I was quite an amenable child where food was concerned. Aside from a mild hatred of onions in my enchiladas, the only two things I simply couldn't stomach were meatballs and lamb. On meatball night, all my mother asked was that I eat just one, but doing so was pure, unadulterated hell. Even washing the dishes upon which those brown nuggets had been served made me gag. Literally. I'm not really prepared to believe the obvious scatalogical reference was responsible, but what else could it have been? Whatever it was, I've finally outgrown it. I think it was the incredible veal-and-ricotta meatballs at the old Craftbar that did it (still on the menu at the new location). The real shocker is that I now enjoy making them myself with the sweet, juicy pastured lamb we get from our friends at River Brook farm.
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