It's established that 28 oz crushed tomatoes is the throw-together sauce basil, oregano, garlic powder, sugar and salt would make of it. Doubling a recipe known to be delicious and freezable makes 50-60 meatballs common sense, when French bread rolls are invited to every grand opening, of cooking inspiration in my kitchen.
Doesn't happen every day, oftentimes I whip up refrigerated deep dark chocolate brownies with nary a whistle, and mistaking rotisserie shredded chicken as a bow tie pasta salad ingredient when it was really meant for albacore tuna in the first place, green olives and artichoke hearts completely aside.
No one's perfect in this family is the point that I was making, when Italian meatball subs barged into my life, stole my lack of ambition and replaced it with a motherly sense like no other. Took a determination to grill chicken all the way from amateur to expert, before my time, light years ahead they tell me.
Because if you knew how many recipes I have waiting for some leisurely grilled chicken, which will be stockpiled for the coming winter that tries its hardest to be real when it's easiest to feign a comfortable distance, you'd wholeheartedly believe.
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