Mac And Cheese Quotes

all i want...is mac and cheese

No matter where life takes me, you'll find me with a smile. Presumed to be happy, always laughing like a child. I never thought life could be this sweet! It's got me cheesing from cheek to cheek!

The fight unfolded like background noise. White noise. In the foreground, even with his ghastly pale face looking dead in my hands, my fingers clenching his ragged hair, all I could see was random images of Fang, not dead. Fang telling me stupid fart jokes from the dog crate next to mine at the school, trying to make me laugh. Fang asleep at Jeb's old house, and me jumping wildly on his bed to wake him up. Him pretending to be asleep. Me laughing when I "accidentally" kicked him where it counts. Him dumping me off the bed. Fang gagging on my first attempt at cooking dinner after Jeb disappeared. Him spitting out the mac and cheese. Me dumping the rest of the bowl on him in response. Fang on the beach, that first time he was badly injured. Me realizing how I felt about him. Fang kissing me. So close I couldn't even see his dark eyes anymore. The first time. The second time. The third. I could always remember each and every one of them. Would always remember them. Fang. Not. Dead.

Inviting the invading army over for dinner, buffet style, is a bad idea. Especially when I just took a bath in the last of your mac and cheese.

Wear the Spanx. You might not want to squeeze them over your ass in the morning, but when you see that mac and cheese at lunch (do it, you beautiful monster) you’ll be glad they’re there, doing the lord’s work.

One of the many advantages of having a boyfriend who is half French is that his culinary repertoire extends beyond mac and cheese. Plus, there’s the kissing.

Mac and cheese and pigs in a blanket with white fuckin' wine," he stated through his smile. "Is this duchess food?

Another female household-hinter gave me a recipe for a big hearty main dish of elbow macaroni, mint jelly, lima beans, mayonnaise and cheese baked until 'hot and yummy.' Unless my taste buds are paralyzed, this dish could be baked until hell freezes over and it might get hot but never 'yummy.

Bluebird: How about this? If you don't show me I won't like you anymore Wolf: That logic is cruel but sound. You asked for this Wolf: macncheeseme.com Bluebird: Is this...is this an app for finding emergency mac and cheese Wolf: Life Spider-Man, I am only looking out for the citizens of New York

What is the use of living if you cannot eat cheese and pickles?

For less than the cost of a Big Mac, fries and a Coke, you can buy a loaf of fresh bread and some good cheese or roast beef, which you will enjoy much more.

Think of it like the best mac and cheese you've ever had. No neon yellow Velveeta and bread crumbs. I'm talking gourmet cheddar, the expensive stuff from Vermont that crackles as it melts into the crust on top. Imagine if right before you were about to tear into it, the mac and cheese starts talking to you?

Then you remember that Jack--that's his name, the mac & cheese--plays lacrosse. That's probably where he got all those yummy muscles. You need two hands for lacrosse. A pinky? Damn, you might as well starve yourself.

I need your compliments to feed my ego, because it’s bored of mac and cheese. And honestly, so am I.

This is an ode to all of those that have never asked for one. A thank you in words to all of those that do not do what they do so well for the thanking. This is to the mothers. This is to the ones who match our first scream with their loudest scream; who harmonize in our shared pain and joy and terrified wonder when life begins. This is to the mothers. To the ones who stay up late and wake up early and always know the distance between their soft humming song and our tired ears. To the lips that find their way to our foreheads and know, somehow always know, if too much heat is living in our skin. To the hands that spread the jam on the bread and the mesmerizing patient removal of the crust we just cannot stomach. This is to the mothers. To the ones who shout the loudest and fight the hardest and sacrifice the most to keep the smiles glued to our faces and the magic spinning through our days. To the pride they have for us that cannot fit inside after all they have endured. To the leaking of it out their eyes and onto the backs of their hands, to the trails of makeup left behind as they smile through those tears and somehow always manage a laugh. This is to the patience and perseverance and unyielding promise that at any moment they would give up their lives to protect ours. This is to the mothers. To the single mom’s working four jobs to put the cheese in the mac and the apple back into the juice so their children, like birds in a nest, can find food in their mouths and pillows under their heads. To the dreams put on hold and the complete and total rearrangement of all priority. This is to the stay-at-home moms and those that find the energy to go to work every day; to the widows and the happily married. To the young mothers and those that deal with the unexpected announcement of a new arrival far later than they ever anticipated. This is to the mothers. This is to the sack lunches and sleepover parties, to the soccer games and oranges slices at halftime. This is to the hot chocolate after snowy walks and the arguing with the umpire at the little league game. To the frosting ofbirthday cakes and the candles that are always lit on time; to the Easter egg hunts, the slip-n-slides and the iced tea on summer days. This is to the ones that show us the way to finding our own way. To the cutting of the cord, quite literally the first time and even more painfully and metaphorically the second time around. To the mothers who become grandmothers and great-grandmothers and if time is gentle enough, live to see the children of their children have children of their own. To the love. My goodness to the love that never stops and comes from somewhere only mothers have seen and know the secret location of. To the love that grows stronger as their hands grow weaker and the spread of jam becomes slower and the Easter eggs get easier to find and sack lunches no longer need making. This is to the way the tears look falling from the smile lines around their eyes and the mascara that just might always be smeared with the remains of their pride for all they have created. This is to the mothers.

So, just based on first day impressions, who do you guys think is going to win Insomnia Con?” Celia asked between bites of her $42 mac and cheese. Dimple couldn’t help calculating the value of each bite. There goes $2. And another $2. She didn’t even properly chew up that $2.

Fried mac ’n’ cheese balls. Does that sound appetizing?” “Fried … mac and cheese … balls?” Ezra dared to look away long enough to smirk at Aaron. “Don’t you know everything is better in ball form? Cheese, meat, donuts, snow … pasta.” “Real comprehensive list there, Ezra.

A hip-looking teen watches an elderly woman hobble across the street on a walker. "Grammy's here!" he shouts. He puts some MacAttack Mac&Cheese in the microwave and dons headphones and takes out a video game so he won't be bored during the forty seconds it takes his lunch to cook. A truck comes around the corner and hits Grammy, sending her flying over the roof into the backyard, where luckily she lands on a trampoline. Unluckily, she bounces back over the roof, into the front yard, landing on a rosebush.

Am I alone in this mother-food connection or does being with your mom trigger the sudden and voracious need for large amounts of mac & cheese, rice pudding, and the scraps along the side of a bowl of cookie dough?

She was absolutely beautiful. She had long blonde hair, kind of the shade of a bowl of mac and cheese. She was smiling a wide, genuine smile—which was rather the shape of a macaroni and cheese noodle. She seemed to radiate light, much like a bowl of mac and cheese might if you stuffed a lightbulb into it. Her skin was soft and squishy, like— Okay. Maybe I’m too hungry to be writing right now.

Well, " said her daddy, "your careless heedlessness has almost lost me my life. I am now going to give you a spanking." And he did and so dinner was a snuffling red-eyed meal filled with cold looks and long silences and the cheese souffle, which was delicious.

Wear the Spanx. You might not want to squeeze them over your ass in the morning, but when you see that mac and cheese at lunch (do it, you beautiful monster) you'll be glad there're there, doing the lord's work.

The hospice fridge is filled with cream: ice cream, sour cream, heavy cream, cans and cans of whipped cream. There’s definitely a now or never feeling about food around here, and it makes you wonder what you think you might be waiting for in your own life. I mean, crusty, gooey mac and cheese? Thickly frosted éclairs? Velveeta melted over a plate of potato chips—what the nurses call the house nachos? Eat your kale and blueberries and whatever else, but go ahead. Have some of the good stuff now too. We

The chalkboard menu really seemed to emphasize that everything was local and that everything had maple syrup in it. The BBQ beef was in maple syrup BBQ sauce. The mac and cheese was made with smoked maple cheese. There was maple tofu and maple-syrup dressing for the salads. "Did you forget you were in Vermont for a second?" Stevie said to Janelle as they took their trays. "Look down. You are standing in maple syrup." "Yeah," Janelle replied, a bit dispiritedly, as she took some tofu and vegetables. "It's not my favorite." Nate stared down the sneeze guard at the mapleized meats. "I'll drink the living blood of trees," he said. "Hit me.

Cheese and rice on garlic toast,” Violet says while palming her face, though I have no idea why she’s randomly discussing an odd food combination. “Mac and cheese on mayo and bread,” Anna jumps back in. “Nope. That tactic doesn’t work. Now I think it was the Cookie Monster in the library with the candlestick who done it,” she adds.

When we are too functional, we forget the point of hospitality in the home: fellowship, not entertainment. Don't let pride stop you from opening your home. Ignore the cat hair on the couch (or in the mac and cheese). It likely won't kill anyone as decisively as loneliness will. Add as much water to the pot to stretch the soup. If you run out of food, make pancakes, and put the kids in charge of making that meal. See how much fun that is. And know that someone is spared from another humiliating fall into internet pornography because he is instead walking with you and your kids and dogs, as you share the Lord's Day, one model of how the Lord gives you daily grace and a way of escape. Know that someone is spared the fear and darkness of depression because she is needed at your house, always on the Lord's Day, the day she is never alone, but instead safely in community, where her place at the table is needed and necessary and relied upon. Know that someone is drawn into Christ's love because the Bible reading and psalm singing that come at the close of the meal include everyone, and that it reminds us that no one is scapegoated in this Christ-bearing community. Know that host and guest are equally precious and fragile, and that you will play both roles throughout the course of this life. The doors here open wide. They must.

Believe it or not, countless generations of children finished their supper before the advent of Kraft Mac & Cheese and ice-cream sandwiches.

Now let's make Virginia Heffernan a man. Can you imagine the same kind of spittle-flecked rage directed at a busy working father who admits to feeding his kids Annie's Organic Mac & Cheese?

Old Country Buffet, where our family went on the days we saved enough money. ...Here, our family reveled in the American way of waste, manifest destinied our way through the mac & cheese...

- dismissing any thought of me the way you'd walk past boxes of mac'n'cheese or mashmallow cereal on a shelf in the grocery store. I was kids' stuff. I was nonsense. I wasn't worth the calories.

We live in the world, Jacob thought. That thought always seemed to insert itself, usually in opposition to the word ideally. Ideally, we would make sandwiches at homeless shelters every weekend, and learn instruments late in life, and stop thinking about the middle of life as late in life, and use some mental resource other than Google, and some physical resource other than Amazon, and permanently retire mac and cheese, and give at least a quarter of the time and attention to aging relatives that they deserve, and never put a child in front of a screen. But we live in the world, and in the world there’s soccer practice, and speech therapy, and grocery shopping, and homework, and keeping the house respectably clean, and money, and moods, and fatigue, and also we’re only human, and humans not only need but deserve things like time with a coffee and the paper, and seeing friends, and taking breathers, so as nice as that idea is, there’s just no way we can make it happen. Ought to, but can’t.

You done?” Mani crosses her arms. “Because I love my godson. I have no issue with any of that. Let me break it down for you. Windex. Band-Aids. I love me some mac ’n cheese and I think I’d very much enjoy PJ Masks after an edible. There. I just bulldozed through all your bullshit excuses in seven seconds.

I recently came across a frozen low-fat mac ’n’ cheese meal with the word “sinless” printed on the packaging. Conjuring the devil to talk about microwavable noodles felt a touch melodramatic, but that’s how deep religious talk runs in American culture: There are sinners and saints, and the latter choose 2 percent dairy.

There was a bowl of tuna salad. She grabbed two slices of the closest bread and smacked on a gob, squashing it flat. She sliced it with one long cut and dropped down into a chair at the far end of the table. David sat at the other end, one of the old tablets next to him, facedown. "I don't eat tuna salad," he said, grabbing a piece of bread. "It's too mysterious. People sneak things into it. It's a sneak food." "I like it," Hunter said. "We make it at home with sliced-up dill pickle and Old Bay Seasoning." "Good to know," David said. "Nate, where do you come down on tuna salad?: Nate was trying to read and eat some cold mac and cheese in peace. "I don't eat fish," he said. "Fish freak me out.

This is the most common misconception about speechwriting. It came up especially often in the years before I started at the White House, when I wrote for CEOs. “You seem capable,” they would tell me, “but can you really find my voice?” “I think I can manage it,” I’d reply gravely. Left unsaid is that it would be easy, because when it comes to rhetorical styling, 99.9 percent of speeches sound the same. Martin Luther King had a voice. John F. Kennedy had a voice. With all due respect, you probably don’t. What you do have are thoughts. What you need, although you may not know it, is someone to organize them. A good writer can take your ten ideas and turn them into one coherent whole. Where you see two all-beef patties, special sauce, lettuce, cheese, pickles, and onions on a sesame seed bun, a speechwriter sees a Big Mac.

Buffalo Chicken Mac & Cheese This easy meal combines the flavors of buffalo wings and mac and cheese.  To cut down on prep/cooking time, use a pre-cooked rotisserie chicken! 1 Cup milk 1 (12 oz) can evaporated milk ¼ Tsp garlic powder ½ Cup buffalo hot sauce (Frank’s Red Hot is a good bet) 3 Cups shredded cheese (just cheddar or a mix if you’d like) 1 lb pre-cooked chicken, shredded ½ lb uncooked pasta (such as elbow macaroni) Chopped onion/celery/carrots, crumbled blue cheese (optional) Mix milk, evaporated milk, garlic powder, and hot sauce in slow cooker until combined.  Add salt & pepper (to taste).  Stir in cheese, chicken, and uncooked pasta. Cook on low for approximately 1 hour, stir, then continue cooking an additional 30-60 minutes, or until pasta is tender. Garnish with chopped vegetables and/or blue cheese (if desired).  Enjoy!

Autumn was a harvest of big-box stores and their back-to-school sales: fruit leather, instant mac 'n' cheese, and bread that we unhusked, crinkling, from its plastic sleeve. My mouth watered for the sweetness of processed wheat sown thick through gas stations from California to New York. Honey Buns and Wonder Breads, in perfect squares and machined circles, and the ripe weight of a Danish, mass-produced, that attempts no fidelity to the country after which it is named--- no country but this one ambered by waves of industrial grain.

Grandfather, is it all right if we join you for a bit?" "Of course. Particularly since you've brought sustenance." He eyed the tray of food. It looked like a food magazine layout, featuring a variety of cheeses with fresh berries on brightly painted Italian pottery, and a tiny glass container of honey with the smallest spoon he'd ever seen. Isabel laced a thread of honey across the cheeses. "These are my favorite honey and cheese pairings. Comte, Appenzeller and ricotta. I had my first honey harvest last summer- a small one. That's when I realized I needed extra help with my beekeeping." "Sorry I wasn't your guy," said Mac.

Everyone jumps to their stations and I meet Richard and Amanda at ours. We're in charge of assembling spoonfuls of sweet-potato casserole but with a Spanish twist. That was my idea, a Southern holiday meal meets a twist of southern Spain. Most of the hors d'oeuvres were prepared beforehand so we just need to get them in the oven and put on the finishing garnishes. I begin scooping sweet-potato casserole onto ceramic serving spoons while Richard garnishes them with sugared walnuts and Spanish sausage. Three months ago, most of us had never even tried Spanish cuisine, and today we're hosting a semi-Spanish-themed banquet. We work like machines. I spoon and pass the bite to my left. Richard adds walnuts and sausage, and passes the plate. Amanda adds parsley and cleans the plate. Chili aioli would make this bomb. A sweet and savory bite. I almost walk to the spice cabinet, then stop myself. That's not the recipe. We make trays and trays of food; some are set forward for the students who will begin serving. These are the skewers of winter veggies and single-serve portions of herbed stuffing with jamón ibérico- the less hearty bites. While the first course is being distributed the rest of us begin wiping down our stations. Our mini bites of sweet potato and mac and cheese will be going out next.

TREVOR AND I WEREN’T SPEAKING when I went into hibernation. I probably called him at some point under the black veil of Ambien early on, but I don’t know if he ever answered. I could easily imagine him diving into a complicated, fortysomething-year-old’s vagina, dismissing any thought of me the way you’d walk past boxes of mac ’n’ cheese or marshmallow cereal on a shelf in the grocery store. I was kids’ stuff. I was nonsense. I wasn’t worth the calories. He said he preferred brunettes. “They give me space to be myself,” he told me. “Blondes are distracting. Think of your beauty as an Achilles’ heel. You’re too much on the surface. I don’t say that offensively. But it’s the truth. It’s hard to look past what you look like.

There are food stations around the room, each representing one of the main characters. The Black Widow station is all Russian themed, with a carved ice sculpture that delivers vodka into molded ice shot glasses, buckwheat blini with smoked salmon and caviar, borsht bite skewers, minipita sandwiches filled with grilled Russian sausages, onion salad, and a sour cream sauce. The Captain America station is, naturally, all-American, with cheeseburger sliders, miniwaffles topped with a fried chicken tender and drizzled with Tabasco honey butter, paper cones of French fries, mini-Chicago hot dogs, a mac 'n' cheese bar, and pickled watermelon skewers. The Hulk station is all about duality and green. Green and white tortellini, one filled with cheese, the other with spicy sausage, skewered with artichoke hearts with a brilliant green pesto for dipping. Flatbreads cooked with olive oil and herbs and Parmesan, topped with an arugula salad in a lemon vinaigrette. Mini-espresso cups filled with hot sweet pea soup topped with cold sour cream and chervil. And the dessert buffet is inspired by Loki, the villain of the piece, and Norse god of mischief. There are plenty of dessert options, many of the usual suspects, mini-creme brûlée, eight different cookies, small tarts. But here and there are mischievous and whimsical touches. Rice Krispies treats sprinkled with Pop Rocks for a shocking dining experience. One-bite brownies that have a molten chocolate center that explodes in the mouth. Rice pudding "sushi" topped with Swedish Fish.

Real burrata is a creation of arresting beauty- white and unblemished on the surface, with a swollen belly and a pleated top. The outer skin should be taut and resistant, while the center should give ever so slightly with gentle prodding. Look at the seam on top: As with mozzarella, it should be rough, imperfect, the sign of human hands at work. Cut into the bulge, and the deposit of fresh cream and mozzarella morsels seems to exhale across the plate. The richness of the cream- burrata comes from burro, the Italian word for "butter"- coats the mouth, the morsels of mozzarella detonate one by one like little depth charges, and the entire package pulses with a gentle current of acidity. The brothers, of course, like to put their own spin on burrata. Sometimes that means mixing cubes of fresh mango into its heart. Or Spanish anchovies. Even caviar. Today, Paolo sends me next door to a vegetable stand to buy wild arugula, which he chops and combines with olives and chunks of tuna and stirs into the liquid heart of the burrata, so that each bite registers in waves: sharp, salty, fishy, creamy. It doesn't move me the same way the pure stuff does, but if I lived on a daily diet of burrata, as so many Dicecca customers do, I'd probably welcome a little surprise in the package from time to time. While the Diceccas experiment with what they can put into burrata, the rest of the world rushes to find the next food to put it onto. Don't believe me? According to Yelp, 1,800 restaurants in New York currently serve burrata. In Barcelona, more than 500 businesses have added it to the menu. Burrata burgers, burrata pizza, burrata mac and cheese. Burrata avocado toasts. Burrata kale salads. It's the perfect food for the globalized palate: neutral enough to fit into anything, delicious enough to improve anything.

THE Oldest Ones of All were gluttons. Probably it was because they seldom had enough to eat. You can read even nowadays a poem written by one of them, which is known as the Vision of Mac Conglinne. In this Vision there is a description of a castle made out of different kinds of food. The English for part of the poem goes like this: A lake of new milk I beheld In the midst of a fair plain. I saw a well-appointed house Thatched with butter. Its two soft door-posts of custard, Its dais of curds and butter, Beds of glorious lard, Many shields of thin pressed cheese. Under the straps of those shields Were men of soft sweet smooth cheese, Men who knew not to wound a Gael, Spears of old butter had each of them. A huge cauldron full of meat (Methought I’d try to tackle it), Boiled, leafy kale, browny-white, A brimming vessel full of milk. A bacon house of two-score ribs, A wattling of tripe—support of clans— Of every food pleasant to man, Meseemed the whole was gathered there. Of chitterlings of pigs were made Its beautiful rafters, Splendid the beams and the pillars Of marvellous pork.

I cooked with so many of the greats: Tom Colicchio, Eric Ripert, Wylie Dufresne, Grant Achatz. Rick Bayless taught me not one but two amazing mole sauces, the whole time bemoaning that he never seemed to know what to cook for his teenage daughter. Jose Andres made me a classic Spanish tortilla, shocking me with the sheer volume of viridian olive oil he put into that simple dish of potatoes, onions, and eggs. Graham Elliot Bowles and I made gourmet Jell-O shots together, and ate leftover cheddar risotto with Cheez-Its crumbled on top right out of the pan. Lucky for me, Maria still includes me in special evenings like this, usually giving me the option of joining the guests at table, or helping in the kitchen. I always choose the kitchen, because passing up the opportunity to see these chefs in action is something only an idiot would do. Susan Spicer flew up from New Orleans shortly after the BP oil spill to do an extraordinary menu of all Gulf seafood for a ten-thousand-dollar-a-plate fund-raising dinner Maria hosted to help the families of Gulf fishermen. Local geniuses Gil Langlois and Top Chef winner Stephanie Izard joined forces with Gale Gand for a seven-course dinner none of us will ever forget, due in no small part to Gil's hoisin oxtail with smoked Gouda mac 'n' cheese, Stephanie's roasted cauliflower with pine nuts and light-as-air chickpea fritters, and Gale's honey panna cotta with rhubarb compote and insane little chocolate cookies. Stephanie and I bonded over hair products, since we have the same thick brown curls with a tendency to frizz, and the general dumbness of boys, and ended up giggling over glasses of bourbon till nearly two in the morning. She is even more awesome, funny, sweet, and genuine in person than she was on her rock-star winning season on Bravo. Plus, her food is spectacular all day. I sort of wish she would go into food television and steal me from Patrick. Allen Sternweiler did a game menu with all local proteins he had hunted himself, including a pheasant breast over caramelized brussels sprouts and mushrooms that melted in your mouth (despite the occasional bit of buckshot). Michelle Bernstein came up from Miami and taught me her white gazpacho, which I have since made a gajillion times, as it is probably one of the world's perfect foods.

Once upon a time I'd left Los Angeles and been swallowed down the throat of a life in which my sole loyalty was to my tongue. My belly. Myself. My mother called me selfish and so selfish I became. From nineteen to twenty-five I was a mouth, sating. For myself I made three-day braises and chose the most marbled meats, I played loose with butter and cream. My arteries were young, my life pooling before me, and I lapped, luxurious, from it. I drank, smoked, flew cheap red-eyes around Europe, I lived in thrilling shitholes, I found pills that made nights pass in a blink or expanded time to a soap bubble, floating, luminous, warm. Time seemed infinite, then. I begged famous chefs for the chance to learn from them. I entered competitions and placed in a few. I volunteered to work brunch, turn artichokes, clean the grease trap. I flung my body at all of it: the smoke and singe of the grill station, a duck's breast split open like a geode, two hundred oysters shucked in the walk-in, sex in the walk-in, drunken rides around Paris on a rickety motorcycle and no helmet, a white truffle I stole and shaved in secret over a bowl of Kraft mac n' cheese for me, just me, as my body strummed the high taut selfish song of youth. On my twenty-fifth birthday I served black-market fugu to my guests, the neurotoxin stinging sweetly on my lips as I waited to see if I would, by eating, die. At that age I believed I knew what death was: a thrill, like brushing by a friend who might become a lover.

Knock, knock. Who's there? A: Lettuce Q: Lettuce who? A: Lettuce in, it's freezing out here.. . 2. Q: What do elves learn in school? A: The elf-abet . 3. Q: Why was 6 afraid of 7? A: Because: 7 8 9 . . 4. Q. how do you make seven an even number? A. Take out the s! . 5. Q: Which dog can jump higher than a building? A: Anydog – Buildings can’t jump! . 6. Q: Why do bananas have to put on sunscreen before they go to the beach? A: Because they might peel! . 7. Q. How do you make a tissue dance? A. You put a little boogie in it. . 8. Q: Which flower talks the most? A: Tulips, of course, 'cause they have two lips! . 9. Q: Where do pencils go for vacation? A: Pencil-vania . 10. Q: What did the mushroom say to the fungus? A: You're a fun guy [fungi]. . 11. Q: Why did the girl smear peanut butter on the road? A: To go with the traffic jam! . 11. Q: What do you call cheese that’s not yours? A: Nacho cheese! . 12. Q: Why are ghosts bad liars? A: Because you can see right through them. . 13. Q: Why did the boy bring a ladder to school? A: He wanted to go to high school. . 14. Q: How do you catch a unique animal? A: You neak up on it. Q: How do you catch a tame one? A: Tame way. . 15. Q: Why is the math book always mad? A: Because it has so many problems. . 16. Q. What animal would you not want to pay cards with? A. Cheetah . 17. Q: What was the broom late for school? A: Because it over swept. . 18. Q: What music do balloons hate? A: Pop music. . 19. Q: Why did the baseball player take his bat to the library? A: Because his teacher told him to hit the books. . 20. Q: What did the judge say when the skunk walked in the court room? A: Odor in the court! . 21. Q: Why are fish so smart? A: Because they live in schools. . 22. Q: What happened when the lion ate the comedian? A: He felt funny! . 23. Q: What animal has more lives than a cat? A: Frogs, they croak every night! . 24. Q: What do you get when you cross a snake and a pie? A: A pie-thon! . 25. Q: Why is a fish easy to weigh? A: Because it has its own scales! . 26. Q: Why aren’t elephants allowed on beaches? A:They can’t keep their trunks up! . 27. Q: How did the barber win the race? A: He knew a shortcut! . 28. Q: Why was the man running around his bed? A: He wanted to catch up on his sleep. . 29. Q: Why is 6 afraid of 7? A: Because 7 8 9! . 30. Q: What is a butterfly's favorite subject at school? A: Mothematics. Jokes by Categories 20 Mixed Animal Jokes Animal jokes are some of the funniest jokes around. Here are a few jokes about different animals. Specific groups will have a fun fact that be shared before going into the jokes. 1. Q: What do you call a sleeping bull? A: A bull-dozer. . 2. Q: What to polar bears eat for lunch? A: Ice berg-ers! . 3. Q: What do you get from a pampered cow? A: Spoiled milk.

Here were professional athletes, making millions of dollars, and they had no food to eat in the dressing room after killing themselves for 60 minutes on a game night. And once they got on the plane, they got a brick of mac-and-cheese and a cold ham sandwich. They didn’t have enough sticks to go around some days. They didn’t have t-shirts or hats to wear back home, or while talking on camera to reporters. The Chicago Blackhawks weren’t deemed the worst franchise in professional sports by ESPN in 2004 for nothing.

I adore macaroni and cheese. Whenever I see it on a menu at a restaurant, I have to order it. I’ve had (and consequently made) fried mac and cheese balls, lobster mac and cheese, truffle mac and cheese, quattro formaggi mac and cheese, and Kraft mac and cheese. Now, don’t get me wrong—all of the fancy macaroni and cheese dishes have been delectable and enjoyable, but at home, I like a simple, delicious mac and cheese. So here’s my recipe. This dish is best when served during a game or movie night with family and friends. Serves 8 to 10 8 ounces (225 g) elbow macaroni 1½ cups Velveeta cheese (about 7 ounces/190g), cut into ½-inch cubes 2 tablespoons plus 1 teaspoon all-purpose flour 1½ teaspoons kosher salt 1½ teaspoons dry mustard ¼ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper ¼ teaspoon ground nutmeg ⅛ teaspoon cayenne pepper ⅔ cup (165 ml) sour cream 2 large eggs, lightly beaten 1½ cups (360 ml) half-and-half 1½ cups (360 ml) heavy cream ⅓ cup (55 g) grated onion 1 teaspoon Worcestershire sauce 2 cups grated sharp Cheddar cheese (about 8 ounces/230g) • Preheat the oven to 350°F (175°C). Grease a 9-by-13-inch (23-by-33-cm) baking dish. Bring a 4-quart (3.8-L) saucepan of salted water to a boil. Add the pasta and cook it halfway through, about 3 minutes. Drain the pasta and transfer it to the baking dish. Stir in the cubed Velveeta. • Combine the flour, salt, mustard, black pepper, nutmeg, and cayenne in a large mixing bowl. Add the sour cream and eggs and whisk until smooth. Whisk in the half-and-half, cream, onion, Worcestershire sauce, and a sprinkle of black pepper. Pour the egg mixture over the pasta mixture in the prepared baking dish and stir to combine. Sprinkle the Cheddar cheese evenly over the surface. Bake until the pasta mixture is set around the edges but still a bit loose in the center, about 30 minutes. Let it cool for 10 minutes before serving.

You can eat wonderful food in a junked train car on plebeian plates served by waitresses more likely to start dancing with the bartender to the beat of the indie music playing on the sound system than to inquire, “More Dom Pérignon, sir?” Truffles and oysters can still appear on the Brooklyn menu, but more common is old-fashioned “comfort food” turned into something haute: burgers made from grass-fed cattle from a New York farm, butchered in-house, and served on a perfectly grilled brioche bun; mac ‘n’ cheese made from heritage grains and artisanal cow and sheep’s milk. Tarlow was not the only Williamsburg artist unknowingly helping to define a Brooklyn brand at the turn of the millennium. Around the same time he opened up Diner, twenty-six-year-old Lexy Funk and thirty-one-year-old Vahap Avsar were stumbling into creating a successful business in an entirely different discipline. Their beginning was just as inauspicious as Diner’s: a couple in need of some cash found the canvas of a discarded billboard in a Dumpster and thought that it could be turned into cool-looking messenger bags. The fabric on the bags looked worn and damaged, a textile version of Tarlow’s rusted railroad car, but that was part of its charm. Funk and Avsar rented an old factory, created a logo with Williamsburg’s industrial skyline, emblazoned it on T-shirts, and pronounced their enterprise

Subway restaurants agreed to remove the “yoga mat chemical” from their bread following a petition I started.1 Kraft decided to remove artificial food dyes from their kids’ mac and cheese products after I stormed their headquarters with over 200,000 petitions.2 Chick-fil-A’s chicken went antibiotic free following my meetings with them urging them to do so.3 Anheuser-Busch and Miller-Coors both agreed to publish their ingredients for the first time in history following another of my petitions.4 I was finishing up my first book, exposing the chemicals in our food, and it was slated to be out in a few short months. I had just published an investigation into Starbucks’ famous Pumpkin Spice Latte,5 calling them out for their use of “class IV” caramel coloring (a chemical linked to cancer).6 This piece went viral, with millions of views and shares (which ultimately led to Starbucks dropping this coloring from their drinks).

Do you wanna get pawed and fondled by a repulsive orange primate, smelling like feet, musty butt and Limburger cheese on a Big Mac all the time? FOR FREE? Yeah, I didn’t think so, so don't judge me.

      Later we went back to Ryan’s house and hung out. He seemed like a cool guy, and we had a lot in common. Nothing about Ryan suggested that his beliefs were fundamentally different from mine. Ryan offered Katie and me something to drink after a while: he had OJ, Coke, bottled water, and rice milk. I’d never heard of rice milk, so I asked if I could give it a try. It wasn’t the best thing I’d ever tasted, but it wasn’t bad either.       Why, I wondered, would this guy my own age deprive himself of a glass of milk, a Big Mac, or a plate of cheese fries? Given how much I enjoyed those things, his decision to abstain based on a set of beliefs actually struck me as rather commendable. He had to feel pretty strongly about it to refuse something so delicious. So I asked him why he chose to be vegan. His answer—that he wasn’t willing to cause suffering to other living creatures, and then his recitation of lots of intense and awful details about that suffering—changed my life.       Effective that day, I was vegan, and have been ever since. It just made sense. Why should I eat something that caused an animal to suffer when I could choose to buy something else? Rice milk wasn’t as good as milk, I thought, but it wasn’t bad enough to justify buying cow’s milk, which, as Ryan explained, came from an animal that was continually impregnated to maximize her dairy production, and her male calves were likely slaughtered for veal.

Honey, that man is mine, you hear me? Once he tastes my mac-and-cheese he will be weak in the knees!” He probably will, Gaby figured. Weak in the knees, sick to his stomach, vomiting. Her food was atrocious.

completely. Meanwhile, bring another pan of salted water to the boil and blanch the broccoli for 1 minute, drain and pat completely dry with kitchen paper.

Lunch. This rotation varies greatly depending on what we have purchased on sale and what leftovers we have in the refrigerator. Here’s a sample: • Monday: mac and cheese and bananas (as a fruit, not mixed in!) • Tuesday: yogurt with fruit and crackers • Wednesday: PB&J with orange slices • Thursday: tuna fish sandwiches and apples • Friday: leftovers • Saturday: lunch meat sandwiches and pickles • Sunday: BLTs

Mac’s Mac N’ Cheese One box of elbow macaroni (cooked and drained) 1/2 cup of sour cream 1 cup of milk 1 can of Campbell's condensed cheese soup 1 ½ cups of (orange) cheddar cheese, 1 1/2 cups of white sharp cheddar cheese, grated 2 eggs 1 teaspoon of ground mustard 1 teaspoon of adobo or seasoned salt ½ tsp pepper ¼ cup parmesan cheese 3 tablespoons of butter Boil pasta for six minutes, then drain.  The crock pot should be set to high.  Add pasta to crock pot along with grated cheeses, cheddar soup, sour cream, butter, milk and eggs.  Mix all together then add all the seasonings.  If desired, add additional cheese or sour cream.  You can periodically check back to make sure it is not browning too much at the sides.  You can stir every now and again. 2 hours to 2.5 hours on high is pretty near perfection although slow cooker times vary.  You can always check on it and look at the sides.  If they are browning too much you can always turn the temp down to low.  The cheese is very flexible also.  You can use different types of cheese or add more or less depending on your taste.  I once caught Delilah adding more cheddar cheese to the crock pot. I honestly think this is the macaroni and cheese recipe I will stick to like glue.  It is amazing.  And it can be tweaked.  Bacon bits can be added to the mac n cheese.  Add some lobster for a nice seafood lobster mac n’ cheese.  Bread crumbs can be sprinkled over the top at the end.  Or if you want to add some veggies, broccoli can be placed on top as well.  Brandon and Rose added sliced hot dogs for AJ since hotdogs are his favorite.

If he also left at the usual time, she would have approximately seven hours to get her shit together and get out. Turning over in the bed, Zoe yanked the covers over her head, trying not to vomit as her nerves played Ping-Pong with last night’s meal. Mac and cheese, straight from the box. Only a few bites, because how could you eat surrounded by your own blood? As she lay there contemplating her escape, every sound was amplified to Zoe’s ears. The water running interminably in the sink. The scratch of a razor against his whiskered jaw. Scratch. Scratch. Scratch. Scratch. The scar on Zoe’s forehead ached,

Optimizing efficiency is not always a priority. One glaring example is that classic holiday event: the canned food drive. Such events help people feel involved, especially children. They raise awareness about hunger. But these are their only benefits. They are a terrible way to feed the hungry. Cans are heavy and hard to ship. Some canned, boxed and jarred food is healthy, but much is not. According to Feeding America, 58 percent of families who use food pantries nationwide have someone with hypertension, and more than 30 percent have someone with diabetes. Beefaroni, Kraft mac and cheese, and Vienna sausages are not part of the solution.

Pictures old photographs hang on the wall of loved ones: far away, long since moved or recently deceased.   i dread each new picture that joins, the clips and my heart already sagging from the weight of loss. Mac & Cheese gathered around the kitchen counter, we share dinner of macaroni and cheese. we share dinner, my parents and i, as though no time had passed, the same plates holding the noodles as when i was just learning to hold a fork.

Mac took a two-hour nap when he got home, followed by a quick shower, and then a late lunch of tomato soup and a grilled cheese sandwich.

Oh come on Tess, I would’ve killed to have a mac and cheese bar at my wedding,” William says and looks over at Jenna who’s about to say something. No doubt something sassy about Will’s wedding. “Don’t even say a word you heathen,” Will says, pointing at Jenna. “Heathen? I’m not a heathen? The spawn of Satan maybe, but a heathen? Give me some credit William.

What are you? A mac and cheese connoisseur?” Jenna asks and rolls her eyes. “I’m just a pasta slut okay? Add some cheese to it, and you don’t even know what I would do, okay? It’s kinda like what would you do for a Klondike bar, but with pasta.” We all burst out laughing. Leave it to Will to always be able to make everyone laugh.

If it were between eating the mac and cheese you just ordered for me or eating your pussy, I’d choose your sweet, delicious pussy any day. For every fucking meal.

There is no Red Lobster close to us. We live in Seattle, and the nearest one to our home is either thirteen miles north or twenty-seven miles south of us. To encounter one is a rare thing, like finding a truffle in dirt. Red Lobster, it should be noted, offers a truffle lobster mac and cheese on its seasonal Lobsterfest menu. A dinner-sized portion contains 1,460 calories and proudly exceeds the recommended daily intake of sodium and cholesterol. With every bite you are laughing at mortality itself. To eat it is to believe, for a moment, that you will live forever. This is simply part of the excellent value proposition Red Lobster offers. My husband does not realize this. And so, as the restaurant and the strip mall it resides in grow smaller in our rearview mirror, I explain it to him again. “I need endless shrimp for $19.99.” “No you do not. No one needs endless shrimp.” “Orcas do,” I say. This is obviously a winning argument. “You are not an orca,” he replies, and keeps on driving. I accuse him of not loving me. This is a laughable charge, and we both know it.

AAG: We hate all the same things. OM: Such as? AAG: Board games, truffle oil, magic realism, Harry Potter, politics, toddlers, the elderly, people who get excited about mac and cheese, scatting—

Sugar, you didn’t get near enough mac and cheese. Here, have some more. It’s considered a vegetable, you know.

What’s another word for comfort?” ask, “What are images of comfort?” or, “When I think of comfort, what memories come up?” Or try a Google image search for “comfort”. You’ll scroll through images of hammocks, beanbag chairs, thick woolly socks, and wood-burning fireplaces. You’ll see a cup of hot chocolate, mom’s baked mac n’ cheese, a hug from a grandma, or a cuddle with a sleeping puppy. All of these images should inspire something more visceral than a word on thesaurus.com

The dining room overflows with love-made dishes-smoked turkey, collards, mac and cheese, okra and tomatoes.

Ingredient Mac and Cheese (Really!) Bring 5 cups of milk to a boil in a large pot. Add 1 pound of macaroni and bring back to a boil, then lower to medium heat, stirring constantly. (Don’t stop stirring – the milk will burn). Cook for 10 minutes. Remove from heat and add 2 cups of shredded cheddar cheese. It’s even more tasty if you add a dash of salt and pepper and a spoonful of butter, but it’s delicious either way.

She shoveled in mac and cheese, fighting a mounting desire to . . . she didn't know what. Move. Scream. Flip her plate and fling her dinner everywhere, just to see what happened. At the same time, a separate part of her---distant, yet disapproving---observed her every impulse. Judged her every impulse, and made Darya feel as if she were a Bad Person. Oh, just shut up, she told her brain, but her brain didn't listen. She wondered if other people's thoughts crashed and bounced about like this, or if she was broken somehow.

I absolutely hate mac n’ cheese,” Nash admits.

Lula is two inches shorter than me and has a lot more volume. Much of the volume is in boobs and booty, giving her a voluptuousness that would be hard to duplicate with surgery. Lula achieved her voluptuousness the old-fashioned way. Pork chops, fried chicken, biscuits and gravy, tubs of mac and cheese and potato salad, barbecue ribs, chili hot dogs. Her hair was magenta today. Her skin is polished mahogany. Her dress and five-inch stiletto heels are from her Saturday night ’ho collection and two sizes too small. The overall effect is spectacular, as usual. I

The Most Important Strategic Decision Was to Become a Genuine Retailer The fundamental job of a retailer is to buy goods whole, cut them into pieces, and sell the pieces to the ultimate consumers. This is the most important mental construct I can impart to those of you who want to enter retailing. Most “retailers” have no idea of the formal meaning of the word. Time and again I had to remind myself just what my role in society was supposed to be. Many of the policy decisions for a retailer boil down to this: How closely should we stick to the fundamental retailing job? “Retail” comes from a medieval French verb, retailer, which means “to cut into pieces.” “Tailor” comes from the same verb. The fact is that most so-called retailers don’t want to face up to their basic job. In Pronto Markets we did everything we could to avoid retailing. We tried to shift the burden to suppliers, buying prepackaged goods, hopefully pre-price-marked (potato chips, bread, cupcakes, magazines, paperback books) so we had no role in the pricing decision. The goods were ordered, displayed, and returned by outside salespeople. To this day, supermarkets fight with the retail clerks’ union to expand their right to let core store work be done by outsiders. Whole Earth Harry’s moves into wine and health foods had taken us quite a distance into genuine retailing. In our cheese departments we were literally taking whole wheels and cutting them into pieces. I took this as an analogy for what we should do with everything we sold. Getting rid of all outside salespeople was corollary to the programs that would unfold during the next five years. In Mac the Knife, no outsiders of any sort were permitted in the store. All the work was done by employees. The closest thing to it that I see these days is Costco, which shares many features with Trader Joe’s.

And if we ever do get married, we’re having mac and cheese at our wedding.

And if we ever do get married, we’re having mac and cheese at our wedding.” She laughs, her hands slipping down to cup my ass, pulling me tight against her. Then she angles her mouth up and whispers in my ear, “Make it lobster mac and cheese, and I’ll even wear white.

This is grown-up mac and cheese that you could easily serve to company. Of course, it’s wonderful that butternut squash is packed with beta-carotene, but it’s also a pretty amazing substitute for lots of cream and cheese when making mac and cheese. I personally love a little bit of Gorgonzola Dolce (a mild, slightly sweet Italian blue cheese) here, but a sharp cheddar or smoked Gouda would also be great. 5 ounces frozen diced butternut squash ¼ cup low-sodium vegetable stock Pinch salt Pinch nutmeg Pinch cayenne pepper Pinch freshly ground black pepper 8 ounces prepared, packaged gnocchi 1 tablespoon olive oil 1 garlic clove, minced 2 fresh sage leaves 1 ounce Gorgonzola Dolce or other mild blue cheese 1 tablespoon heavy cream (optional) 1.In a saucepan, bring the butternut squash and vegetable stock to a boil. Cover, and reduce the heat to medium-low. Simmer for 10 minutes, or until the squash is very tender. 2.Transfer the squash and vegetable stock to a blender. Add the salt, nutmeg, cayenne, and black pepper, and blend on low speed until it’s completely smooth. (Make sure your blender is no more than half full or the hot liquid may erupt through the lid.) 3.Taste and add additional salt if needed. Set the squash aside. 4.Using the same saucepan, cook the

Desi shot me a sarcastic smirk then, and I ignored him. A moan came from where Ludovica was still attacking the guys throat. I grimaced. It sounded like mac and cheese being stirred.

We just have to do what feels right to us and what makes us feel good. Not just horny good but actually good.

Buster's daughters certainly hadn't spared any expense, and, surprisingly, had chosen the perfect dishes--- ham biscuits, maple ham slices with artichoke relish, golden pimento mac and cheese, and a tray of salad. Not a morsel of frozen seafood in sight! Of course, I gave all the credit to the caterer, one of the best in Charleston. I was impressed by the beautiful blend of lettuces, Bibb, frisée, and red oak.

Oh, I didn’t do it for you or the romance. I did it for the lobster mac and cheese.

I saw exactly how they'd ordered the burger and the fish and noticed that they'd asked for mayo. Violet came back into the kitchen. "Maggie, we just had a ten-top walk in. Are you ready for this?" "Yes, I got it. Don't worry, it's all under control," I replied. "Alice, let's cut up the rest of that fresh basil, we are going to make an herb mayo. Ben, I need you to tell me where everything is." The next few minutes were a bit of a blur. Ben gave me the ins and outs and Alice whipped up a yummy aioli. We decided to add it on the side of each burger or plate of fries going out. I looked around the kitchen and decided to make some homemade mac and cheese. We had all the ingredients: milk, cheese, flour, butter, and even some dried ground nutmeg and cayenne pepper. We threw the mac and cheese into little ramekins and crushed up some bread crumbs to put on top. At least I could contribute something new to the menu.

I stop at Sheetz and eat my body weight in tater tots and fried mac and cheese.

Zade asks, adding extra shredded cheddar on the mac ‘n’ cheese before sticking the casserole dish back in the oven to crisp. Seeing him doing something so domestic is… odd. I never thought I’d see oven mitts on a stalker and professional killer, but here we are… All he needs is an apron, and I’d be convinced I’ve fallen down the rabbit hole and hit my head on a tree root.

If I was going to make it to that one day, it would require sacrifices like blue box mac ’n’ cheese and ramen noodles.

Beat the sunset, all legends grind at 5 a.m.” Dude, the kids didn’t fall asleep until 9, even 10ish. The only time I get to myself is after they’re asleep, and I need eight hours of sleep to function. “Feed your body like a million-dollar racehorse at all times, no exceptions.” As if I have time to make another meal instead of chowing down on my kiddos’ leftover mac-n-cheese with peas and carrots.

Here’s what I’d been observing: Big piles of bills. Parents whispering. Parents arguing. Stuff getting sold, like the silver teapot my grandma gave my mom and our laptop computer. The power going off for two days because we hadn’t paid the bill. Not much food except peanut butter and mac and cheese and Cup O Noodles. My mom digging under the couch cushions for quarters. My dad digging under the couch cushions for dimes. My mom borrowing toilet paper rolls from work.

mac and cheese.

Planning and Prepping MONDAY, DAY 8 ♦After 24 hours, drain and rinse the wild rice and green lentils. Sprout in colanders and continue to rinse twice a day. Wild rice will take 3 to 5 days to sprout. ♦Quinoa should be finished sprouting after 24 hours. Store in the refrigerator in a lidded glass container. ♦Make Guacamole and Cashew Sour Cream. WEDNESDAY, DAY 10 ♦Lentils should be sprouted. Store in the refrigerator. ♦Make Coconut Yogurt and leave in a warm place overnight to ferment for 12 to 24 hours. THURSDAY, DAY 11 ♦Place the yogurt in a lidded glass container in the refrigerator. ♦If you have a dehydrator, make Caramelized Onions. FRIDAY, DAY 12 ♦Soak 1½ cups of cashews to make the cheese sauce for Raw Vegan Mac ’n’ Cheese and Cheesy Kale Chips. ♦The wild rice should be sprouted. Make two servings of Dragon Bowls for lunch on Day 13 and dinner on Day 14. ♦Make Jicama Fries and Ketchup for your snack on Day 13 and lunch Day 14. SUNDAY, DAY 14

panko fried chicken and truffle mac and cheese with soppressata.

I’m tired of people acting like they are better than McDonald’s. You may’ve never set foot in a McDonald’s, but you have your own McDonald’s. Maybe instead of buying a Big Mac, you read US Weekly. That’s just a different type of McDonald’s. It’s just served up a little differently. Maybe your McDonald’s is telling yourself your Starbucks Frappuccino is not a milkshake, or maybe you watch those Real-Housewives-of-some-large-city shows. It’s all McDonald’s. It’s McDonald’s of the soul: momentary pleasure followed by incredible guilt, eventually leading to cancer. We all have our own McDonald’s. It may take me a decade to digest my Quarter Pounder with Cheese, but that tramp stamp is forever. In a way, it’s all McDonald’s out there in our society.

They had fucking weaponized mac and cheese in here to give you the trots, and prison just got a million times worse.

there’s orange juice in the yams and crushed saltine crackers on top of the mac and cheese.

Storm Catechism" The gods are rinsing their just-boiled pasta in a colander, which is why it is humid and fitfully raining down here in the steel sink of mortal life. Sometimes you can smell the truffle oil and hear the ambrosia being knocked back, sometimes you catch a drift of laughter in that thunder crack: Zeus knocking over his glass, spilling lightning into a tree. The tree shears away from itself and falls on a car, killing a high school girl. Or maybe it just crashes down on a few trash cans, and the next day gets cut up and hauled away by the city. Either way, hilarity. The gods are infinitely perfect as is their divine mac and cheese. Where does macaroni come from? Where does matter? Why does the cat act autistic when you call her, then bat a moth around for an hour, watching intently as it drags its wings over the area rug? The gods were here first, and they're bigger. They always were, and always will be living it up in their father's mansion. You only crawled from the drain a few millennia ago, after inventing legs for yourself so you could stand, inventing fists in order to raise them and curse the heavens. Do the gods see us? Will the waters be rising soon? The waters will be rising soon. Find someone or something to cling to.

As if a fat man at the buffet had suddenly forced his way between us to get at the mac and cheese.

Ain’t no refunds up in here,” she said. “The hell you think this is, Walmart? You bought it, you eat it.” Another customer complained that the mac and cheese was too greasy. “Cheese is grease,” she said, like he was a moron. “The macaroni don’t do nothin’ but hold the grease—what? Yeah, you write a bad review and see if I don’t come lookin’ for your ass.” Which the guy quoted word for word on Yelp.

Percy wondered what the mortals saw through the Mist. Maybe they thought the harpies were pigeons and the weapons were lacrosse sticks or something. Maybe they just thought the Thai mac and cheese was so good it needed an armed escort.

Somewhere someone's uncle or father, a man wearing sandals and khaki shorts who says "back in my day" far too often, is on the grill. He is watching the food like he's afraid it'll change its mind about being a meal and decide to run off when no one's looking. The kids are playing a game that they made up themselves and changing the rules every five minutes. Their smiles are so big, you can fit history inside of them and still have room for right now and the future. The adults hate all the new music, but still want the teenagers to teach them the dances. The cupid Shuffle is common ground and the wobble is a peace treaty signed by both generations. There are no rallies today, no blood on this street, no hashtags here, but there is barbecue, potato salad and greens. The only tears you will see is when someone lifts the foil and all the mac and cheese is finished.

Macaroni and Cheese Mary Mac’s Tea Room, Owner John Ferrell Serves 6 to 8 Chances are, when you look into Mary Mac’s, at least half the folks there are having fried chicken. But probably two-thirds have picked this custardy, cheese-crusted casserole as one of their sides. 1 cup macaroni 3 large eggs 2 cups whole milk 1/2 teaspoon freshly ground white pepper 2 tablespoons butter, melted 1/2 teaspoon salt 1 teaspoon hot sauce 2 cups grated extra-sharp cheddar cheese Paprika Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F. Butter an 8-inch square baking dish. Bring a pot of salted water to a boil. Add the macaroni, stir well, and simmer for 10 minutes. Pour into colander and rinse. Drain until almost dry. In a medium bowl, beat the eggs until light yellow. Add the milk, white pepper, butter, salt, and hot sauce and mix well. Put a layer of cooked macaroni in the prepared baking dish. Add a layer of the egg mixture, then a layer of the cheese. Repeat the layers, ending with cheese on top. Dust with paprika. Bake for 35–40 minutes, or until the custard is set. Serve hot.

«Tu sei un dio sceso in terra,» mormorò con lo sguardo perso in un’estasi celestiale. Zeph si coprì la bocca con una mano quando scoppiò a ridere, e Scott si sentì leggero nonostante la doppia porzione di mac’n cheese che aveva divorato, seguita da una macedonia di frutta così dolce e fresca che avrebbe voluto rotolarcisi dentro e morire avvolto dagli zuccheri. «Non ridere, sono serio. Un dio della cucina. Esisterà un dio della cucina, no? Esistono divinità per ogni sciocchezza.» «È il tuo stomaco a parlare, Scott, e non sta nemmeno dicendo cose sensate.» «Ma ti assicuro che è uno stomaco molto soddisfatto. Davvero molto soddisfatto.» «Se ti sciogli con dei semplici maccheroni al formaggio, che farai quando sfodererò i piatti forti?» Scott allungò il collo, improvvisamente interessato. «Tipo?» Zeph fece finta di pensarci. «Non saprei. Ho visto che ci sarebbero gli ingredienti per fare la pizza…» «Oh mio dio, Zeph, tu sarai la mia morte!»Risero ancora per qualche minuto, nella complicità di un pasto preparato con affetto.

Mess tray in hand, he walked the line. Baked beans, mac and cheese, chicken strips, pickled beets, mushy peas. Comfort food from the freezer or a can. Three weeks since they’d seen any fresh produce. Two weeks since they’d brought in relief staff.