On the admittedly rare occasions that I get homesick, my longing usually takes the form of a craving for Mom’s home cooking. You know, those 1950s American dishes where everything came out of a can, most things had Campbell’s Mushroom Soup in them, everything was cooked as a casserole in one dish (again, that atomic 50s thing where housework was supposed to be practically labour-free), and most dishes were baked with either breadcrumbs or French’s Fried Onions on top. If you’re American, you know what I’m talking about. (If you’re European, you probably won’t, as P explained to me – after the second world war, the last thing that Brits and Europeans wanted was stuff that came out of cans, as they’d lived through so many years of rationing.)
Anyway, I’ve craved meatloaf and enchilada pie and Southern Fried Chicken (the real stuff) and macaroni and cheese. I once paid about £7 for a box of Kraft Macaroni and Cheese in London, at one of those shops that cater to homesick Americans (this was before you could buy it in the market). I’ve brought Bisquick back with me from the States, and my standard Christmas present from my parents is beef jerky, David sunflower seeds, and homemade popcorn balls (you can’t buy Karo syrup here).
Today, I made the best mac and cheese in the entire world. I admit that I’m trying to finish typing this before I fall dead of a heart attack, but gods was it worth it. Here it is:
Don’t say I never gave you anything. :)