Tuna Meatball Sub — The One He Drove Eight Hours For

The date. Ryan drove four hours from Camp Lejeune. He arrived at 6 PM, wearing a button-down shirt that was clearly new and boots that were clearly polished and an expression that was clearly nervous, which I found reassuring because I was so nervous I'd changed outfits three times and Mom had finally said, 'Rachel, wear the blue one and stop or we'll be here until midnight.' He came to the house first because I wanted him to meet my parents before we left, which is either old-fashioned or smart or both. Dad opened the door. Ryan said, 'Sir, it's nice to meet you. Corporal Ryan Abernathy, USMC.' And he shook Dad's hand. Dad's face. Oh, Dad's face. He looked at this twenty-one-year-old Marine standing on his porch in a pressed shirt with a firm handshake and 'sir' on his lips and something crossed his face — recognition, maybe. Of himself. Of who he was thirty years ago, standing on someone else's porch, calling someone else's father 'sir.' 'You a Marine,' Dad said. Not a question. 'Yes, sir. Three years. Camp Lejeune.' 'I was Navy. Twenty-two years.' 'I know, sir. Rachel told me. Thank you for your service.' Dad shook his hand again. Longer this time. 'Take care of her,' he said. On the first date. TAKE CARE OF HER on the FIRST DATE. My father has zero chill. Mom came out, assessed Ryan the way she assesses produce at the farmers' market (thoroughly, without mercy), and said, 'Are you hungry? There's food.' Ryan said, 'No, ma'am, we're going to dinner, but thank you.' Mom said, 'Good answer.' We went to a seafood restaurant on the waterfront. Nothing fancy — fried clam strips and fish and chips and coleslaw and hush puppies. We talked and ate and he reached across the table to wipe tartar sauce off my chin and I wanted to die of embarrassment and also never stop being touched by this person. He told me about Torres — his best friend from boot camp, another Marine, the guy who talked him through the worst moments of training. He told me about wanting to make Sergeant someday. He told me about Ohio and the smell of cut grass and his mother's pot roast (HIS MOTHER MAKES POT ROAST, Donna would approve). I told him about the writing. About food writing. About the journalism piece. About standing in Mom's kitchen and wanting to tell the story of military families through what they eat. He listened with his whole body — leaning forward, elbows on the table, eyes on mine. 'That's important,' he said. Not 'that's cool' or 'that's interesting.' Important. He said the thing I write about is important. He drove me home at 10 PM. He walked me to the door. He did not kiss me. He said, 'I had a really great time, Rachel.' I said, 'Me too.' He said, 'Can I come back next weekend?' I said yes. He drove four hours home. Eight hours of driving for a four-hour date. This man drove eight hours to eat fried clams with me. I sat on my bed and called Keisha. 'I think I'm in trouble,' I said. 'The good kind?' 'The best kind. The worst kind. Both.' Both.

That waterfront dinner — fried clam strips, fish and chips, tartar sauce on my chin — became the meal I measure every other meal against. Not because the food was extraordinary, but because of who was sitting across from me, leaning forward with his elbows on the table like what I had to say was the most important thing in the room. I’ve been chasing that feeling in my kitchen ever since, and these crispy tuna meatball subs get me close: golden and crunchy on the outside, warm and tender on the inside, the kind of handheld seafood dinner you eat with someone you’re falling for while pretending you’re not falling at all.

Tuna Meatball Sub

Prep Time: 20 minutes | Cook Time: 15 minutes | Total Time: 35 minutes | Servings: 4

Ingredients

• 2 (5-ounce) cans solid white albacore tuna, drained well
• 1/3 cup panko breadcrumbs
• 1/4 cup finely diced celery
• 2 tablespoons finely diced red onion
• 1 large egg, lightly beaten
• 2 tablespoons mayonnaise
• 1 tablespoon Dijon mustard
• 1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
• 1/2 teaspoon garlic powder
• 1/2 teaspoon Old Bay seasoning
• 1/4 teaspoon salt
• 1/4 teaspoon black pepper
• 1/2 cup all-purpose flour
• 2 large eggs, beaten (for dredging)
• 1 cup panko breadcrumbs (for coating)
• Vegetable oil, for frying (about 1 inch in a skillet)
• 4 sub rolls, split and lightly toasted
• 1/2 cup marinara sauce, warmed
• 4 slices provolone cheese
• Shredded lettuce, for serving
• Tartar sauce, for serving

Instructions

1. Make the tuna mixture. In a large bowl, flake the drained tuna with a fork. Add 1/3 cup panko, celery, red onion, 1 beaten egg, mayonnaise, Dijon mustard, lemon juice, garlic powder, Old Bay, salt, and pepper. Mix until well combined. Refrigerate for 10 minutes to firm up.
2. Form the meatballs. Using about 2 tablespoons of mixture per meatball, roll into balls. You should get about 16 meatballs.
3. Set up the dredging station. Place the flour in one shallow dish, the 2 beaten eggs in a second dish, and the 1 cup panko in a third dish. Roll each meatball in flour, then egg, then panko, pressing gently to adhere.
4. Fry the meatballs. Heat about 1 inch of vegetable oil in a deep skillet or Dutch oven over medium-high heat to 350°F. Fry meatballs in batches, turning occasionally, until golden brown and crispy on all sides, about 3 to 4 minutes per batch. Transfer to a paper towel-lined plate.
5. Assemble the subs. Spoon warmed marinara sauce into each toasted sub roll. Arrange 4 tuna meatballs in each roll. Top with a slice of provolone cheese. If desired, place under the broiler for 1 to 2 minutes until the cheese melts.
6. Serve. Top with shredded lettuce and a drizzle of tartar sauce. Serve immediately while the meatballs are still hot and crunchy.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 520 | Protein: 32g | Fat: 22g | Carbs: 48g | Fiber: 2g | Sodium: 890mg