Dinner and a math lesson?

I cannot cook. Really, I have absolutely zero culinary intuition. I know you think I’m being modest, but I’ve screwed up even instant oatmeal beyond edibility. At least twice.

As dinnertime menus are often limited to a bag of popcorn at my house, it’s always a nice treat when a guy offers to make me dinner. Ok, it’s usually a nice treat when a guy offers to make me dinner.

On one particular occasion of potentially romantic catering, I am pretty sure the recipe did not call for my stifled laughter. Let’s just say, I don’t think Top Chef, Hell’s Kitchen or Mensa will be calling this young suitor any time soon. And, I can add, I probably won’t be either.

This young Emeril aspirant told me that the two dishes he made really, really well—his specialties, as a matter of fact—were mashed potatoes and homemade, from scratch, passed-down-from-generation-to-generation, extravagant, fancy macaroni and cheese. And, we were going to have both. In the same meal. Considering that if I make either of those things, it typically comes out of a box, who was I to point out that no proper food-pyramid-constructed meal contains two starches?

As he’s cooking, I’m doing what I do best: providing colorful, delightful chatter and plenty of booze. He tells me that his mac and cheese recipe is so involved that he’s never figured out how to cut it down to feed two people. Be prepared for plenty of leftovers. I couldn’t wait to taste the delicacy!

At one point, I was in the middle of an especially enchanting story when The Chef picked macaroni out of the water and squeezed it between his fingers. At its complete disintegration, it was decided the pasta was ready (I could feel my Italian ex-boyfriend’s family cringing wherever they were—you know the same family who taught me the never-able-to-be-repeated-by-me importance of homemade pasta and al dente firmness).

After he drained the macaroni and returned it to the pot and I returned to my engaging repartee (and wine), he cut me off mid-sentence: “This is the really crucial part, and I need to focus so I’m sure everything melts properly.” Intrigued by the culinary genius that was about to take place in my hardly-broken-in kitchen, I poured some more wine and silently settled in to watch.

The dedication, intensity and mild stress—the likes of which while cooking I had only ever before witnessed on those reality cooking shows—was almost awe-inspiring. That was, until I realized that the entire homemade, from scratch, passed-down-from-generation-to-generation, extravagant, fancy tour de force consisted entirely of 1 box of elbow macaroni and 1 box of Velveeta cheese. And, that was it.

Laughter and so many questions came bubbling to the tip of my tongue: That’s the extravagant, secret family recipe? Wait, you can’t figure out how to cut that recipe down to half or quarter? Maybe ½ a box of macaroni and ½ a box of cheese-like substance? You know they sell exactly this dish in the grocery store, and all you have to do is put it in the microwave for a few minutes?

A little giggle did escape, and maybe even a, “That’s it?” But, the rest was suppressed by the sincere and beaming, “Yep! Sorry I had to shush you. It was just right at the really critical and intense part of the whole thing. I really had to concentrate. So, I hope you like it because you’ll have a lot left over. It’s just such a tough recipe to cut down to be appropriate for two people!”

I was eating Velveeta and macaroni for a week. But, the mashed potatoes were, admittedly, pretty tasty!