These goodlooking Polish meatballs have a nice hit of built-in kielbasa. “Hit” is too strong a word. It’s more like a love tap of kielbasa flavor, because it’s just perfectly there – not in an overly obvious way, not in particularly subtle way. When they’re raw, you’ll think, “Holy crap, these are going to be too intense.” Once they’re cooked, you’ll be, like, “Łał! Są pyszne!“

I invented these meatballs because I can’t see myself putting meat inside a pierog – that’s just not me – but I do like meat, and in fact, I usually serve pierogi with kielbasa. Although no one likes a big, fat, smelly sausage more than I do, I wanted to come up with a nice alternative. These Polish Meatballs are perfect to serve alongside pierogi of any type. If you don’t want to have them with pierogi … I mean, I don’t know what’s wrong with you, but if for some odd reason you don’t … then serve’m up like you would meatloaf, with sides of mashed potatoes and green beans or whatnot. (And by “whatnot,” I mean sauerkraut or beets.)

If you’re looking for the meatballs that your Polish grandmother used to make, these are not those. If you’re looking for some meaty, tender, tasty, juicy meatballs that smack of kielbasa, you’ve landed on the right page.

Choosing a very good kielbasa is key to the success of this recipe. See notes, below.

What you need to make 18 large meatballs (4 oz. each, before cooking)

½ lb smoked kielbasa
6 slices white bread (5¾ oz.); crusts discarded, optionally
¾ cups milk
1½ lbs ground chuck
1 lb ground pork
3 eggs
¾ cup finely minced onions
3 Tbs roasted garlic
¾ cup freshly grated, very dry cheddar or edam
¼ cup finely chopped fresh marjoram or Italian flat-leaf parsley
1½ tsp salt
½ tsp freshly ground black pepper
2 Tbs olive oil
¼ dry vermouth
¼ water, chicken stock, or beef stock
2 Tbs Pub sauce
1 Tbs unsalted butter

How to do it:

1. Put kielbasa through a meat grinder. This can be done in advance. If you don’t have a grinder, you can ask your butcher to grind it for you. If he looks at you like you’re out of your fucking mind, bring this post up on your smart phone and enlighten him.
2. (If you’re using the crusts, tear them from the bread and mince them. Set aside.) Tear the bread to bits, toss it into the bowl of a stand mixer, add the milk, and let it soak.

3. Place all the meat in a large mixing bowl. Lightly and blithly pull it into chunks about half the size of a golf ball. Set aside.
4. Mush up bread with your hands to the point that all of it is equally wet and you’re starting to turn it into a pasty glob (which people with more refined tastes call a “panade“).
5. With the exception of the oil, add everything else (including the minced crusts) to the panade, and paddle it on lowest speed until it’s fully homogenized.
6. Scrape the panade mixture into the meat and gently toss and massage by hand until there are no more independent chunks of meat, and liquid mixture seems fully blended into the meat. If you have to err, err on the side of undermixing. Yes, shoving your hands into raw meat and an eggy goo is gross. Yes, it’s freezing cold. Just keep telling yourself that pork fat is the secret to soft skin … your hands will be baby-soft and you get to eat meatballs! What a day!
7. Divide the mixture into 18 meatballs. Each of them should weigh slightly more than 4 oz.
8. Refrigerate for an hour or more, while you scour the kitchen.

9. Heat the oil in an 12-inch, oven-proof skillet, over medium-to-medium-high heat. Brown your balls, in batches unless you have a mammoth pan, turning them every three minutes, until all sides are deeply browned. Meanwhile, preheat the oven to 350°F.
10. Pour excess oil from pan and snuggle all the meatballs back into the pan.
11. Pour vermouth and water over your balls, and place them into the oven for about 30 minutes, or until their internal temperature reaches 165°F.
12. Remove your meatballs to a plate.
13. Quickly reduce the pan liquid until it becomes syrupy. Pour it through a fat separator and a fine-mesh sieve, and return it to the pan. Add the pub sauce and reduce until thick. Add butter; once it’s melted, off heat. Stir the sauce until it’s homogenized, and scrape it out of the pan with a rubber spatula.
14. Return the meatballs to the pan. Stir any juices that collected on the plate into the sauce, then pour the sauce over the meatballs. There’s not a lot of it, but you don’t need a lot – just a drizzle on each of your balls.

Notes:

You could go either way with the amount of kielbasa. I’ve presented a middle ground. You want just a hint of it? Reduce the kielbasa by about 2 ounces and compensate with more of the other meats. Or, go the other way: if you really want them to taste strongly of kielbasa, increase the amount by about 2 ounces, and reduce the other meats accordingly. Whichever way you go, though, you need good kielbasa.

Good Kielbasa:

National-brand kielbasas generally have a disappointing hot dog or bologna taste, and I can’t imagine wanting that in a meatball. Yuck. You want a kielbasa with a snap to the casing and a coarse interior texture. Check the label to ensure that it’s all-beef or all-pork, and naturally-smoked. If you don’t have an uncle who makes the most amazing kielbasa, maybe there’s a nearby Polish neighborhood with a grocer who carries a decent Polish brand. No? Go to a nice sausage shop. Don’t live near a sausage shop? Go to a butcher. Don’t live near a butcher? Move.

If your kielbasa is incredibly garlicy, you might omit the roasted garlic. A hint of sriracha, added to raw meat mix, might be welcome if unorthodox. A hit of stone-ground mustard might be welcome in the sauce.

Polish Meatballs

Credit for all images: Make It Like a Man!

This content was not solicited nor was it written in exchange for anything. As always, my opinions are Polish.

In case you want some pierogi to go with these meatballs…

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