“You want what?”

“A half-pound block of American Cheese.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

That’s how my attempt to make “Ultra-Gooey Stovetop Mac ‘N’ Cheese” (Page 723) began. It ended with me losing feeling in my right arm and uncovering a deep sense of regret inside myself.

For my first recipe I decided to pick a classic that would be hard to screw up. I’ve eaten macaroni and cheese a thousand times. There are three steps on the Kraft Macaroni and Cheese blue box and I know them by heart.

1. Boil water. Add mac. Cook for 8ish minutes.
2. Drain.
3. Add butter, milk and neon orange cocaine dust. Stir.

It’s really eight steps, but who’s counting? Clearly not the people at Kraft. I’d add my own fourth/ninth step. Eat until you feel bad, then finish the pot anyway.

The blue box deserves its reputation as a classic, the stuff is delicious. I was promised The Food Lab version of macaroni and cheese required little more effort, little more time, and was much more delicious.

I was lied to.

There are 11 pages dedicated to macaroni and cheese in The Food Lab. That’s longer than the United States Constitution.  Those 11 pages don’t even include how to boil the noodles. There’s another five pages dedicated completely to pasta prep. The majority of those 11 macaroni pages are focused solely on the stuff that comes out of the Kraft packet.

One of the secrets contained in those pages is the importance of a cheese with maximum melt-ability. Which is what led to the awkward exchange with the woman behind the deli counter when I asked for enough American Cheese to win a small war. The founding fathers would be proud.

I spent over $20 on materials at the grocery store. The founding fathers would again be very proud. I’m going to have to up my grocery budget for this project. Especially when I get around to lobster.

The first step according to the recipe was add the pound of pasta to the pan and cover in cold water. The three basic steps of mac and cheese have already been violated. You boil first. It’s on the box. I’m putting a lot of faith in this cookbook. Perhaps too much.

I brought the water to a boil with the pasta already in it. It took forever. I searched the book to learn the science behind why this method of cooking pasta was better than the old-fashioned way but all I really found myself asking was the eternal question “Has science gone too far?”

While the pot was warming up at the same rate as the Pacific Ocean, I whisked together the evaporated milk, eggs, hot sauce and mustard. I googled “whisk” just to make sure I had the correct technique. It doesn’t seem to matter much.

I realized I mixed up tablespoon and teaspoon when measuring the mustard and the hot sauce. I guess this mac and cheese is going to be great for clearing out your sinuses.

The pasta is finally boiling. I removed it from heat and covered. This is not how pasta is made I’m sure of it, but I must place my faith in the recipe.

I mixed the ½ pound of American Cheese cut into blocks with a pound of shredded Extra Sharp Cheddar Cheese and some cornstarch. I used a big pot because apparently I don’t own any big bowls.

Finally, something I understand, a blue box step, drain the pasta. It looks extra puffy. Maybe the weird cooking method worked? The next step is to add all of my ingredients back into the pot and mix. This entire process has already taken the better part of 25 minutes. A little longer my ass.

The pot is too small.

I don’t know why I thought a pound of pasta and one and a half pounds of cheese could fit into this little pot. I decided to attack the problem as if I were trying to shove a sleeping bag back in the bag. You don’t think it can fit, but somehow it always does.

It doesn’t. I had to move up a pot size. Actually, I had to move to a pan. A tall pan. I don’t think it’s technically a pot. I don’t really know the difference between the two. I wonder if there’s a page in this book covering that.

It’s stirring time. I’ve never rowed a Viking ship, but I imagine this is similar. The Cheddar was liquefying and causing the entire pot to become a sticky, cheesy mess. Except the giant blocks of American. So I was stuck stirring, and stirring, and stirring. Arm lost feeling. Felt weak. Stomach started grumbling. Note to self, smaller cheese blocks next time.

Who am I kidding? There will be no next time. Why would someone do this when Kraft does all the work for you?

I abandoned the operation and just scooped out a section without a block of cheese and added some salt and pepper. I’ve worked hard for this. It better be worth it.

It was ok. I don’t think it was four pots and 40 minutes good. I really liked the salt. Couldn’t taste the extra mustard. Going back to the blue box next time.

I find myself faced with a new dilemma. One pound of pasta. One pound of Cheddar. Half a pound of American. I made two and half pounds of macaroni and cheese. I have to travel for work for the next five days. I don’t have a family. Maybe my roommate is hungry.

Recipe Rating: 4/7

Did I do the dishes? No