An Ode to Macaroni & Cheese

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Some days instill a strong desire to plunge into the nearest sofa and a bowl of something really good.

While my ruminations may not technically qualify as an ode, I do think they offer an appropriate amount of praise for this simple, yet magical, combination of pasta and cheese. With so many uncertainties in the world, we can usually rely on the citadel of the stove-top to deliver some sense of control over our lives - and the certainty of really good macaroni and cheese can be very cathartic and comforting these days.


Stovetop Macaroni & Cheese


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Something we can throw a little hot sauce on and eat directly from the pot.

For some people (myself included), cooking can bring a sincere comfort - an unwinding, sense of relief that comes from the certainty of doing something we know, step-by-step, towards a known outcome - something we can throw a little hot sauce on and eat directly from the pot. Perhaps something worthy of a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day (a la Judith Viorst’s beloved 1972 children’s book of the same name, based on her actual son).

So many childhood memories embedded in a this beautiful illustration by Ray Cruz. Maybe Alexander just needed some mac and cheese.

So many childhood memories embedded in a this beautiful illustration by Ray Cruz. Maybe Alexander just needed some mac and cheese.

This week, I found an incredible amount of comfort not only in macaroni and cheese, but in the wise and witty words of octogenarian author, Judith Viorst. My quest to document macaroni and cheese led me down many rabbit holes, as do most of my writing endeavors. Connecting the comforting powers of macaroni to having a bad day led me to Alexander and the life and work of his mother-author. Previously unbeknownst to me, Judith Viorst is an inexhaustible and beautifully hilarious poet who, since the 1960s, has written about her life - decade by decade - landing most recently on her newest book of poems, Nearing 90.

“Learning to take pleasure in the ordinary pleasures of every-day life.” —Judith Viorst

Whether you have grandparents or not (or if you’ve found yourself taking care of one), this is a must-listen that gave me some much needed perspective on my own life recently. I will certainly be listening to Judith next time I make a pot of macaroni and cheese for my own octogenarian (as I did today).

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Materials & Methods

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Stove-top mac starts with a basic sauce - mornay to be exact - which is just a fancy French word for cheese sauce. The process is simple and universal: fat + flour + liquid = sauce. Since fat equals flavor, we’re using a combination of butter and olive oil. Starch (in this case flour) is lightly toasted in the fat to make a light roux. Then, liquid is added to emulsify everything into a luxurious sauce base. We’re caramelizing shallots and blooming some black pepper and nutmeg in our fat before finishing the sauce - and our liquid consists of wine, first, and then dairy.

Equal parts fat and flour

Equal parts fat and flour

Vigorous stirring

Vigorous stirring

Shallots, salt, and pepper

Shallots, salt, and pepper

Vermouth deglazes the pan.

Vermouth deglazes the pan.

Milk or cream is added

Milk or cream is added.

You’ve now made bechamél (a fancy French word for cream sauce).

You’ve now made bechamél (a fancy French word for cream sauce).

Finish with good cheese and a little hot sauce. Whatever cheese you have on hand is good - as long as, you know, it’s good. Finally, make your favorite pasta shape and toss it in the sauce.

Visual reference for consistency - notice the shallots disappear.

Visual reference for consistency - notice the shallots disappear.

Add cheese to make it into mornay.

Add cheese to make it into mornay.

Boil pasta according to package directions and add to the sauce.

Boil pasta according to package directions and add to the sauce.

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C’est tout!

C’est tout!

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Sunday’s Ham becomes Monday’s Red Beans

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For the Love of Shortbread (and butter)