Happy Birthday Fuzz!
We love you!

Friday, January 16

The Maloik (Malocchio) or the "Evil Eye"

While not Italian in origin, many Italians believe in il malocchio (often pronounced "maloik.") Part superstition, part tradition, it is the belief in the evil eye, placed on someone when someone else is jealous or envious of the other's good luck. The malocchio then manifests itself in some sort of misfortune onto the cursed person, usually some physical ailment.

It can also be done involuntarily, like when you see a beautiful baby and you compliment the parent. That could be construed as envy and the parent must then say something like "God bless her" right after it to ward off a possible malocchio, many believing that even though the compliment may have sounded sincere, its real motive was envy. That's why my cousin made me put a red ribbon over the threshold of my new home and told me to throw salt out of all the doors- to protect us from envious people. The person who gives the evil eye is not necessarily evil, but does indeed harbour jealousy.

One can also ward it off by wearing a horn (cornuto) around the neck
or making a gesture with your hand (mano cornuta-which you may know from heavy metal concerts). It is said that Italian men wear the cornuto to protect their genitalia from the malocchio, as the curse is said to harm sperm.

I can't say that I believe or disbelieve the malocchio and I only have one indirect experience with it...

When my mom was in her twenties, she got a great job with the government. Soon after, she began getting terrible headaches that aspirin would not relieve. She suffered with them intermittently for a few weeks when it dawned on my litte Sigi grandmother what the problem was.

"Someone gave you the maloik. (malocchio).""You're crazy. Who would do that?" my mom responded, not telling her she was crazy for believing in "stregheria" or Italian witchcraft, but, rather, for thinking someone would put the curse on her. (The irony that my grandmother was a devout Catholic whose church forbids belief in witchcraft is not lost on me.)
"Who knows? You have that nice job now- someone is jealous and put it on you."
"Nobody is jealous of me."
"I want you to go see the strega down the street."
The local strega, or Italian witch, was known to be capable of removing the horrible malocchio that afflicted unassuming Italians in the South Philadelphia neighborhood where they lived.
"I'm not going to the strega. Forget about it. The headaches will go away."
My grandmother never mentioned the malocchio again to my mother.

About a week after the strega conversation, my mom could not find her watch when she was getting ready for work. She asked my grandmother if she had seen it but she had not. My mom, a very organized and detail-oriented individual (you say anal, I say detail-oriented) who never misplaces anything, was disturbed by the missing watch. She looked everywhere for it and finally resigned herself to the fact that it must have slipped off to or from work. The stress only contributed to her constant headaches. (Knowing my mom like I do, I don't for a minute believe that she accepted that her watch was gone, and she probably continued to search for it for at least 24 hours more.)

A few days later my mom woke up and found her watch on her bureau. She put it on and asked my grandmother how it got there. My grandmother told her she didn't know. When she got home from work she grilled my grandmother about the watch.

"Are you sure you didn't borrow it and not put it back?"
"Bah, why do I need a watch? I don't go anywhere!"
"Did Daddy find it and put it in my room?"
"I don't think so. So... how are your headaches?"
"Funny, I didn't get one today."

My sigi grandmother smiled but did not say anything.
"Why are you smiling?"
"I took your watch to the strega since you wouldn't go yourself. She took off the malocchio."
"Mom!"
she yelled
"It worked, didn't it?" My mom didn't know what to say to that. It was more troubling to her that someone had put the malocchio on her then the fact that there was a Sicilian witch living on their street who claimed to be able to both curse and remove curses.

How did the strega allegedly remove the malocchio. Probably by inserting the tip of a needle into the eye of another needle while saying: “Occhi e contro e perticelli agli occhi, crepa la invida e schiattono gli occhi." That means “Eyes against eyes and the holes of the eyes, envy cracks and eyes burst.” She then dropped the needles on top of three drops of olive oil in water and sprinkled three pinches of salt into the water. The strega would then jab scissors into the water through the oil three times and cut the air above the bowl three times and POOF! The spell was FINITO!

...or the aspirin finally kicked in.

Wednesday, December 31

Broken-hearted


Today my heart breaks. My aunt and godmother, Carole, died suddenly, a victim of apparent complications caused by Lyme disease. My aunt was only 68 years old and was a vivacious, vibrant, beautiful woman who loved to cook, travel and she loved her 11 grandchildren. She was a great source of support and comfort to me during a difficult time in my life and I loved talking to her and making her laugh, because she found me very entertaining. I liked that.

Today my beloved aunt gave up the fight. She died in her sleep this morning. It was unexpected, as just yesterday she seemed ok, that is, no worse than usual. If my heart is broken because my aunt is gone, it aches for my cousins and uncle as well- they have lost their mother, their children a grandmother, my uncle his love. My uncle once told me he had only a precious few years with my aunt, and it hardly seems fair that it took them so long to find each other, only to be separated so soon. Perhaps I feel saddest for my cousin John, whose baby daughter will never know her grandmother as we all knew her before she became sick.

I am conflicted as to why this wonderful woman was made to suffer for so long when other people who should have to suffer, do not. I try not to dwell on this as it will surely drive me insane if I do.

I am comforted by only two things- that my dear Mom Mom Santa was in heaven welcoming my aunt this morning, and that now freed from the broken body that imprisoned her, she is once again a vibrant, vivacious woman who will dance the Mummer's Strut on New Year's Day.

Rest in peace Aunt Carole. I love you.


Below is the link to the post I wrote on her 68th birthday.

Happy Birthday Aunt

Tuesday, December 23

The Dreaded Christmas Eve Tradition

The following is my Christmas Eve post from last year. Nothing has changed except that now we go to my inlaws' house and for some reason, instead of serving fish, they serve cold cuts for dinner. Odd, but not much of a problem for me.


There are fewer rituals that my family performs that I dread more than Christmas Eve dinner. It should be re-named "Torture Claudia Night." No, it's not the Christmas carols that my husband and kids and I sing to far away family and friends in operatic voices over the phone- I like that part. It's not the anticipation of seeing the kids wake up and see what "Santa" brought them the next day. It's not even the exhaustion I feel every December 24th at about 1:00 in the morning, having wrapped all the gifts when the kids finally have fallen asleep. Nope. It's CHRISTMAS EVE DINNER.

What could be so dreadful about a Christmas Eve dinner? Well, my medagon friends, a typical Italian dinner on December 24th involves a long-standing and for me, unappealling traditional meal- SEAFOOD. It's the one night a year when I, myself, wear the title of "Medagon," given to me by my parents.


I don't eat seafood. Non mi piace. It never has appealed to me, with the exception of flounder. So, the meal to which I was subjected for every year of my life until I was 33 and moved far away enough from my family to not go back on Christmas Eve, just Christmas Day, is an array of "Seven Fish(es)." This does not have to be actual fish- any seafood will do. The offending fare can include (but is not limited to) the following:
-flounder or another kind of fish (in my family it was breaded flounder, the only kind I would eat, to make me feel included and loved)
-crabmeat
-shrimp
-mussels
-clams
-lobster
-calamari (I think this appeared on the table once or twice at my grandparents house where we would spend Christmas Eve until 1986 when they moved to Florida)
-tuna (in the marinara sauce)
and the one dish that my mom opted out of making and left it to my dad and grandmother: bacala (as in dried codfish, not "Bobby."). It gets soaked a long time before preparation to remove the heavy salt taste and is served with a red sauce. You'd have to rip out my tastebuds to get it to taste good to me.


The seafood was always served with linguini (I prefer capellini, but I took what I could get) with the tuna sauce and I would get a "medagon special," a dish of linguini with melted butter and cheese. Nope, I wouldn't even eat the sauce if it had fish in it.

Now some people ask why the number seven? It's debatable- the number of days to create the universe, some say, others say the number is 13- one for each apostle plus Jesus (keep me out of THOSE houses) and my mom's version- any odd number under seven. So when I got married, I made that number become ONE. Well, I started off with 3(odd number) fish the first few years of marriage thinking my Italian/Sicilian husband would expect such a meal, but after the second year while he was eating a crab cake and I was eating linguini with marinara sauce, he said "I don't really like seafood all that much, you don't have to make it." ARGHHHHHH.

The next few years we started a new tradition of flying in the face of tradition and, allegedly, Canon Law (this proved untrue- I could find nothing that says you cannot eat meat on Christmas Eve) and going out to an Italian restaurant on Christmas Eve and ordering anything but fish. For me, that means veal. On the way home from dinner we'd sing to anyone who would answer the phone while we drove, and then swear to them that we were not drunk and neither were the children. The kids sang in celebration of Christmas. I sang in celebration of not having to eat fish.

So, go ahead, take away my Italian membership card, but before you do that, you should know that this Italian-American does not drink wine, either. Good God, a 7 fish dinner with only wine to drink- what a terrible thought. blechhhh

Saturday, December 13

You Know You're Italian When...

Are you unsure of your Italian-ness? Have you been living among medagons so long that you think you may have lost your identity? Well here is a "simple" check list to prove that you are Italian.

You know you are Italian if, during your childhood, at least 30 of these things ocurred:


1.You called pasta "macaroni."

2.You spent your entire childhood thinking what you ate for lunch was pronounced "sangwich."

3.Your family dog understood Italian.

4.Every Sunday afternoon of your childhood was spent visiting your grandparents and extended family.

5.You've experienced the phenomena of 150 people fitting into 50 square feet of yard during a family cookout.

6.You were surprised to discover the FDA recommends you eat three meals a day, not seven.

7.You thought the pig each year and having salami, capacollo, pancetta and prosciutto hanging out to dry from your shed ceiling was absolutely normal.


8.You ate pasta for dinner at least three times a week, and every Sunday.

9.You grew up thinking no fruit or vegetable had a fixed price and that the price of everything was negotiable through haggling.

10.You were as tall as your grandmother by the age of seven.

11.You thought everyone's last name ended in a vowel.

12.You thought nylons were supposed to be worn rolled to the ankles.

13.Your Mom's main hobby is cleaning.

14.You were surprised to find out that wine was actually sold in stores.

15.You thought that everyone made their own bottled tomato sauce.


16.You never knew what to expect when you opened the margarine, after all you thought washing out and reusing margarine containers was normal.

17.You never ate meat on Christmas Eve or any Friday for that matter.

18.You ate your salad after the main course.

19.You thought Catholic was the only religion in the world.

20.Your were beaten at least once with a wooden spoon or broom.


21.You thought every meal had to be eaten with a hunk of bread in your left hand.

22.Your grandmother never threw anything away, you thought seeing washed plastic bags hanging on the clothes line was normal.

23. You dreaded taking out your lunch at school, you would pray that you didn't have melanzane again.


24.You can understand Italian but you can't speak it.

25.You have at least one relative who came over on the boat.

26.All of your uncles fought in a World War.

27.You have at least six male relatives named Tony, Frank, Joe or Louie.

28.You have relatives who aren't really your relatives.

29.You have relatives you don't speak to.

30.You drank wine before you were a teenager.

31.You relate on some level, admit it, to the Godfather and the Sopranos.

32.You grew up in a house with a yard that didn't have one patch of dirt that didn't have a flower or a vegetable growing out of it.

33.Your grandparent's furniture was as comfortable as sitting on plastic. Wait!!!! You were sitting on plastic!



34.You thought that talking loud was normal.

35.You thought sugared almonds and the Tarantella were common at all weddings.


36.You thought everyone got pinched on the cheeks and money stuffed in their pockets by their relatives.

37.Your mother is overly protective of the males in the family no matter what their age.

38.There was a crucifix in every room of the house, including the cellar.

39.Boys didn't do house work because it was women's work.

40.You couldn't date a boy without getting approval from your father. (Oh, and he had to be Italian)

41. February 14th is VALENTIMES Day

42.Your Christmas tree was silver.


43.You have at least one irrational fear or phobia that can be attributed to your mother.


44.Every condition, ailment, misfortune, memory loss and was attributed to the fact that you didn't eat something.

Wednesday, December 3

MMMMMMM MEATBALLS!



Meatballs. I love them- well, not just any meatballs, there are only a few people's whose I will eat. Part of that is the skeeve factor- I won't eat them in restaurants, houses where cats are allowed to roam the counters, or people who have questionable hygiene- nose pickers, ear pickers, people who rinse instead of use soap after using the bathroom. I'm not exactly a germophobe but since you make meatballs with your bare hands, you don't want to worry about the cleanliness of the chef. And I really hate picking hair out of my food. You get the idea.

I don't really have a preference as to the degree of softness of the meatballs, although my husband prefers them soft. Mine tend to be a little hard but I make them a little mushy for him.

My meatballs are delicious. I say that completely immodestly because even my fussy children stand next to me while I am cooking them to eat them right out of the pan, blowing on them so they don't burn their mouths. Plus my mom said they are good and to me, that's the Good Housekeeping Seal of Approval.

So here is my recipe for meatballs.

One pound of ground triple meat mix (also called meatloaf mix- veal, pork and beef)
two eggs
two cups of cubed bread (bakery section) OR stale Italian bread, coarsely ground in blender (not too fine)
1/2 to 3/4 cup of Locatelli cheese (if you don't have that, get a pecorino/romano blend, I'm serious, the secret is in the cheese) Do not, I repeat, DO NOT BUY THE CHEESE IN THE GREEN CAN- THIS IS NOT ACTUAL CHEESE! I highly recommend you try some Locatelli if you have not tasted it- you will never go back. You can order it here right from Philly. All you have to do is grate it.
2 cloves of fresh chopped garlic OR if you are desperate and cannot get fresh garlic, use about 6 teaspoons of garlic powder (NOT garlic salt)
2 tablespoons of dried parsley
1 teaspoon of dried basil
1/2 half to 3/4 cups of water to moisten bread
1/4 tsp. of salt
1/4 tsp of black pepper
olive oil for frying




Add the water to the cubed bread, slowly, and mix it together until the bread sticks into a ball. If you use too much water the bread won't form a ball. (If you are using bread crumbs instead of cubed bread, skip this step until later)
Mix the meat with the eggs. You have to use your hands, not utensils, it's just easier.
Add the garlic, parsley, cheese, basil, salt and pepper
Mix the meat well to blend everything.
Mix the wet bread mixture with the meat thoroughly.
**If you are using bread crumbs, mix them into the meat mixture and add the water to the mixture slowly. The meat should stick together. If it falls apart, you used too much water- add more bread)


Roll the meat into balls.
Heat the olive oil until fragrant. **If the oil is not hot when you place the meatballs in the pan, the bottom of the meatballs will stick to the pan and come apart. I learned this the hard way!

Place meatballs in frying pan, don't crowd them, they need their space, and cook until the meatball is brown and the outside is a little crispy. You'll need to repeat this step two or three times unless you want to use multiple frying pans.



Again, give "Lucatell" a try. If you can't find it in your grocery store (depends on where you live- I spent 6 years without it when I lived in Lancaster, PA!!) You can order a big wedge from DiBruno Brothers, located in Philly's Italian Market and have it shipped to you. You will not be sorry!

Postscript: Avid reader Joe Gabagool wrote me to say that under no circumstances should garlic powder be used in place of fresh garlic and that anyone who would use garlic powder has no business making meatballs. I disagree with this- if you're stuck, as I have been with ground meat in a bowl and oil heating when I realized the garlic was shriveled, garlic powder can substitute fine. And to prove it, when Joe Gabagool comes ovah for dinner in a few weeks, I'll make him try both kinds of meatballs. I'll even serve them in a cup.