Excuses, excuses. Yes, I didn’t write this post on Friday. I wrote it on Saturday. My best friend is over from the UK and I’m cramming in every spare moment with her before she goes back. It is now 11:40 pm on a Saturday and I’m writing about food… The assignment is to write about a favorite childhood meal.
Damn, if there is one thing I miss from childhood it is a decent dish of baked macaroni. I don’t mean that neon orange ick from the box. I didn’t even know that existed until I went away to school when I was fourteen.
No, no over processed red dye #48 here, just macaroni, bechamel sauce and cheese. Lots of cheese.
Baked macaroni and cheese was the thing my Dad made. It was my favorite. I have been unable to replicate it in my own kitchen.
I suppose it is appropriate with Father’s Day being right around the corner that I remember that baked macaroni and cheese. Don’t get me wrong, there were things my Mom made that I loved, too – probably something in the realm of Spaghetti and meatballs- but I remember the baked macaroni as something specifically ‘Dad’.
You layer the macaroni with the cheese and the bechamel sauce until you’ve filled the dish – or run out of macaroni – and then you bake it in the oven until there is a delicious, caramelized layer of cheese on top. Then you try to wait until it is slightly below the temperature of ‘really, really hot’. I usually couldn’t wait. Baked macaroni and cheese was invariably followed by a burned tongue, but it always seemed worth it.