The Klops Experience

Klops

One of my favorite meals growing up was something rather mundane in form, a simple meatball affair.  But with such foods: the secret is in the sauce. Königsberger Klops, it's called.  A dish named for a German city that's now in Russia.  And when I was a kid, that fact was always brought up at the dinner table whenever Klops was on the menu.  "And of course now the damn Russians sit there," my mother would start.  "The Russians in Königsberg, the Pollocks in Danzig, the French in Strassburg.   What a shame."  That's when my attention would turn to the capers floating in the creamy gravy.  The shrinkage of the German Empire from the moment Bill left his Under den Linden digs at the dawn of Weimar up to the final map redraw after Yalta was a cause celebre at home  -- a major cause celebre -- and Klops would evoke a barrage of opinionating.  Enduring the barbs of postwar politics was worth a bowl of Klops, though.  I made it for us last Saturday, but instead of the de rigueur boiled potatoes beneath the sauce, I would make potato dumplings -- Kartoffelklöße.  My Saturday is generally done by 4pm.  I would have roughly an  hour to assemble the ingredients, get them home and complete the prep work, in order to leave for Blaine's house by 6.  The Albertson's near my shop, I knew, had a good European food section -- at least they did the last time I had seriously shopped there, a couple years ago.  Front row parking -- a bad sign? Shopping carts lined up at the door.  I test drove three before I settled for the fourth that, like the others, featured the cliche broken front wheel.  I carried a neat list of items.  Moving through the veg department, I gathered all I needed.  Rounding the corner to where the Euro section used to be, I found an inexhaustible selection of Mexican food items neighboring an equally extensive selection of Asian foods.  The die-hards will go through the trouble to grate potatoes and prepare a goopy paste for the dumplings.  My mom always used the Panni mix, and I am a firm believer in carrying on tradition.  Al's used to carry the mix.   I would assume a previous manager had perhaps enjoyed a lengthy tour in Germany as a GI, which guaranteed his customers a healthy choice of Oetker cake mixes, unique canned goods, glass mugs of low-end beer hall mustard, cans of herring in dill sauce, Wieners in jars, and potato dumpling mix.  The new guy I suppose was more a soy sauce and refrito type.  Euro foods: all gone.  Even the Matzos were gone.  A whole shelf of colorful Santeria candles to light curses on my neighbor, but no potato balls.   There I was, aimlessly pushing a squawking cart full of food for the weekend through a labyrinth of products I didn't need.  It must be somewhere else, I thought.  So, then begins the quest.  Every aisle, every end display.  I was on a time limit, and what had turned into a quick trip to pick up a few things had turned into a goose chase.  And this bonus: every idiot with poor spacial usage skills was shopping at that particular Alberton's this afternoon.  The spacey lady who parks her cart and screeching, untrained urchin in the middle of the aisle to hunt for Lesieur peas ten feet away.  The obese chip eater stocking up on provisions who sees you pushing your cart down the aisle, yet somehow manages to wobble into your path. The feeble senior patting down the lane who decides to wedge his cart between one side of the aisle and the jutting display of Gladware containers to set up a roadblock until he's decided whether the poptarts or cream of wheat is more suitable.  Frustrating.  All this and still no Panni mix.  Why didn't I just go to Rousses?  Why?  Instead, I wasted 45 minutes in grocery hell.  The end of my rope was close.  Seconds later, I slipped off the end: I abandoned my cart filled with everything except a key food item.  Right there in the aisle by the ramen noodles.  I just left it standing there, walked out the store back to my car, and drove to Youngsville.  Rousses is near my house anyway.   Within 20 minutes I had reassembled everything I had been pushing around Albertson's and had located the Panni.  In addition to dinner, I had bought items for breakfast.  I would prepare asparagus and leek quiche with an open faced  Wasa crisp bread topped with prosciutto and herbed brie.  The coast was clear.  The exit was in sight.  The cashier in front of me was ringing up the a small order, so I slid into her lane and set out my treasures on the giant rotating disk.  The guy before me was buying a box of sushi prepared in the store and a couple other random things.  "Is this sushi?" the clerk asked.  "Yep." "You like that?" "Yep." "Never had that."  I was doomed.  I had encountered the chatty Cathy checkers at Rousses some time ago, but had thought that the annoying practice had been addressed.  I prefer a friendly, businesslike checker over a curious and inquisitive one who comments on your items.   If sushi man couldn't escape the third degree, my order would announce the circus had come to town.  "Are these leeks?" "Yes."  "Thought so."  "What is this?!" "Prosciutto."  "What's that?" "Ham." "Oh." "Is that cheese old?" "No, it's crusted with herbs." "Looks old to me. You eat that?" "Yes." "You making a pie?" "No." "Well, you have a pie shell, thought you was making a pie." "No, no pie". "I hate asparagus." "OK."  "Mashed potato mix?" "No."  When I was ten,  a humble wad of ground beef could evoke emotional polemic from the displaced.  Thirty years later, it turns out, a muddy mine field still extends between a hungry boy and a bowl of spuds and meatballs.  Send an unsuspecting friend to shop for you, then when he gets home frustrated and flustered, do this with the items he unpacks:       

2 lbs ground meat

1/2 onion, minced

bread crumbs

salt & pepper

1 egg

2 cups beef broth

4tbl butter

4 tbl flour

1 small jar of capers

juice of a small lemon

1 egg yoke + 2 tbl water

Combine first 5 ingredients.  Roll into meatballs. In a large skillet, prepare a blond roux.  Stir in the broth and add the meatballs. Cover and let simmer.  Add capers.  Turn meatballs occasionally.  When the meat is cooked and slightly browned, add lemon juice.  Combine egg yoke and water, temper with sauce and add to skillet.  Serve in bowls over potatoes or potato dumplings.