good eat: rice balls

Buon giorno, amici! Now is one of those times where I long to embrace the qualities of my Italian heritage. Why? Well, just like everyone else, I find myself slipping into mini-bouts of nostalgia based on my seasonal likes and dislikes, and something—perhaps the faint crispness that takes over the soft summer haze—about the embark of Autumn releases my strong desire to be one with the rolling hills and vineyards of Tuscany. In reality, the longing for my native land is only partially what brings me to such conclusions—the other, simply put, is food.

Now, ever since I was a young bambina I have dreamed of whisking away to Tuscany, where I would live in a clay house adorned with flowers, artwork, and other such wonderful embellishments and ornaments. I imagine two floors, very spacious and inviting, with guest bedrooms and amenities. I wish for a medium-sized backyard where I can scrub the laundry clean, in an old washbasin, using a handcrafted washboard, and then drape the newly fresh adornments and linens on clotheslines to dry. In the meantime, supper would be cooking—for I will have guests at my house ogni notte. And, without a doubt, each and every meal will be homemade, from scratch—I buy only what I couldn’t grow myself at the local mercato. This dream continues as I slosh around my personal vineyard in an oversized pair of yellow rubber boots. I harvest grapes of deep violets and crimson for delicious reds and whites, looking for new creations to please my guests.

Once dinner settles, guests saunter around my dimly lit house, chatting and sipping wine, or they might be found lolling on the back portico, gazing up at the star-studded sky. In the background, faint sounds of old famous Italian opera singers are heard—Cuzzoni and Pavarotti. Me, well, I’m likely to be discovered coiled up in a little ball on the strato quietly digesting a new novel. Sigh. One day.


You’ve probably decided that now you need to understand how food gets me on a rant about my intense desire to escape to a foreign country in hopes of one day calling it my home. Well, food, by nature, has the potential to be nostalgic. My obsession with Tuscany is somewhat unaccounted for since my heritage proves I am a well-balanced combination of Neapolitan and Sicilian. (I wouldn’t worry too much about the latter, since I am clearly a romantic at heart). Food. Inspiring. My favorite little Sicilian treat is a delicious and hearty nibble classified as arancine con ragù, more commonly known as rice balls. Arancine is from the Sicilian word meaning “little orange.” And, I understand this to be a relative term, since the rice balls do in fact resemble a perfectly round orange. A delicious combination of rice (or leftover risotto), peas, and mozzarella are rolled into a sphere that is then turned over in a bath of breadcrumbs. After a quick dip into a hot well of oil, smash in the center with a fork and top it off with a scrumptious homemade meat sauce (you know, what us Italians call gravy) and a sprinkle (or smatter) of fresh parmigiana reggiano.

Okay, so where can you find one of these amazing snacks? Well, the best locale to grab one is in Boston’s North End on the last weekend in August, when fellow WOPs celebrate the Feast of Saint Anthony. If you suffer from social anxiety, and aren’t really a people-person, well, I know a hole-in-the-wall establishment that is nothing less than utterly satisfying. Dom’s is the place to go, if you have the time, and while you’re there pick up a cannoli or two. On the other hand, if you dare attempt a homemade version of this tasty bite, experiment and make it your own. If you need guidance, well, just follow Giada’s recipe. Mangi!