Cheesy Tuna Mac — The Weeknight Pot That Holds You Together

I made meatballs. Mamma's recipe. I will always make Mamma's recipe. The recipe is Mamma now. I am the recipe carrier. The carrier becomes the recipe. The recipe becomes the carrier. There is no daylight between them anymore. Karin came from Stockholm for the funeral. She slept in the basement. She drank coffee at Mamma's table (Mamma's table is now in my dining room — Erik moved it over when we cleaned out the Fifth Street house; the Kenwood dining room now has both my dining table and Mamma's, pushed together to make a single longer table). Karin said: "It is so strange that the kitchen still smells like her." I said: "I have been baking her bread." Karin understood. Erik called Sunday. He said he was thinking about Lars. He said he had not thought about Lars in a long time, not really thought about him, not the actual Lars, the twenty-year-old in 1979. Mamma's death has unlocked the older grief. Both of them at once. We sat on the phone for forty minutes mostly silent. Erik said: "It is too quiet over here, Linda." I said: "It is too quiet over here, too." We hung up. We were both alone in our too-quiet houses. The aloneness was, somehow, shared. Anna brought me a puppy. A golden retriever from the same Two Harbors breeder where Paul and I got the first Sven. I told her I did not want another dog. I held the puppy within thirty seconds. His name is Sven. Sven the Second. The puppy is enormous in his enthusiasm and tiny in his actual size. He is exactly what the kitchen needs right now. I cooked Beef stroganoff this week. Tender beef sliced thin, sautéed quickly with mushrooms and onion, finished in a sour cream and dijon sauce with a splash of beef stock. Served over wide egg noodles. Paul's mother's recipe — she was Russian-Swedish and refused to acknowledge the Russian half until she was ninety. The Damiano Center: the regular Thursday. The soup is the soup. The conversations are the conversations. The week is held by the Thursday. I do not know what I would do without the Thursday. The Thursday is the structural element of the week. The structural element does not collapse if the rest of the week goes sideways. The Thursday holds. The lake was iron gray. The kind of gray Paul loved. He used to say: "That is the gray that means weather is coming." He was always right. I miss being told. I miss being told what the lake means by a man who knew what the lake meant. I have learned to read the lake on my own. I am, at this point, an adequate reader. I am not as good as Paul was. I am better than I would have been if I had not had to learn. It is enough. It has to be. And on a morning like this, with the lake doing what the lake does and the dog at my feet and the bread on the counter and the kitchen warm enough to live in, it is. The phone rings less than it used to. Not because fewer people are calling, but because the people who call are mostly the family, and the family has settled into a rhythm — Peter daily, Anna twice a week, Sophie weekly, Elsa biweekly, Karin Sundays, Astrid Sundays. The phone rings predictably. I pick up predictably. The predictability is the love at this stage of life. It is enough.

The beef stroganoff carried the weight of a big grief day — Paul’s mother’s recipe, the Russian half she spent ninety years refusing to claim. But the week kept going after that, the way weeks do, and by Wednesday the refrigerator held a can of tuna, some elbow macaroni, and not much else. This is what I made. It is not a ceremonial dish. It is the dish that says: you are still here, you still need to eat, and warm food on a cold night is its own quiet kindness.

Cheesy Tuna Mac

Prep Time: 10 min | Cook Time: 20 min | Total Time: 30 min | Servings: 4

Ingredients

• 2 cups elbow macaroni, uncooked
• 2 tablespoons unsalted butter
• 2 tablespoons all-purpose flour
• 2 cups whole milk
• 1 1/2 cups sharp cheddar cheese, shredded
• 1/2 cup Gruyère or mild Swiss cheese, shredded
• 1 can (12 oz) solid white albacore tuna in water, drained and flaked
• 1/2 teaspoon dry mustard
• 1/4 teaspoon garlic powder
• 1/4 teaspoon onion powder
• Salt and black pepper to taste
• 2 tablespoons fresh parsley, chopped (optional, for garnish)

Instructions

1. Cook the pasta. Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Cook elbow macaroni according to package directions until just al dente, about 8–9 minutes. Drain and set aside.
2. Make the roux. In the same pot over medium heat, melt butter. Whisk in flour and cook for 1–2 minutes, stirring constantly, until the mixture is pale gold and smells slightly nutty.
3. Build the sauce. Gradually pour in the milk, whisking continuously to prevent lumps. Cook over medium heat, stirring often, until the sauce thickens enough to coat the back of a spoon, about 5–7 minutes.
4. Add the cheese. Reduce heat to low. Stir in cheddar and Gruyère a handful at a time until fully melted and smooth. Season with dry mustard, garlic powder, onion powder, salt, and pepper.
5. Fold in the tuna and pasta. Add the drained, flaked tuna and the cooked macaroni to the cheese sauce. Stir gently to combine everything without breaking up the tuna too much. Heat through over low heat for 2–3 minutes.
6. Serve. Spoon into bowls or onto plates. Garnish with fresh parsley if you have it. Eat while warm, preferably with a dog at your feet.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 520 | Protein: 38g | Fat: 18g | Carbs: 50g | Fiber: 2g | Sodium: 590mg