Valentine's Day
The great Macaroni and Cheese Quest of 2007 was completed Monday night at approximately 6:45 PM.
Macaroni and cheese was a delicious staple of my childhood, refueling me for many a Saturday afternoon's agenda of bug catching and hedge exploring. Even in college I was happy to call it an infrequent but still regular dinner, developing a fondness for the spiral-shaped variety. Just out of college I was introduced to the Velveeta shells and cheese upgrade, and I realized I had been previously been drinking grape juice when fine wine was readily available.
In other words, I enjoyed me some macaroni and cheese.
Sometime in my mid 20's, however, there was an unwelcome development as I began to find that it simply wasn't hitting the macaroni and cheese spot anymore. It would seem like a delicious dinner idea yet in reality I'd find the flavor vaguely distasteful after about half a bowl, and the ensuing carb-packed sensation didn't exactly complete the experience on a high note. I found myself caught in a loop where I'd swear off macaroni and cheese forever only to get hit by a craving months later, causing me to attempt, and inevitably fail, to enjoy this once-king of bachelor dining.
It was a vicious cycle that consumed much of my upper 20's. Every four months or so Macaroni and cheese would re-enter my life only to break my heart.
Several weeks ago I decided that this delicate dance of drama had gone on long enough and it was finally time to address this macaroni and cheese-shaped hole in my life. I was to embark on a quest, I declared, a quest to rediscover the macaroni and cheese of my youth, to reach back through time and discover at what critical point my split with macaroni and cheese occurred, for only then could I find a way to reconcile the separate paths that have driven us towards opposite horizons. I had to start with the present and carefully feel my way back through history.
I wasted no time in this quest and promptly sat down with a bowl of Velveeta shells and cheese, determined to savor it like fine wine.
Three quarters of a bowl later--the remains congealed into a solid clump of carbohydrates that vaguely resembled a pancreas--I recalled that grape juice had suited me just fine as a kid. Strike one.
After waiting a week or so to properly cleanse my system, I prepared the spiral-shaped macaroni and cheese, complete with added powder and butter, the latter in such heart-clogging volumes as to virtually guarantee sweeping vistas of flavor. I fondly recalled my carefree college days and lifted the spoon up to my mouth.
Halfway through the pile of noodles that managed to somehow be both undercooked and mushy, I remembered that my college palate had been fried from a constant stream of Mountain Dew and sugared candy. Strike two.
Monday night I stepped up to the bat for what would be macaroni and cheese's final chance, the result of which would be either the reignition of our love affair or the irreversible death of a beautiful thing long gone. There was no middle ground, and so I took no chances as I purchased the plain-noodled standard macaroni and cheese dinner I so enjoyed as a child, identical down to the very brand. I stared my childhood straight in the face as I tooke a deep breath and scooped up the first violent orange bite.
You can never go home again.
Macaroni and cheese was a delicious staple of my childhood, refueling me for many a Saturday afternoon's agenda of bug catching and hedge exploring. Even in college I was happy to call it an infrequent but still regular dinner, developing a fondness for the spiral-shaped variety. Just out of college I was introduced to the Velveeta shells and cheese upgrade, and I realized I had been previously been drinking grape juice when fine wine was readily available.
In other words, I enjoyed me some macaroni and cheese.
Sometime in my mid 20's, however, there was an unwelcome development as I began to find that it simply wasn't hitting the macaroni and cheese spot anymore. It would seem like a delicious dinner idea yet in reality I'd find the flavor vaguely distasteful after about half a bowl, and the ensuing carb-packed sensation didn't exactly complete the experience on a high note. I found myself caught in a loop where I'd swear off macaroni and cheese forever only to get hit by a craving months later, causing me to attempt, and inevitably fail, to enjoy this once-king of bachelor dining.
It was a vicious cycle that consumed much of my upper 20's. Every four months or so Macaroni and cheese would re-enter my life only to break my heart.
Several weeks ago I decided that this delicate dance of drama had gone on long enough and it was finally time to address this macaroni and cheese-shaped hole in my life. I was to embark on a quest, I declared, a quest to rediscover the macaroni and cheese of my youth, to reach back through time and discover at what critical point my split with macaroni and cheese occurred, for only then could I find a way to reconcile the separate paths that have driven us towards opposite horizons. I had to start with the present and carefully feel my way back through history.
I wasted no time in this quest and promptly sat down with a bowl of Velveeta shells and cheese, determined to savor it like fine wine.
Three quarters of a bowl later--the remains congealed into a solid clump of carbohydrates that vaguely resembled a pancreas--I recalled that grape juice had suited me just fine as a kid. Strike one.
After waiting a week or so to properly cleanse my system, I prepared the spiral-shaped macaroni and cheese, complete with added powder and butter, the latter in such heart-clogging volumes as to virtually guarantee sweeping vistas of flavor. I fondly recalled my carefree college days and lifted the spoon up to my mouth.
Halfway through the pile of noodles that managed to somehow be both undercooked and mushy, I remembered that my college palate had been fried from a constant stream of Mountain Dew and sugared candy. Strike two.
Monday night I stepped up to the bat for what would be macaroni and cheese's final chance, the result of which would be either the reignition of our love affair or the irreversible death of a beautiful thing long gone. There was no middle ground, and so I took no chances as I purchased the plain-noodled standard macaroni and cheese dinner I so enjoyed as a child, identical down to the very brand. I stared my childhood straight in the face as I tooke a deep breath and scooped up the first violent orange bite.
You can never go home again.