Family Gems

Last night we had an elegant meal at our house—mini corn-dogs and macaroni-and-cheese. I’m watching my weight, and my husband was out of town, so this meal was strictly a teenage affair. Believe me when I say they were pretty pleased to have a break from mom’s low-fat, healthful offerings. The corn dogs were the standard frozen blobs from Sams, but the Mac-N-Cheese was homemade. No “blue box” here-- only the best will do for my kids—we use Velveeta and shell pasta.

My daughter skillfully assembled said Mac-N-Cheese, having watched me prepare it many times over the years. The recipe, if it can even be called a recipe, is simple: cube up some Velveeta (the amount is never quite defined), melt it in the microwave, and stir in some milk until the consistency is right. The terms “some” and “right” are deliberately vague and require no small amount of discretion by the chef. Mix the sauce with the boiled shells and serve hot—reheated Velveeta is not a pretty sight. While dining, my kids and a visiting friend discuss all the foods which best complement MNC, from fish sticks to little smokies. I turn my Julia Child cookbook face down on the counter so that she won’t be witness to our discussion of haute cuisine. The kids argue over seconds and devour the entire gooey batch.

What they don’t realize about this domestic scene is that they are repeating history and carrying on a family tradition of sorts. When I was growing up, there was an ongoing debate in my house on the “proper” way to prepare patês-au-fromage. My mother’s mother, “Grandma,” prepared her version of MNC using a recipe with multiple ingredients, including freshly grated cheddar cheese and eggs. All of this took a long time to assemble and had to bake in the oven for a solid hour. The resulting casserole, with its cheesy crust, was served by the square. Mmmm. I loved it, and so did almost everyone else.

But my dad’s mother, “Granny,” took the easy-cheesy Velveeta route. I’m not sure when Velveeta was introduced as an official food group, but Granny must have been an early adopter. For as long as I can remember, she served the Velveeta Mac-and-Cheese, straight from the pot on the stove, at her house whenever we had a family gathering. Fishing for a compliment, she would wait until everyone was seated and digging in to announce to the ceiling, “It ain’t fit to eat!” Mouths full, we would all look up and say, in chorus, “It’s great, Granny!” Satisfied, she would sit down and preside over the meal, cigarette in one hand and coffee cup in the other. I don’t recall that she ever actually ate anything.

I loved Granny’s MNC too, and even came to prefer it to the baked version (sorry, Grandma), as did my dad. After all, it was his mother’s recipe. But my own mother stuck to her preference for the cut-square-baked kind. She never makes either herself-she hates to cook- but at a potluck dinner her fork always votes for the casserole version. Over the years this debate has become somewhat of a tradition among us, one of the few “arguments” my parents ever have. It seems silly, but my dad even teases Grandma, now 92, about it just to get a rise out of her.

You might say we are an easily-entertained lot, with a penchant for artery clogging comfort food. But it’s really more than that. The world moves so fast sometimes that it is comforting to talk about the foods prepared in our family kitchens, as well as to eat them. It reminds us, and our own children, that we were once kids too, and helps us bridge that ever widening generation gap. There’s an ad campaign about dinner together once a week being a tonic for what ails the modern family, and I think there is something to this idea. Many memories of my grandmothers, who were the same age and, coincidentally, were both named Jewel (Grandma’s name spelled with two L’s) revolve in some way around the family table. Granny died more than ten years ago, so neither of my kids really remembers her, except through pictures and stories. But if, by passing on her recipe for a satisfying, easy dinner to my kids, I’ve helped to keep her memory alive, for them and me, well I’ll eat to that.