The Meatball Shop
Do you think The Meatball Shop's waitresses get tired of saying "balls"? we asked each other. Do you think they're assessed on their ability to say "balls" before they're hired? Because the waitstaff at this extremely popular Lower East Side restaurant says "balls" a lot, straightfaced and with plenty of earnest eye contact. They even say "naked balls," a reference to balls served in a bowl with hefty spoonfuls of sauce and a skinny strip of focaccia.
The balls in questions are five types of meatballs --- chicken, vegetable, spicy pork, beef, and the daily special --- served in a variety of ways. We wanted to try as many as possible, so we ordered two adorable sliders, a vegetable so aptly formed we could still see the nuts and lentils, topped with a dollop of pesto, and a chicken topped with piquant tomato sauce. For the hero, we went with that day's special, a bolognese beef on whole wheat with gooey mozzarella.
Prudish customers take note: you don't have to say "balls" at all; instead, you write down your own order on a plastic menu using a sharpie. A good thing too, since it's hard to taste the food when you're giggling like a seventh grader. Or maybe that's just us. At any rate, these were some balls. Firm all the way through, appropriately spiced (pepper for the bolognese, salt for the chicken). We'll be back, even if we have to elbow our way to make space at the communal table and shout over the familiar indie playlist. What can we say? We had a ball.
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The balls in questions are five types of meatballs --- chicken, vegetable, spicy pork, beef, and the daily special --- served in a variety of ways. We wanted to try as many as possible, so we ordered two adorable sliders, a vegetable so aptly formed we could still see the nuts and lentils, topped with a dollop of pesto, and a chicken topped with piquant tomato sauce. For the hero, we went with that day's special, a bolognese beef on whole wheat with gooey mozzarella.
Prudish customers take note: you don't have to say "balls" at all; instead, you write down your own order on a plastic menu using a sharpie. A good thing too, since it's hard to taste the food when you're giggling like a seventh grader. Or maybe that's just us. At any rate, these were some balls. Firm all the way through, appropriately spiced (pepper for the bolognese, salt for the chicken). We'll be back, even if we have to elbow our way to make space at the communal table and shout over the familiar indie playlist. What can we say? We had a ball.
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