Grandma was a rice ball. The real Italian kind. Small. Round. Hearty. A crisped-to-perfection edge with a surprisingly luscious inner blend – saucy meat (with emphasis on saucy. And meaty), sweet gooey cheese, and just a smattering of those annoying little peas.
They don’t make rice balls the way they used to. They never will again. Maybe that’s not a bad thing. It’s the rice balls of today that make the memory of those we loved so dearly and can never have again, that much more precious in our very heavy hearts.