If ever on the Lower East Side of Manhattan, do yourself a favor and stop at Regina’s Grocery on Orchard Street.
The street feels like a block party with small eateries with outdoor set-ups, art galleries, shops, wall murals. Low rise brick buildings and iconic fire escapes keep you clicking the camera button — every angle is picture perfect.
We were en route to a pizza place when Tom nodded to the right:
— And here’s a meatballs place by the way.
He knows all my cravings. Yes, I love my meatballs. This affections stems from Soviet kotlets of my childhood, as I recently learned, are nothing but a version of French rissoles sans fancy name. Just like Southern Italians who — vs Northern Italians — cooked with beef less superior and learned to doctor it up with seasonings, long braises, and grinding, Soviet women cooking on empty hooked their families on ground meat wonders.
My Italian husband opened a pizza joint door with solid determination. Om my part, I used our Russian guest’s voice as an excuse:
— Let’s go check out that meatball place.
Why am I here if not to please our guests? And we went to the store next door.
A classic NY hole-in-the-wall that is Regina’s Grocery draws you in the moment you open the door. Family pictures, Italian artifacts, Pinocchio included — please don’t rush my order, I need time to look around. The place is so thoughtfully arranged and decorated.
Friendly looking in your eyes conversation with a man at the counter probably three times me junior. He’s is actually tuning in without a smirk or condescension.
We ordered four meatballs. That’s what we were there for. And they were everything you’d expect from true polpette alla Napoletana: light, crusty, juicy. Classic size of about one and a half inch in diameter they were perfectly browned and simmered in a simple delicious sweet, lightly chunky, not overly acidic tomato sauce.
— My aunt made them last night, — said our friend on the other side of the counter.
Lena and I cleaned up the meatballs. When Tom pulled up with his pizza, we used the crust to wipe the sauce off the container.
At home, I looked up Regina’s Grocery on the media. No meatballs pictured. But those sandwiches! I’m not crying, you’re crying.