I’ve eaten a duck stuffed inside a chicken stuffed inside a turkey. I’ve harvested wild blueberries and fresh teaberries. I’ve even eaten snakes, lamb’s heart and pork floss.
None of these foods – or any others I’ve eaten, for that matter – impressed me as much as an amazing dish of macaroni and cheese.
That’s right, at the age of 37, my favorite food is still toddler fare. It will never change, and I figure that’ll be a bonus if I live long enough to lose all of my teeth.
I cannot pinpoint the exact moment I fell in love with macaroni and cheese. It happened over time, the way people who are best friends for years suddenly find themselves lovers.
We bonded as I stood beside my mother at the kitchen counter, grating sharp cheddar onto a sheet of wax paper while she whisked a white sauce. We got closer as I attended potlucks and realized that the table could be a mile long and groaning under the weight of 100 dishes, but I would always head for the macaroni and cheese first.
It isn’t a perfect relationship, though. Quite often, macaroni and cheese disappoints me. Like an angelic child who does something uncharacteristically naughty, a bad mac ‘n’ cheese saddens me because I know full well it’s capable of so much more.
To continue reading this column, please click here.
At this link, you will also find recipes for casserole-style macaroni and cheese and creamy stovetop macaroni and cheese.
How do those recipes look to you, compared to how you make this dish?