A Warm Catanese Welcome
There are few things lovelier than arriving at my friend Paola’s home in Catania in late autumn. The island still carries a soft glow beneath a sun that feels far gentler and more affectionate than anything I left behind in London. The air tastes faintly of citrus and sea salt, and as I step through her doorway, I’m greeted by the comforting perfume of a Sunday ritual unfolding in her kitchen.
Paola, Catanese to her core, is already ahead with the preparations for Sunday lunch. It’s a tradition her family once observed every week, though—like so many customs—it has become less frequent over the years. Still, the dish she is preparing remains a perennial favourite: a Sicilian-style meatloaf that’s hearty, homely and wonderfully reassuring. And today, she’s making the miniature version, a charming twist that her grandmother, the formidable Nonna Carmela, prepared almost instinctively, hands moving with the confidence of a lifetime spent feeding a family.
The Heart of the Filling
The filling, Paola tells me, has always been simple yet spectacular. Mortadella for fragrance, hard-boiled egg for tradition, and ragusano cheese for that irresistible molten centre. In the past, mortadella was bought in whole pieces and carved according to need; today she uses fine-quality slices, releasing an aroma that mingles deliciously with the warmth of the kitchen.
The hard-boiled egg is, in Paola’s words, “non-negotiable”—a symbol of the classic Sunday polpettone. The ragusano cheese, with its mellow, slightly tangy character, melts seductively within the meat, creating that signature softness that every Sicilian cook seems to chase.
A Grandmother’s Touch
The meat mixture follows the beloved blueprint used across countless Sicilian households: mixed minced meat—half pork, half beef—along with eggs, softened bread or fresh crumbs, grated Sicilian pecorino cheese, parsley, a whisper of garlic, salt and pepper. Paola works the mixture with calm assurance, coaxing it into a smooth, even consistency.
But it’s her grandmother’s technique that transforms the process into something almost ceremonial. Rather than forming one large loaf, she shapes smaller, more manageable individual meatloaves—delightful to serve and perfect for gatherings. When enclosing the filling, she wets her hands lightly, a trick handed down from Nonna Carmela. The water smooths the surface, helping the meat seal neatly around its precious core. “It’s a bit like closing an arancino,” she laughs, and she’s absolutely right.
The Sunday Sugo
The sauce begins with a gentle sauté of onion, soon joined by sweet peas—Paola assures me the frozen ones are perfectly acceptable—and rich tomato passata. As the sugo simmers for half an hour, the peas soften and release a subtle sweetness that balances the acidity of the tomato.
Meanwhile, the mini meatloaves are lightly coated in dry breadcrumbs and quickly browned in a skillet, just enough to seal and colour them. When they slip into the simmering sauce, the kitchen fills with the unmistakable fragrance of Sunday in Sicily—warm, generous and filled with memory. Another half-hour, and the polpettoni are tender, moist and ready to steal the spotlight at the table.
The Joy of a Generous Dish
From around 650 grams of mince, Paola forms eight perfectly sized meatloaves. If there’s any mixture left, she simply rolls it into tiny meatballs to enjoy on the side—an unexpected treat that feels entirely in the spirit of Sicilian abundance.
When we finally sit down to eat, the meatloaves emerge soft and richly flavoured, the centre a delightful surprise of egg, mortadella and melted ragusano. It is, unmistakably, a family recipe—one that carries stories, gestures and affections within every bite.
A Dish That Belongs to Moments
As the afternoon sunlight drifts across Paola’s dining room, the meal becomes more than just food. It’s a reminder of how Sicilian kitchens preserve memories—how recipes once made weekly still hold their place in festive seasons, and how flavours handed down through generations continue to unite a table.
These mini meatloaves are not merely a dish. They are warmth, nostalgia and celebration—an edible embrace that, like Sicily itself, leaves you longing to return.