Mac and Cheese (Without Ham and Peas)

I'd been thinking there had to be more to Macaroni and Cheese than noodles and cheddar or the blue Kraft box. In years gone by, I prepared a stove top version of the dish for grandkids, Ben and Logan, probably one out of every three nights when they were between the ages of five to fifteen. Then I got fancy and added ham and peas to the mix for a one-pot dinner.  Oddly, I don't recall ever serving it to my children, I'm not sure why, perhaps memory fails.

So, in the throes of quarantine gluttony, I turned to Pinterest (it's what I do when I'm not on FaceBook).  I finally settled on a recipe that called for a ton of four different cheeses and a half ton of whipping cream. Separately, the ingredients sounded delicious and I made the leap to gathering the fixings (not easy when I shop online only twice a month). I wanted to sample an uptown version of good old Mac and Cheese.

The recipe calls for a roux which was really just a bunch of butter fat and four tablespoons of flour, and a pint of whipping cream. And then I added the cheese. My logical mind was telling me that this was a lethal dose of fat and the cooking odors alone could be fatal. But, my quest for a true gourmet Mac and Cheese experience continued. I tried to pour the sauce in all its cheesy glory into the cooked noodles. It had the consistency of molten lava and moved at that speed, which if you live at the base of a volcano is very rapid, but standing over a hot stove was agonizingly slow. Giving up on pouring, I scooped about a third of the mixture into the pasta. It now looked like noodles floating in fondue. Deciding enough was enough, I abandoned the plan to put the whole mess into a baking dish and covered in buttered bread crumbs. It was time for the taste test. My worst fears were realized. It was like eating a cheese-flavored version of the library paste I used to eat in kindergarten and I suspected it would likely have a catastrophic effect on my GI tract. 

I have a lopsided frugality about food. My parents came of age in the depression era and war-time rationing was in effect during my early childhood. I was a proud member of the clean plate club and dutifully thought of the poor starving children in China. So, in my "waste not, want not" convoluted way of thinking, I am willing to buy whatever food I crave, cost be damned, but, I unwilling to throw out leftovers.

And here they are (refrigerated version):

The top photo is the gummy pasta coated in sludge. The bottom photo is the sludge. Notice how the right-hand edge of the sludge resembles the contours of a slow-moving lava flow. The noodles will probably remain in the refrigerator until they grow green fur, at which time I can toss them out -- into the garbage can. I'm pretty sure they would have the same effect on the garbage disposal and septic tank as they would on my GI tract.

 The bottom photo shows the leftover sauce-- so much sauce for a pound of pasta. It cooled into something about the consistency of the infamous Christmas Cheese Ball. I tasted a bit of it. It was delicious. Its life will be extended serving as a spread for crackers until it too, turns Merry Christmas green. And there is no way I will give you the recipe.

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Mask News

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