Mac & Cheese

       I think there can be no greater comfort food than maccaroni and cheese with truffle. Maccaroni and cheese is a dish known to almost every American child, whether it be the disturbingly orange boxed kind, or Grandma's homemade cassarole of melted cheese and noodles with crunchy bread crumbs on top. I was in love with both when I was little, and the box of uncooked noodles and orange powder was one of the first dishes I learned to make for myself.

       But now I am grown up, and my taste in food has widened and deepened to the point that maccaroni and cheese is seldom thought of. As a student of the culinary arts, I would be mocked by friends and family for even glancing at that little blue box with the 3-step illustrated instructions on the back. No, now when I make maccaroni and cheese, it must be a masterpiece before the looks of “I could've made this myself” or worse, “my 8-year-old could've made this himself” are quelled. Sometimes I simply surprise people by changing the type of noodle: three-cheese maccaroni turns into something of restaurant caliber when orzo is used instead of the traditional indelicate elbows. If my critics are already wise to that game, I'll spice it up with a little cumin and serve with a touch of salsa on top, or add thyme and white wine, served with a french accent. But my favorite, oh my favorite way to turn maccaroni and cheese into a dish worthy of self-satisfaction and soul-fulfilling joy, is to add truffles. I treat this method as a sacred ceremony, starting out with a rich cheese sauce: I prefer white cheddar, the more local the better, sometimes smoothed out with some aged mozzarella and a little parmigiano. These are melted together with milk over a low flame, never adulterated with flour, sometimes thinned with butter. Then the truffle: just a touch, finely grated or chopped, with a splash of truffle oil into the cheese. The aromas created as the truffle warms and blends into the cheese is, for me, the best part of the whole process, perhaps even better than sitting down to eat it at the finish. As the cheese and truffles are becoming friends, the pasta must be cooked– this should not be an afterthought, as perfectly cooked pasta is just as important to the final dish as the flavors are. Here, you may use whatever type of pasta you like, but I find that mini penne or those indelicate elbows work best for catching cheese and flavor, while still being easy to fit into your mouth and savor properly. After the pasta is cooked and drained, it can be mixed directly into the cheese, moved off the heat immediately, and scooped into a serving dish. If you're the finishing-touch kind of person, sprinkle shredded cheddar and a little parmigiano on top, then broil just until the cheese is starting to brown. Breaking back through this mantle of melted cheese at the table will create a burst of savory steam that only adds to the effect of the first bite.