Okay, so really. Can you imagine being the one to have invented cheese? For crying out loud, that's like inventing clothes, or elbows, or walls. It's really, really important. It's an extremely incredible invention. And not only did someone invent the very first cheese, but many people invented all the different kinds of cheese. What's more is that there are folks out there right now, right this very second, inventing more kinds of cheese. Here are my questions: Who are these people? How can I become one of them? My request is: Quick, bring me these trusty cheese-makers and allow me a cheese apprenticeship! Let me please learn to create this thing that I love so much. Or, let me be in the room with the cheese masters while they make it. Or, at least just let me have cheese, both in my refrigerator and in my heart. That, I think, will suffice. For now.
The only time I ever made cheese was several years ago, when I made paneer, the white blocks of un-aged, non-melting Indian cheese that is common in my favorite of all Indian dishes, aloo matar paneer. This dish is pure divinity, when done properly (and sometimes even when it isn't), and it consists of peas, potatoes, and cubes of paneer, all in a tomato-based sauce. (Sauces, on Indian restaurant menus, tend to be called gravies, which makes me nervous. To me, a gravy means Thanksgiving, and I have trouble fitting my idea of brown turkey-gravy into any other context. Nevertheless, I love the Indian gravies, especially when they have swallowed up those stark-white cubes of perfection.) Why this cheese is delicious, I have no idea. It contains no salt or rennet (a coagulant common in most cheeses), yet it's kind of magical. Since it is such a simple cheese, it's really not too much of a pain to make. You really only need milk, lemon juice, cheesecloth and some patience. The trouble that I got into was that after I had been through the whole cheese-making process, the last thing on earth I wanted to do was boil potatoes, develop some sort of "gravy," AND cook rice. Considering that I am also obsessive-compulsive, I wouldn't let it go until I had also made the naan, mango lassi, masala tea, samosas, chutney, and forty-eight other components. Long story short, one date was enough for me and paneer. Now, we both see other people for our Indian cuisine needs, and we're both pretty comfortable with it.
I almost feel like there should be multiple food groups within the group called cheese. (Not that cheese is even a food group by itself, but stay with me here.) Just think -- there are so many kinds of cheese that are good for so many different things. There's cheese that's best for sandwiches, and cheese that is best for sauce. There is salad cheese, and gratin cheese, and cheeseburger cheese. There are the kinds of cheese that are good for grilled cheese, and very certain kinds that work best in macaroni and cheese. There's hard cheeses, and soft cheeses, there's cow and sheep and goat cheeses, not to mention all those "alternative" cheese made with the milk of, ahem, other animals. There are cheese platters and cheese boards. There are so many kinds of cheese in American culture, and so, so many more in nearly every other culture.
The thing with cheese is that it showcases well (did I seriously just use "showcase" as a verb?) in so many different settings. It is standard fare in many situations, but, I must admit, there are some places that cheese doesn't belong. It needs to try and stay out of sushi, for one. I don't want cream cheese on my maki. That's all there is to it. Let the cream cheese continue its steamy love affair with the bagel, and leave maki out of it. Cheese also has no place on cereal, on Thai food, or on pancakes. It should never be combined with sugary things, unless it is chocolate, which, for some reason, loves to have a special rendezvous with cheese every now and then. Long story short, cheese is so good at doing so many things well, and I just want to tell it what a good job it has been doing all these years.
The quintessential cheese dish is the one that has shaped many a childhood here in America. It is, of course, macaroni and cheese, often lovingly called just mac n' cheese, so as to suggest the casualness and joy involved in the consumption of this dish. There are a lot of ways to make macaroni and cheese, and everyone has a special process that they swear by. There are also others who swear by the kind in the box, the kind that serves as a maraca before it is opened up. Even in this realm, there are so, so many types to choose from. Different shapes, different sauces, organic, not organic, whole wheat, powdered cheese, squeeze cheese. In my adult life, I am partial to Annie's, although sometimes, every once in a while, I'll get a hankering for the Kraft kind, and I'll tell you why.
When I was in grade school, I had a friend named Lisa. I'd go to her house, where there was a Pomeranian named Brandy who barked loudly and constantly in that horrible, yipping, nerve wracking, blood-tangling way that only Pomeranians can bark. Brandy was usually in a crate in the living room, and sometimes the family would take her out to "play" with her. She wasn't all that friendly or pleasant, though, so they usually ended up getting bitten by her. As soon as I heard the crate door open, I made myself scarce, creeping off to the bathroom where I could have a bit of peace and avoid bodily injury during my play date. When I didn't scoot off fast enough, they'd ask if I wanted to hold her, and, honestly, I must have looked at them with crazy eyes. Who on earth would want to willingly reach out their arms to their attacker? Um, not me.
Besides suffering through the emotional and mental exhaustion of these play dates at Lisa's, I did manage to enjoy myself. No, it wasn't in Lisa's refusal to share her new toys with me, or the way her father scolded me for touching the wallpaper as I walked down their hallway, but in something that apparently trumped all (and this apparently wasn't hard to do). It was the reason for my play dates at Lisa's, or, at least, it was the thing I remember best. It was the macaroni and cheese. You know, the Kraft kind in the blue box. This was way before Kraft started experimenting around with different varieties of their boxed macaroni and cheese. (Oh, I'm sorry, that's Kraft cheese and macaroni.) This was before the spirals or the Sponge Bob shapes, before anyone cared about whole grain or yellow food dye, before Kraft attempted to join any sort of revolution. Just the regular shape, and the regular box.
The most important part about mac and cheese at Lisa's was that Lisa liked -- get this -- to have her macaroni without the cheese. Um, yeah. No allergy to claim, just preferences. She would have noodles with butter. That's all. If even a drop of cheese powder reached her noodles, she would scream bloody murder, which was more than enough to make that Pomeranian chew its way through a metal crate door and a wall or two. This meant that Lisa's mother would make us the macaroni and cheese and Lisa's would be plain. My half, though, would have all of the cheese, so it would be especially full of orange cheese deliciousness. And when I was sitting at the high counter on a tall chair, having that macaroni and cheese out of the blue bowl, I could, for a few minutes at least, manage to forget that a crazed ball of fur was gnawing its way through my tiny little leg.
The other thing that I always loved about macaroni and cheese at Lisa's (besides actually eating it) was my own mother's story about eating macaroni and cheese with one of her best friends when she was young. They'd have macaroni and cheese out of can together, and it was a really special and important part of her childhood. One time when I was a little bit older and my mom and I were grocery shopping together, we came across some of that mac and cheese in a can and we took it home to give it a try. I was so distracted by the fact that the noodles were all very, very long that I can't even remember if we liked eating it. It was, I suppose, one of those things whose defining moment was the discovery, not the experience itself.
The best macaroni and cheese is, of course, the homemade kind. My mom always made macaroni and cheese with elbow macaroni, which is the way it should be, if you ask me. Granted, I have been known to try many a pasta shape in my mac and cheese, but I always go back to the elbows. They just make sense to me. I tend to vary the cheeses that I use, although I do always integrate some kind of cheddar. So, let's move right along then, shall we?
Macaroni and Cheese
good for a queen or king or for just a regular person
2 C elbow macaroni (or other shape, if you're so inclined)
1 lb. of good cheese, shredded (I like a combination of sharp white cheddar, American, fontina, and gruyere, but I try something new every time I make it, and you should, too!)
2 C milk (or half & half, if you're feeling decadent)
1 t salt
1/2 t pepper
1 t dry mustard powder
2 eggs
Preheat oven to 375 F. Cook the 2 cups of macaroni, but for only about 2/3 of the suggested time, as you will want the pasta to be a little firmer than al dente. It will cook more when it is baking in the oven.
In a big bowl, whisk eggs, salt, pepper, and mustard. Add milk, then add the cheese. Add cooked pasta to the mixture and stir it up!
Butter a casserole dish and pour in the cheesy goodness. Bake for about 25 minutes on the middle rack.
Then broil for 5-8 minutes more so the top gets nice and toasty.
*Since this recipe doesn't use a lot of fancy schmancy ingredients or spices, it is necessary to use really good cheese! Don't settle for cheap cheese, or the mac n' cheese will be bland. Use cheeses that you like to eat out of hand. If you don't like to eat the cheese plain, chances are good you won't like to eat it in melted form.That's it! You did it. You made macaroni and cheese! Serve with peas or cooked cabbage and carrots. Also consider serving pickles and/or beets with your creation. Oh, or ribs. Or brisket. Or barbecued chicken. Or anything, really. Anything except violent lap dogs.
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