Don’t tell me how to make a meatball

It seems you can’t go anywhere nowadays without getting into an argument.

You get gas and it costs $80, so you start arguing with the fellow who sells Slurpees over whether it’s Joe Biden’s fault or Vladimir Putin’s or ExxonMobil’s.

Then, you go to your church, synagogue or mosque to escape the madness and mayhem, but when you sit down, you realize some people are masked and some aren’t. Before you know it, people are glaring at one another instead of praying because no one is sure what they’re supposed to do.

Then, you stop at the grocery store to buy some sirloin because you haven’t eaten steak in months, and when you complain about the price, the butcher gives you a hard time because he didn’t set the price, which would be enough for a downpayment on your daughter’s braces.

Which brings me to my point. Life in America has become arguments, debates, yelling and screaming, even with people we liked … until we found out who they voted for.

My wife always warns me to keep my mouth shut, and for once, I’m taking her advice — except for last Saturday, when I got into a heated debate at the quick stop where I get my coffee.

I’m not entirely sure how we got on the volatile topic of ... meatballs. I think it erupted after one guy said he makes his meatballs by putting them raw in the sauce to cook. He said “sauce” instead of “gravy,” so I was immediately suspicious.

“WHAT?!?” I replied. “I never heard of that. You have to fry them first.”

“Nooo, I just let them cook in the sauce.”

That seemed unorthodox, but I tried to restrain myself. In my defense, I can walk into a room and keep my mouth shut when people are screaming and throwing punches over who’s responsible for inflation, but on this topic, no way.

“Listen guys, I’m Italian so I know what I’m talking about,” I insisted. “You have to fry the meatballs. I don’t even care what Dr. Fauci says. He may be Italian, but he’s not going to tell me how to cook meatballs too.”

It went downhill from there.

“Fried food ain’t good for you,” another guy said. “Ya gotta bake the meatballs.”

“I never ate a baked meatball in my life,” I said. “My mother fried meatballs every

Saturday morning and then let them cook in the gravy as it simmered. She never baked a meatball. It’s not the way Italians do it.”

“Listen, guys, I don’t fry them or bake them. I let them cook in the sauce, and they’re delicious!” the instigator said.

“Mannaggia! They must be Made in America meatballs. You have to cook them first,” the other guy said.

“No. They melt in your mouth.”

“Meatballs ain’t supposed to melt,” I said. “I’m Italian, I know!”

“Well, I’m Italian too!”

“So am I!”

Then, they asked me: “Does your wife fry them?” I gulped.

“My wife is English,” I said. “She was adopted by immigrants, who taught her to speak Italian and make cavatelli, pizzagaina, ricotta pie and anginettes ... But we get our meatballs at the deli. I think it’s Greek.”

They gasped.

“They’re pretty good,” I said sheepishly.

In a debate like this, you have to consult the experts, so I called reader Ann Adinolfi, a 100 percent Italian and oldest of six daughters and one brother. Ann has been cooking meatballs for 82 years since she was 10.

You won’t find anyone with more expertise.

“I lightly fry them and then put them into the gravy,” she said.

After the homemade gravy cooks for an hour, she puts the meatballs in and they cook with the sausage and braciole for another hourand-a-half on a low flame.

Whenever she and her late husband Paul went to a restaurant or dinner party, he would always say: “It wasn’t as good as yours.”

I trust his opinion and I trust her talents. So I bet you’re expecting me to say I was right. Nope. The truth is I don’t care how you cook your meatballs as long as you don’t try to tell me how to cook my meatballs ... which I don’t cook anyway.

This is America, so everyone — Italians, Jews, Irish, Greeks, Latinos, Chinese, Nigerians, Syrians etc. —should be able to cook their meatballs any way they want without being shouted down, shamed on social media or harassed by the government. We’re supposed to tolerate different opinions. That’s why we came to this country.

That also means I’ll continue to argue fried meatballs are the best no matter what you or my cardiologist say ... and I don’t care if Twitter bans me.