Dilemma of A Lifetime: Meatball vs. Meatsauce

While on this particular bus ride
I put into words a lifelong struggle
between eating spaghetti with meatballs
or linguine with meatsauce.

-excerpt from Collection of A Single Poem by R. Miao

An important duality exists on a plate of spaghetti with meatballs.

Before we continue, let us first clarify: in this brief thesis, we focus on the subject of spaghetti WITH meatballs (spaghetti wherein the meatballs are incorporated into the sauce and flavor profile as best as they could), rather than spaghetti AND meatballs (several meatballs placed on top of a plate of spaghetti).

The majority of this piece will be dealing with spaghetti with meatballs (hereinafter “spaghetti meatballs”), please skip near the end for linguine.

Okay.

An important duality exists on a plate of spaghetti meatballs: the strength of al dente pasta, and the soft, flavorful interior of the meatballs that is distinct from the already flavorful marinara, all experienced in one bite.

This duality can only be preserved by carefully combining one meatball with a forkful of spaghetti per bite.

Herein lies the problem, and the primary reason I prefer meatsauce pasta over meatball pasta. The problem is:

The meatballs tend to run out before the noodle does

Once the meatballs run out with any quantity of noodles remaining, the life of a dish drains away (and with it, our own happiness). The vivid redness of the tomato sauce becomes the bloody murder scene of a leftover pasta. The noodles, now naked with most of the sauce consumed and no meatballs to cover it, is palpably lukewarm. We stare at the pasta, knowing in our heart that we must finish this dish, that our conscience would not allow it to be disposed, and that our fridge would condescend us with pity should we store within it soggy spaghetti noodles. It is with this downtrodden weariness that we must lift our forks once again, and spin the fork carefully so that the now-wet-and-unsubstantiated noodles would not splatter back into the plate and douse us with what little sauce is left. It is at this moment that we might wonder: what would it be like to have another meatball?

Indeed, there are several other scenarios in which a plate of spaghetti meatballs could be enjoyed. Yet they all have problems of their own.

Why don’t we list them here:

Scenario 1: The Duality
One meatball to one forkful of spaghetti. This is our duality scenario, which calls for maintaining a ratio of 1:1 for a meatball per forkful of spaghetti. This can be achieved in three ways:

1. If the number of meatballs are limited, then one can spin the fork many times to swirl a very large amount of spaghetti, cork it with a meatball, then shove the whole mess into one’s mouth. This is problematic because the vast amount of spaghetti will undoubtedly impede the enjoyment of the singular meatball.

2. When cooking, simply calculate the amount of spaghetti in unit of forkfuls, then add the corresponding number of meatballs into the pot. This can mean dozens and dozens of meatballs per serving. This is problematic due not only to health risks, but the sense of bountifulness. It could make each meatball feel less precious, thus taste less special. A classic case which I dub “Too Many Meatballs”.

   • (variations of method 2 include eating a handful of meatballs with the normal amount of pasta, but instead of eating one whole meatball per forkful and inevitably running out of meatballs with pasta remaining, one can bite off a chunk of a meatball per forkful of spaghetti. But one should minimize calculations and measurements during meal, lest one forego the mindless, gluttonous pleasure of eating pasta. After all, while one can be mindless when using the mind, one cannot be mindless when being mindful.)

3. Alternatively, we can first set the number of meatballs we wish to consume (e.g. 10), and then decide the corresponding number of pasta sticks (~2 per forkful, so 20 pasta sticks). This is problematic because, when eating, one would need to carefully compose each forkful of spaghetti, making sure the amount of noodles on the fork is the preset, unified number. This would be stressful (and mindful), and completely contradicts the carefree, heartwarming nature of eating saucy pasta.

Scenario 2: The Eyes Wide Shut
To experience the aforementioned carefree, heartwarming nature of the pasta, one disregards the possibly-golden ratio of 1:1, and simply sprinkles a handful of meatballs into the pot. When eating, one would eat a meatball when one feels like doing so, then consume consecutive forkfuls of just spaghetti, then top them off with a meatball again, or eat a few meatballs in a row and save one for the last bite.

Indeed, a common signature of this scenario is leaving one meatball until the very last bite, with each preceding bite building up to some form of expectation, then finish everything off with that one, last, heavenly bite of meatball. This signature move is actually not advised because the last meatball would typically become lukewarm during the meal, foiling expectation. A more sensible approach to this method is simply eating to one’s heart’s content, without a care for what’s on the fork.

This is indeed a sensible scenario. However, this is veering dangerously into the spaghetti AND meatball territory, with the meatballs not incorporated into the dish but rather as a form of side-gratification, with the noodles themselves being the main dish.

Scenario 3: Other Philosophies
Other spins on spaghetti meatballs incorporate more philosophical implications with slightly decreased substance, following a guiding principle of tea ceremonies.

1. One Meatball on Top of Pasta. A plate of spaghetti is served with a singular meatball on top. The recipient would need to decide when to eat the meatball.

   • One could eat the meatball immediately, and be stuck with eating only spaghetti for the rest of the meal; akin to experiencing love early in life, but living the rest in dreary discontent.
   • One could eat the meatball at the end, and while rewarded with the soft and flavorful texture after dozens of forkfuls of tomatoes-on-wheat, one would indeed be subject to a only lukewarm reward; a possible truism to a life of successful but difficult financial accumulation, and a body too aged to revel upon retirement.
   • One could nibble away at the meatball throughout the meal, and while evenly rewarded, one could not help but wonder what it would feel like to enjoy a lump sum of pleasantness, all in one bite.

2. One BIG Meatball on Top of Pasta. A plate of spaghetti is served with a singular, gigantic meatball on top. The recipient could chomp away at the meatball throughout the entire meal.

   • Those born with a golden spoon could tire of luxury easily.

3. No meatball. A recipient would be served a plate of spaghetti drenched in marinara, with a glaring spot missing in the air on top. The recipient had been told that the dish would be spaghetti meatballs. But when the dish came, there are no meatballs.

   • No meatballs.
   • Just as income tax for the extremely wealthy are habitually opposed by those with significantly lower income, as one could dream themselves to be the target of such exorbitant taxes one day, one could always defend this meatball-less dish as an institution, in the hopes of receiving a meatball in the end, but to no avail.

And now, we move on.

An important lack of duality in a plate of meatsauce linguine

You see, for this section, I do not need to clarify between meatsauce AND linguine & meatsauce WITH linguine, for “meatsauce-and-linguine” does not exist. The meatsauce, with its 75% ground pork and 25% ground beef meat-composition, along with the marinara, deliciously unify with the pasta noodles like any other component of the sauce. In fact, as the name suggests, it is PART of the sauce. It cannot be separated from the linguine and eaten like a separate entity, unless one is to consume the sauce in one bowl and the plain white linguine in another.

This, then, is part of our solution. Eating linguine with meatsauce randomly but thoroughly distributes the meat into each string of wheaty goodness, until they are spun and lifted to form a meat-and-pomodoro ladder to our mouth, and to something greater than all of us.

But the ground meat lacks one crucial feature meatballs have to offer: they do not have an interior texture or taste. They are too tiny to have adequate texture. They lend their flavor to the marinara sauce, and in the process lose their own flavor.

To this, I repeat the age-old wisdom from that age-old at-home taco kit commercial:

Why Don’t We Have Both?

Thus, we arrive at the perfect solution to our dilemma — the unification of both meatballs and meatsauce. We replace the spaghetti with linguine, for it carries the sauce better; we sprinkle a handful of meatballs on top of a bowl of meatsauce linguine; the number of meatballs is not too few to be inconsequential or overtly precious, yet also not too high to be overpowering; a forkful of linguine without a meatball as its cork would be fine in this case, for the forkful would still be coated with some ground meat — it is not meatless. Eating a bite without a meatball is now fine; eating a bite with a meatball is now an added pleasure.

We can have both. We will have both.

Or really, just eat meatless tomato-sauce pasta once in a while. Make sure the onion is caramelized. It’s pretty much just as good.