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Rachel Roddy’s recipe for chicken meatballs in white wine sauce - MW

Polpetta's words are sweet. I love the way the three syllables are presented in a lively way, feeling like two pops and satisfying sighs when they come out of your mouth. The word comes from the Latin Polpa, which translates to meat, meat or pulp (as in eggplant or peach), followed by the suffix etta, designating something small. The process of making them equally sweet, thanks to the forgiveness or forgiveness rate, mash between your fingers and roll between your palms, and rest is extremely important. And then the boiling of the polpette gives a red sauce.

The word polpetta can also be difficult, like nails, three of which come from nail guns or from scratching a blackboard. Making them possible is very different from softness and weakness: the mythical mythological image of the polpette, massacrarlo (to reduce someone to pulp, to massacre him) is much more appropriate than any definition. What a cuisine on minced meat seasoned and rolled with care. Simmering can be a screaming spit.

The first soft polpette is obviously much better suited to a column of press formulas, especially if they come with an appropriate memory and remind of a deceased parent, ideally a grandmother. Italians are always reluctant to share the exact ratio or cooking time. Despite this, I made the app before, with movement and lack of important details, several times - for Roman meatballs, boiled meatballs and winter meatballs - each authentic. , if a little tired and disrespectful. The kitchen is the reflection of a chef: it can be soft and hard and everything else, most not as neat as a pole.

The day I made these polpettes was not a good day, and my cooking was an example of me: tired, irritable and difficult. It is true that cooking can be cathartic; that a lot of bad moods have been neutralized by the hash, grumpy in the boiling world with a pot of soup (although perhaps not as much as I believe you). But not that day - and I'm happy with it. I dipped a slice of skinless bread in milk for 10 minutes, squeezed the excess milk and crumbled the bread into a bowl. I chopped 300g of chicken as if I liked it and I used my hands, I pressed it with 150g of ricotta, 40g of crushed parmesan, lemon zest, salt and pepper. I asked Vincenzo to shape the mix into a ping-pong-sized polpette, complaining about the way he did it, then I flattened them out into UFOs.

While they rested for 30 minutes, I wiped the surface and thought of the day when another culinary writer told me that the secret ingredients in all of his food were love and calm.

Forget love and calm: the choice here is rosso or bianco, red or white - that is to say in tomato or brown sauce, then add the white wine. I didn't bother to make the sauce, so I heated a little olive oil in a non-stick pan, added some polpette and browned everything.

The great thing about these polpettes is that the ricotta and milk make sure they are soft even in the worst hands. I took a bottle out of the fridge and poured 200ml of white wine (an alternative to sweet vegetable juice), which meant the pan was hissing like an angry cat, then I let the pan simmer and Spit for 20 minutes, turn half a turn, until they cook and the liquid just drops a little thick sauce. While the polpette was cooked, I steamed rice, prepared an average winter salad and washed it - frustrating.

Hard as I feel it and cooked, the chicken, the ricotta and the lemon polpette are soft and, ultimately, resistant. Even in the most uncomfortable part of the hand, the three components, like two snaps and a satisfying sigh, combine wonderfully. The chicken and the ricotta provide a plump and fluffy polpette, the lemon zest which is bright and lively ... quite uncomfortable when you feel distant.

Chicken, ricotta and lemon polpette

Prep 10 min
Rest and soak 40 min
Cook 30 min
Serves 4

40g white bread, crusted (weight without crusts)
60ml milk
300g chicken breast, minced
150g ricotta
Zest of 1 unwaxed lemon
Salt and black pepper
Olive oil
200ml white wine or light vegetable stock

1 tbsp chopped parsley

Soak the bread in milk for 10 minutes, then extract the excess milk and roll the soaked bread in the bowl.

Add the ground chicken, ricotta, lemon zest, salt and pepper to the bowl and use your hands, mixing and squeezing together.

Shape the tables into a polpette the size of a table tennis, flatten them a little and let sit for 30 minutes.

In a non-stick pan, heat a little olive oil. Add the polpette and brown them on both sides. Add wine or wine and simmer for 20 minutes, turning half a piece of polpette, until cooked and only a little thick sauce left. Sprinkle with parsley and serve. Serve with rice, green vegetables, mashed potatoes or a leaf salad.


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