A few years back, I was attending an after-work hangout with some colleagues back at one of their apartments. I recall a colleague of mine was standing at the stove, making meatballs.
Now, it was not my kitchen, not my meatballs and not my stove, so I kept quiet, but I watched with a twitching eye as she repeatedly moved the meatballs with her tongs and her spoon. And when I say repeatedly, I mean legitimately every two to three seconds. It was maddening. The meatballs were falling apart in the pan, there was not nearly enough fat in the pan for the meatballs to cook in, and worst of all, there was no way for the meatballs to get that deep brown, crisp crust that every good meatball must have.
