This week, we’re salivating for savory spheres. We also welcome Guest Gulletier Morgan Yezzi to the table.

Having a Ball
By Kitty
Nick and I went to The Slow Rhode on Saturday night. It's become a staple since their burger and hot chicken sandwich are consistent and we like to do a split situation. They frequently rotate their menu, and when I saw that meatballs were one of the small plates on offer, I knew our weekend plans had been solidified. The atmosphere is cozy, and we usually sit at the bar for a front-row seat to the craft cocktail show. This time, we watched in awe as a farm-fresh egg was cracked into a stainless steel shaker to create a pisco sour. Cheers! Moments later, two meatballs and fresh slices of olive-oily focaccia were served up in a bright red marinara sauce with tiny dollops of ricotta cheese and plenty of fresh torn basil. They had the perfect texture and spice that I couldn't quite put my finger on. Was it black pepper, or was it a dash of Worcestershire? Who cares. Lady Delish1 danced across my taste buds while I shimmied on my bar stool to the musical stylings of Frank Ocean. As I enjoyed the rest of my meal I swayed to Estelle (throwback!), Calvin Harris, and Childish Gambino. The good vibes were flowing and abundant. I noticed the diner beside me bopping along over his plate of risotto and felt compelled to connect. I rarely talk to strangers, but the whole experience was really doing a number on me. I turned to him and said, "The music is SO good, isn't it?" He replied, "We come every Saturday just for the playlist.” If I see him next weekend, I’ll let him know I came back for the balls.
The Verdict: Shoulder-shakin’ win.
Name Drops: The Slow Rhode
Ball Shame
By Greg
I’m grappling with the fact that I’m being recognized at the Union Market prepared foods counter. I've previously designated this grocery store as a "specific item" location because, honey, it’s pricey, and it ain’t the place to do your full shop. The prepared foods counter was once a novelty to me, a mere window to pass by and imagine the lives of people who swanned in and ordered items a la carte from a gorgeous Thanksgiving-like spread. A quarter pound of miso-crusted organic tofu with maple, turmeric, and sesame here, an adobo-rubbed grilled chicken breast there. Last week, something broke in me after I peeped a glistening pile of turkey meatballs bathing in a fancy porcelain tureen. Balls had been on my mind lately and I needed them now more than ever. Today would be the day I would muster up the courage to be a prepared food person. “Are these cooked?” I chortled. The tattooed deli man looked at me and slow-blinked. “Yup,” he uttered, gesturing to the sign on the counter that read, “All foods are fully pre-cooked in our kitchens.” I had been revealed as a specific item shopper. I blushed, bought two meatballs and two meatballs alone, walked to the park, and scarfed them down. They were heaven. Juicy, peppery and herbaceous. Perfect balls. When a dish goes down that easy, I can (disgracefully) marathon eat it for days. Thus initiated my week-long stint of slithering into the market like a snake in the grass, snatching balls from their nest and hoping to slip out entirely unnoticed. After day two, Mr. Tats would feel me approaching and, without looking up, say, “Two turkey meatballs to go?” Fuck. Being recognized anywhere comes with its own form of shame, but there’s something about the desperation in my voice after ordering turkey meatballs for the fifth time in a row that hits different.
The verdict: A begging-for-more win.
Name Drop: Union Market
Buckle up for a trip to Ball-ti-more with our Guest Gulletier Morgan Yezzi.
(Meat) Free Ballin’
Act I
Early this year, I spent the day roving around Baltimore as my partner Tyler and his lifelong friend Leah made plans to go to The American Visionary Art Museum (AVAM) near the Federal Hill neighborhood. Tyler and Leah are both DMV natives and I am always bemoaning them for not showing me around more, so this day was very important to me. One shining highlight of third wheeling is that you get the backseat to yourself along with coffee, a cute outfit, and a few songs in the queue. Leah grew up in Catonsville, Maryland, so we stopped by Leah’s Oma's house on our way to the museum to say hi. Oma is a charismatic emigrant from Germany who plays an active role in Leah’s life and her local heritage club. She came downstairs in a huff with her hair pinned up in a few metal rollers. We were immediately thrown into her world. Liver was defrosting on the kitchen counter.
Since this was my first time in Oma’s house, our mutual passion for food was set aflame as she whisked me around and showed me bookshelves stuffed full of decades of binders of her recipes from spatezel to rouladen to “Winnie the Pooh” stuffed with fluff and roasted on a spit. We were cutting it close to make it to the museum by closing, so we jetted off, but not before Oma printed out a copy of a recipe for baked chicken breast stuffed with ricotta and spinach for 48 people, just in case I found myself cooking for a crowd! Oma is an example of what I love to see in the world—a goddess of heritage cooking and recipes curated and collected for the good of her family and community.
Act II
The AVAM gift shop is a treasure trove that is a curio shop, art gallery, estate sale, and flea all in one. We shut it down. The next stop, my favorite stop, was for food. Leah is a meticulous planner. She will always have several options for food and entertainment at the ready, which is appropriate because Tyler has a notorious appetite; when hunger strikes, feed him (he is also vegetarian). I make sure to always have a snack in case disaster strikes. This trip posed a particular hurdle because Leah was only eating soft foods, which put her in the position to find a vegetarian-friendly restaurant with a large variety of pureed items on the menu. I bustled into the back seat for our ride around the Inner Harbor as we headed East toward Hampden.
Leah's stringent criteria yielded One World Cafe, and our spirits soared as we approached. The restaurant is situated on a flatiron-style corner with a front entrance that instructed us to use the side entrance. As we entered, we were met with a warm hello from behind the bar and the universal smell of a co-op paired with a public park in June if it hasn't rained for a while. Our server was kind and considerate—think Mister Rogers plus Padma Lakshmi morphed into the host of Big Comfy Couch. She told us the universe's secrets while walking us through the menu. When Tyler and Leah ordered the vegetarian meatballs, her eyes lit up. I ordered vegetable lasagna. “I'll put that in for you,” Padma Lakshmi-Rogers said. I sipped my steaming chai, knowing we had made a solid choice.
Act III
We were in awe when our food arrived. A family-of-four-sized lasagna, a towering sandwich, salads, breads, dal, and a vat of pureed mashed potatoes for Leah that we were assured the staff takes out (home, not for a walk) every night. And then the meatballs, for that of which there were only three. Imagine a meatball. Brown, gurgly, textured - they're not usually pretty - but these were. Pretty and polite. Never in all of my life have I met a meatball that told me to pass the parm. But these balls did. They Said, “Cut us into fourths, just like you like,” and then goaded me, “Drag us through the lasagna sauce!” and “Now her mashed potatoes!” They just kept begging to be eaten in the most luscious manner. If I let them, they would have gagged me from the inside and dominated more than just my palate. Have you ever met a meatball like that?
I excused myself and approached Ms. Lakshmi-Rogers to ask if it would be possible to talk to the chef or if she could share the recipe for these otherworldly meatballs. She smirked. Clearly, I was not the first soul who had come pleading. “The chef is not here tonight, but I know he uses tofu and walnuts,” she said. She then proceeded with her tasks and eventually handed us the check. As we packed up, I hung on to anything that could connect me to the experience of meeting these meatballs. My tea bag tag, two back issues of Vegetarian Digest, the napkin, my plate. I even ordered an espresso and a vegan coconut cupcake to prolong the One World euphoria as we rode off to the Delaware beaches.
That is what I have to go on until I return: tofu and walnuts.
The Verdict: Good food ain’t fast, fast food ain't good.
Name Drop: One World Cafe
A special thank you to this week’s illustrator, Meredith Mitoke3! See her work here.
If you’d like to be a Guest Gulletier or illustrator, drop us a note at putitinthegullet@gmail.com