Prosciutto Balls in the Post-Joe’s World

Tractarian commenting here. I am pleased that this topic has gotten attention. Regarding Frank and Sal's, I do a lot of shopping there, as they carry many specialty items, such as Burrata, Blood Oranges from Sicily (which are delicious and very affordable, especially when compared with a rip-off joint like Agata and Valentina, where you'll be paying Upper East Side prices), and a homemade pesto...+READ

Tractarian commenting here. I am pleased that this topic has gotten attention. Regarding Frank and Sal's, I do a lot of shopping there, as they carry many specialty items, such as Burrata, Blood Oranges from Sicily (which are delicious and very affordable, especially when compared with a rip-off joint like Agata and Valentina, where you'll be paying Upper East Side prices), and a homemade pesto sauce that is unusually bright and refreshing amid its unctuous goodness (which is far superior to the imported varieties, which tend to be murky), especially over fresh gnocchi or cavatelli from Pastosa a few blocks away (New Utrecht Avenue and 75 Street). However, their prsciutto balls are not made in the proper manner, which ought to be from Ricotta, Pecorino Romano, flat-leaf Italian parsley, and a copious amount of black pepper, bound with beaten egg, and then breaded and fried. Instead, they are arancini redolent of parmigiano with some chopped prosciutto added in for flavor. This variety is not unpalatable, but is not what us purists yearn for when we dream of the nearly-mystical experience of biting into the dialectical majesty that is creamy, yet piquant latticini goodness with prosciutto, encased in a crisp, yet ungreasy, shell of bread crumb and pecorino. However, they do make spinach balls which are an unusual find, and I would recommend that people try those. Their spinach balls delightfully combine the fromagian splendor of arancini with the redolent garlicky-ness of sauteed spinach. I would also recommend their homemade grilled artichoke hearts (a tad expensive, but worth it for a proper antipasto freddo), homemade caponata, which puts the new Sabra variety to shame (Israeli manufacturers should stick with Chummus, Baba Ganoush, and other Levantine products), and goes wonderfully with a robust Chianti or Merlot and a loaf of fresh pane di casa from the brick ovens up the block at Il Fornaretto (17 Avenue and 78 Street) (Il Fornaretto also makes a superb focaccia with cherry tomatoes, excellent taralle, and other great products, many of which come prepackaged with the hechsher of Rabbi Rafael Saffra, for those Kosher Chowhounders who "hold by" his hashgacha).

In a deeper sense, the loss of Joe's Superette is indicative of much more than one less spot for us Italian buongustaios to indulge ourselves in fried cheese and pork. It is indicative of the adverse effects of gentrification and the seeming inevitabilities of urban demographic shift. It renders those of us concerned with preserving the historical and ethnic charms of New York City communities ever more astute and attuned to the challenges which lay in our future. We fear that the city which we love and which was good to us (and which we built with our bare hands, through our raising families, maintaining family businesses, and efforts to instill cultural pride, civic responsibility, and a sense of community, respect, and nostalgia) is rapidly and dramatically changing before our eyes, and despite our best efforts to cling to the sad illusion of Italian Carroll Gardens, Italian East Williamsburg (the "North Side"), the Jewish Lower East Side, or German Ridgewood, through cultural, religious, and culinary traditions, we are faced with life's only constant: change.

When beloved family-owned and decades-old businesses (and old-time sights) like Joe's Superette, Cono and Sons, Niederstein's, Forest Pork Store, Bauer's Bakery, the Empress Kosher Deli, Mrs. Stahl's, Ruby the Knish Guy from the Boardwalk, Karl Ehmer, Diamond Dairy, Vesuvio, Pozzo, Shmulka Bernstein, Richard Yee's, Jade Mountain, Morrone, Ebinger's, Carmine's, countless Italian barbiere, the bungalows of Rockaway, Egg Creams, the Brooklyn Dodgers, Doo Wop, May Pole dances in public schools, shuls and shtieblech on Pitkin Avenue, and so many others disappear and become relegated to the ash-heap of history, we are rendered with an unfillable void in our hearts. While these memories live with us always, we are faced with the stark reality that cohort memories (those shared, generational experiences common to those of a certain generation, according to developmental psychologists) are constantly being created and renewed with the ebb-and-flow of changing circumstances.

I suppose the musing of Heraclitus holds true for us New Yorkers now more than ever- "All is flux, nothing stays still." Change is the only constant in life. In a small way, Joe's prosciutto balls remind us of this truth, as a South Brooklyn legend has come to an end.-COLLAPSE

By tractarian on June 21, 2011 12:15 AM