Cocktail Meatballs

April. The dogwoods are blooming and Nashville is doing that thing where it pretends to be a postcard for three weeks before the humidity arrives and ruins everything. I love April in Nashville. I love it the way you love something you grew up inside of — not because it's the best, but because it's yours.

Kevin's wedding is next Saturday. NEXT SATURDAY. I bought a dress — navy blue, knee-length, from a consignment shop in Green Hills that I walked into on my lunch break because the mannequin in the window looked like someone I wanted to be. The dress cost $45, which is $45 I didn't budget for, but my brother is getting married once (please God, once) and I'm going to look like I belong at the event. Mama is wearing a lavender dress she's had since 2009 and insists still fits. It does not still fit. Amber is driving up from Chattanooga with Darren. The whole family, together, for something good. We don't get enough "something goods." We get plenty of "something survivables." A wedding is a luxury.

Terrence is not coming to the wedding. I didn't invite him. Not because I don't want him there — I do — but because this is a Mitchell family event and Terrence is not a Mitchell yet. He's a Terrence. He's my Terrence, and I love him (I haven't said that out loud yet, but I love him), but the wedding is for blood. The wedding is for the people who survived Danny leaving and Lorraine scraping by and Antioch and Kroger and all of it. The wedding is for us. Terrence understood. He said, "Go be with your family. I'll be here when you get back." I'll be here. The three most important words a man can say to a woman who has been left. Not "I love you" — those words are easy and cheap and Marcus said them plenty. "I'll be here." That's the one. That's the whole thing.

At work, Dr. Whitfield complimented my patient notes. Unsolicited. He walked past my station, looked at my chart, and said, "Good documentation, Mitchell." That's it. Three words. But from Dr. Whitfield, three words is a standing ovation. I nodded and said thank you and didn't smile until he was gone because showing emotion to Dr. Whitfield is like showing blood to a shark — educational but inadvisable.

I made a test batch of deviled eggs for the wedding reception — Kevin asked me to bring food, because of course he did. "Sarah, can you make some stuff?" SOME STUFF. I am making deviled eggs (three dozen, two styles: classic and spicy), a seven-layer dip, and a sheet cake that Mama and I are splitting (she's doing the frosting, I'm doing the cake, we are NOT discussing who does what better because that argument has no winners). I practiced the deviled eggs tonight. Chloe ate four. Jayden ate the filling out of three and left the whites on the counter like tiny abandoned canoes. Terrence wasn't here but I saved him four in a container labeled "DO NOT EAT — TERRENCE" which Jayden interpreted as a challenge.

I said I’m bringing “some stuff” to Kevin’s reception — and while the deviled eggs are getting the headline, the cocktail meatballs are the workhorse. They’re the thing people eat twelve of without noticing, the thing that disappears before the fancy stuff, the thing Jayden will absolutely eat six of and then claim he’s not hungry for dinner. I tested these the same night as the eggs, and Chloe declared them “the best thing you’ve ever made,” which she says about everything I make in the last thirty minutes of being hungry, but still. I’ll take it. Kevin’s wedding deserves a table full of something good.

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 30 min | Total Time: 45 min | Servings: 10 (about 30 meatballs)

Ingredients

1 lb ground beef (80/20)
1/3 cup plain breadcrumbs
1 egg, lightly beaten
3 tablespoons whole milk
1/2 teaspoon garlic powder
1/2 teaspoon onion powder
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
For the sauce:
1 cup chili sauce (such as Heinz)
3/4 cup grape jelly
1 tablespoon Worcestershire sauce
1 teaspoon Dijon mustard

Instructions

Make the meatball mixture. In a large bowl, combine ground beef, breadcrumbs, egg, milk, garlic powder, onion powder, salt, and pepper. Mix gently with your hands until just combined — do not overwork or the meatballs will be dense.
Form the meatballs. Roll the mixture into 1-inch balls (about 1 tablespoon each) and place on a parchment-lined baking sheet. You should get approximately 30 meatballs.
Brown the meatballs. Heat a large skillet or Dutch oven over medium-high heat with a thin film of oil. Working in batches, brown the meatballs on two sides, about 2 minutes per side. They don’t need to be cooked through — just browned. Transfer to a plate.
Make the sauce. In the same pan, reduce heat to medium-low and whisk together chili sauce, grape jelly, Worcestershire, and Dijon mustard. Stir until the jelly melts and the sauce is smooth, about 3 minutes.
Simmer together. Return the meatballs to the pan, turning to coat in the sauce. Cover and simmer on low heat for 20 minutes, stirring gently every 5 minutes, until meatballs are cooked through and the sauce has thickened to a glaze.
Serve. Transfer to a serving dish or slow cooker set to warm. Provide toothpicks for serving. These hold well on warm for up to 2 hours — ideal for a reception table.

Nutrition (per serving)

Cocktail Meatballs — The Other Thing I’m Bringing to Kevin’s Wedding