June 11, 2006
When I was a kid, Kraft Macaroni and Cheese for dinner was something of an event. It was participatory. Someone was going to get to cut the pats of butter in. Someone was going to get to pour the milk. Then the cheese. And then we'd all take turns stirring. It was my original comfort food.
I also clearly remember the feeling of abundance that went with that meal. I don't know how old we were when we finally finished an entire box in one sitting, but it was a long time coming. Leftovers were the norm for many years.
Now it's a new generation. My son is growing up on Annie's Shells and White Cheddar, which we try to make mostly when my lactose-intolerant partner is on a business trip or off in a field working on her chip shot. He likes to use a spoon. I like to use a fork. We both like it on the dry side. And much to my surprise, we've already had a night with no leftovers.
I can't help wondering if maybe someday I'll be mailing him a care package with a couple of purple boxes tucked inside. It's wild to be on both the giving and receiving sides of comfort.