Meatballs – And Diamonds – Are a Girl’s Best Friend

When last we left my colleague and BFF Amanda, I had bid her farewell on the subway, as she returned to Queens with some 12 dozen homemade Twinkies and Ding Dongs under her arm.

After that, I went to Oregon – without her.  She went to Germany – without me.   And, then we came to the conclusion that it had been weeks since we’d seen each other, so we booked a lunch date.

Truth be told, Amanda actually cancelled a lunch date with someone else to have lunch with me.  I was honored and I have no idea who she blew off, or what excuse she gave.  We decide that a little food trucking is in order.  It’s our very first food truck date and it’s my job to get a fix on our options. After a frustration morning learning that none of the “greats” are in the neighborhood (am I EVER going to have a meal at the Mac Truck?) I get a hot lead on a sidewalk cart that’s been around for about a year, but is new to me – MTBLLS NYC.

That’s MEATBALLS, folks, if you include the vowels.  My pulse begins to race, and the choice is settled before I even lock my computer screen and head towards the elevators. When I meet Amanda in the lobby and tell her the plan, she practically swoons with delight.  

“I’m dressed very “Ladies Who Lunch,” so how exciting to be dining at a food truck,” says Amanda breezily. Indeed, the tasteful silver brooch and heels are sure to be the envy of Food Truck Alley.  My food truck cronies always seem to be dressed to the nines.  

“This is better than lunch at Saks,” she adds.  

We take a brisk walk through the underground promenade in the Rockefeller Center area and emerge on 47^th Street heading towards Park Avenue.   This route takes us through the Diamond District and Amanda is immediately distracted.   She points to a glittering “rock” in the window the size of a lollypop.       

“You’ll buy me one of these after lunch, won’t you?” she smiles.

Not without a trip to the ATM, sweetheart.

We soldier on and as we near Park Avenue, we can see a caravan of garish food trucks glittering in the distance.  It’s almost like when Dorothy, the Scarecrow, Tin Man and the Lion approached the city of Oz.  

MTBLLS NYC is a smart, cherry red food cart painted with the ballsy slogan “We got balls.”

Our choice is either beef, chicken or veggie balls.  We queue up and each request a Bowl of Balls – beef please.  

Here’s where we hit a momentary snag.  They are all out of beef meatballs.   For a second I fear that Amanda is going to break ranks and defect to the Lebanese truck around the corner.  

“No beef??” she asks, her voice sounding a little pinched.

I try to talk her off the ledge.  “It is almost 1:20 PM,” I try to rationalize.   “I’m not surprised they’re out of beef balls.  It’s their most popular item, and the real food truck pros usually line up by 11:45 AM.” 

“I see,” she says, taking a deep breath and processing the information.  “I’m a novice here.  I guess we’ll have to deal.”

So, we each order a Bowl of Chicken Balls.  Hers are bathed in marinara sauce.  Mine are dressed with Romesco sauce, a lively red pepper sauce from Catalonia, Spain.   Each serving is topped with a dollop of ricotta. 

The first thing we notice is that the “bowl of balls” actually comes in a cardboard box.  If you use your imagination, those sharp, angular edges suddenly become rounded. 

We head for the Chase Bank on the nearby corner and set up for a picnic on the outdoor plaza.  I realize that it’s been some time since I’ve actually dined al fresco from a food truck.   There is something to be said for noshing on ridiculously good food while you people watch and bask in the afternoon autumn sunshine.  

The chicken meatballs are impressive – three generous-sized balls, bigger than a golf ball, but not quite the size of a tennis ball. 

The marinara sauce is smooth and velvety, and the Romesco sauce has a nice, sharp kick.   Amanda likes the marinara sauce, but develops some serious Romesco envy.  We pronounce the balls to be brilliant.

On the way back to the office, we decide to indulge in a little dessert and pick up two cups of vanilla frozen yogurt from the YOGO truck – fat free, of course, with rainbow sprinkles.  I offer to treat and pick up the tab.  

“How lovely,” murmurs Amanda. “I guess I’m not getting the diamonds.”

She tastes the frozen yogurt, and her tone changes.   

"This is delicious!  It can't be fat free.  Do you think it's really fat-free yogurt, or are we in that "Seinfeld" episode now?" 

I always have a ball with her.     

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