When I was twenty-three, I made fresh gnocchi for a super-good-looking but kind of stupid guy I was dating. Like the true gem he was, he stood over me in the kitchen, wrinkling his nose and furrowing his brows at my every move.
“That’s not how my mom does it,” he said. “She doesn’t use a food processor. She does it all by hand. And her gnocchi are amazing.” Never mind the fact that I was twenty-three and making fucking gnocchi, from scratch.
I ignored him and concentrated on the burdensome task of peeling, boiling, and mashing potatoes and mixing them with just enough flour so the dough could be handled—but not so much that it became dense. When the gnocchi were finally complete and we sat down at my lovingly set kitchen table to eat, he took a bite, paused for a long time, and said, “These taste… different from my mom’s.”
Needless to say, it was our last date.
We can learn two things from this story. The first is that anyone who is bringing up their mother’s cooking and implying that you are doing something wrong while you’re generously cooking for them is not worth your time. The second is that childhood memories of food are powerful, and if handled carefully, they can be exploited for your benefit. Think about some of your favorite foods. Sure, some of them may be more sophisticated delicacies you encountered as an adult, but chances are that many of them are dishes you ate as a young child, prepared lovingly for you by your parents. Even more likely is that one of those foods is creamy, carby mac and cheese. And guess what—it’s probably a childhood favorite of that hottie whose pants you’re trying to get into too.
This utterly perfect baked mac and cheese is the real deal, likely to inspire happy memories of simpler times. You can class it up with a crisp green salad and a glass of cold white wine, or you can go old school and serve it with carrot sticks and apple juice.
And if anyone tries to tell you you’re doing it wrong, tell them to get the hell out of your kitchen. More mac for you.
SERVES 6
8 ounces dried macaroni elbows (or other small-cut pasta)
3 tablespoons unsalted butter, plus more for the pan
3 tablespoons all-purpose flour
2 cups whole milk (this is not the time for low-fat)
¼ teaspoon powdered mustard
⅛ teaspoon nutmeg
3 cups shredded sharp cheddar cheese
½ teaspoon salt
½ teaspoon pepper
½ cup shredded Parmesan
• Preheat the oven to 375°F. Lightly butter a large rectangular casserole pan or 4 to 6 individual ovenproof dishes (such as ramekins).
• Cook the pasta in salted boiling water according to package directions. Drain, return to pot, and set aside.
• In a medium pot, melt the butter over medium-high heat.
• Sprinkle in the flour, stirring until a sticky dough forms. Cook, whisking constantly, for 1 to 2 minutes.
• Slowly pour in the milk, continuing to whisk, until a thick white sauce forms.
• Whisk in the powdered mustard and nutmeg.
• Gradually add the cheddar cheese, whisking as you go, until smooth.
• Add the salt and pepper and cook for an additional 1 to 2 minutes, continuing to whisk.
• Use a spatula to scrape the sauce into the cooked pasta and stir gently until all pasta is coated.
• Transfer the pasta-cheese mixture into the prepared pan or dishes and top with the shredded Parmesan.
• Bake for 20 to 25 minutes, or until the cheese on top bubbles and is lightly browned in spots.
• Serve hot.