By Valentine's Day is next week and the grocery stores are full of chocolate and roses and the specific sadness of a holiday designed to make single people feel inadequate. I don't feel inadequate. I feel busy. Too busy for Valentine's Day, too busy for romance, too busy for anything that isn't school, work, kids, food, sleep, repeat. If love comes, it'll have to find me in aisle 7 at Kroger comparing the price of chicken thighs. That's where I am. That's where I live.
Chloe made Valentine's cards for her class. Twenty-two cards, each one laboriously decorated with stickers and her name (she can write it perfectly now — C-H-L-O-E, no heart over the O anymore, she's moved past hearts, she's serious now). She made an extra one for me. It says: "MAMA I LUV YOU. YOU ARE SMART." She wrote "smart." Not pretty. Not nice. Smart. My daughter thinks I'm smart. That Valentine cost zero dollars and it is the most expensive thing I own.
Jayden ate a Valentine's Day candy heart that said "BE MINE" and I don't know if that's romantic or just another day of my toddler eating things he shouldn't. He's going to turn two in March. Two. The number feels impossible and inevitable at the same time.
At school, we're learning dental radiography — taking X-rays. The positioning is precise, the angles are specific, and the first time I pressed the button and the machine buzzed and an image appeared on the screen showing every root and nerve and cavity, I felt like I'd been given a superpower. Seeing inside someone's mouth. Seeing what they can't see. Knowing what they don't know. That's a responsibility. That's a trust. Someone opens their mouth and says, "Tell me what's wrong," and I have to be the person who sees clearly. I'm learning to see clearly. In X-rays and in life.
I made a heart-shaped pizza for the kids on Friday. Store-bought dough, rolled out, shaped into a rough heart (it looked more like a blob, but we're calling it a heart because love is imprecise), topped with sauce, mozzarella, and pepperoni arranged in a smiley face. Baked at 425 until the cheese was bubbly and the apartment smelled like a pizzeria and my kids were screaming "PIZZA PIZZA PIZZA" like tiny wolves who had just discovered the existence of cheese. We ate it on the living room floor because it was Friday and on Fridays we eat on the floor and watch a movie and pretend the world is only as big as this apartment and these two kids and this pizza. The world IS only as big as that. Everything else is just geography.
That Friday night on the living room floor—pizza on paper plates, kids still buzzing, the world exactly the size it needed to be—reminded me that comfort food isn’t really about the food at all. It’s about choosing smallness on purpose. So the next night I made mac and cheese, the real kind, the kind that takes a roux and patience and a gratuitous amount of sharp cheddar, because if Friday was for chaos and joy then Saturday was for something warm and slow and uncomplicated. Here’s how I made it.
Classic Macaroni and Cheese
Prep Time: 10 min | Cook Time: 20 min | Total Time: 30 min | Servings: 4–6
Ingredients
- 1 lb elbow macaroni
- 4 tablespoons unsalted butter
- 1/4 cup all-purpose flour
- 2 1/2 cups whole milk, warmed
- 1/2 cup heavy cream
- 2 cups sharp cheddar cheese, freshly shredded
- 1 cup mild cheddar or Colby Jack, freshly shredded
- 1 teaspoon dry mustard powder
- 1/2 teaspoon garlic powder
- 1/2 teaspoon onion powder
- Salt and black pepper to taste
- Optional: smoked paprika for topping
Instructions
- 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 7–8 minutes. Drain and set aside. Do not rinse.
- Build the roux. In the same pot over medium heat, melt butter. Whisk in flour and cook, stirring constantly, for 1–2 minutes until the mixture smells slightly nutty and turns pale gold.
- Add the dairy. Slowly pour in the warmed milk and heavy cream, whisking continuously to prevent lumps. Cook over medium heat, stirring often, for 4–5 minutes until the sauce thickens enough to coat the back of a spoon.
- Melt in the cheese. Remove the pot from heat. Add the mustard powder, garlic powder, and onion powder. Add the shredded cheeses one handful at a time, stirring until each addition is fully melted before adding the next. Season generously with salt and pepper.
- Combine and serve. Fold the drained pasta into the cheese sauce until every piece is coated. Taste and adjust seasoning. Serve immediately straight from the pot — or, if it’s Friday and the movie is already on, serve in bowls on the living room floor. Dust with smoked paprika if you’re feeling fancy.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 520 | Protein: 21g | Fat: 24g | Carbs: 56g | Fiber: 2g | Sodium: 410mg