My late father-in-law had a special kind of palate, is what I'm saying. I watched him construct one of these crimes against cuisine and eat it.

Worse, this is a man who was fond of eating liverwurst, peanut butter and mayonnaise sandwiches. His mother hated to cook, you see, but his dad simply couldn't. It also happened to be his father's go-to nutritional plan on the nights that his mother, a nurse, worked the second shift at the hospital. To him, macaroni and cheese was a Kraft processed product, the meal of last resort. It's usually the first to go among the leftovers.īut to my then-boyfriend, who is now my husband, macaroni and cheese had a very different association in his mind. On holidays like Thanksgiving and Christmas (and Easter, and the Fourth of July, and Arbor Day, and…) it holds its place as the side of all sides, a balance of perfect smoothness and a bit of welcome crunch from the breadcrumb crust. To me macaroni and cheese, prepared properly and with love, is more than everyday comfort food. Macaroni and cheese was a non-negotiable holiday feature. But that time, the first of many, I chose to forgo the traditional sharing of turkey and toxic dysfunction for the promise of a tension-free Thanksgiving dinner based on a menu I designed. My family lived close enough to the university that I could get to home using the city bus. It was our first holiday meal together, an 'Orphan's Thanksgiving' we hosted during college for all of our friends who either could not afford to go home for the holiday or, like me, preferred not to.

cheese,' he haltingly repeated, after I listed the object of his bewilderment among indisputable side-dish classics: stuffing, cranberry sauce, a vegetable of some variety, mashed potatoes. Was it the profound bemusement clouding his face or the barely veiled disdain in his voice after I told him macaroni and cheese would co-star on our Thanksgiving Day menu? Not only co-star, but receive high billing? It's hard to say which of my then-boyfriend's highly emotional reactions struck me first and hardest, based on my memory of a moment that happened a long time ago.

Mac and cheese for 100 people