Cook like an Italian, speak like an American.
Four words.
Damn you, Food Network.
So I was minding my own business reading the last bit of our book club page-turner at nearly 1 a.m. (shameless plug: Terminal Rage by A.M. Khalifa) when I actually paid attention to what my husband was watching on t.v. It was a burger fest of sorts. Cheddar and sauces that the average Italian would turn their nose up at the sight of that made me drool and beef patties and oh...you just have no idea. My husband and I, both salivating uncontrollably, looked at each other and headed for the kitchen.
No beef. No patties. No cheese. No buns. No burgers.
I deferred to his expertise. The kitchen is his sanctuary. He normally knows what to do in these situations, and he didn't disappoint. "Vabbe...faccio....crocchette di patate." I nodded like I was going to help.
Ten minutes later we were munching on these. And we still are.
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It's the perfect snack for the southern girl in me...like fried mashed potatoes.
Can I get a "Hallelujah!"?!
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Here's how he did it:
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left over mashed potatoes |
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breadcrumbs |
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an egg |
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beat it manually |
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