Homemade Mac and Cheese

Church homecoming is in two weeks and the preparations have begun, which means my kitchen is now a staging area for what will be the biggest meal I cook all year. Homecoming at New Hope AME is not just a church event — it is a family reunion, a revival, a feast, and a fashion show all wrapped into one Sunday that starts at eight in the morning and does not end until the last plate is washed and the last cousin has driven home to wherever they came from. I have been cooking for New Hope homecoming since 1994 and I still get nervous, which Calvin says is the sign of someone who cares, and he is right, and I will not tell him he is right because a wife who admits her husband is right too often creates an imbalance in the household.

Started my menu planning Monday. The homecoming menu is sacred — it does not change, it does not adapt to trends, it does not acknowledge the existence of quinoa or kale or whatever the food magazines are excited about this year. The menu is: fried chicken, baked ham, collard greens, mac and cheese, candied yams, potato salad, cornbread, pound cake, sweet potato pie, peach cobbler, banana pudding, and whatever else the church mothers want to bring, which is always deviled eggs and that Jell-O salad that nobody asked for but somebody always makes. I do not turn away food. I am the kitchen, not the door.

Calvin Junior called Wednesday evening sounding tired. Something about a project at work that is not going well, something about deadlines and databases and words I do not understand. I did not understand the words. I understood the tired. I said baby, when is the last time you had a home-cooked meal, and he said Mama, I had one when I was home last month, and I said that was a month ago and that is unacceptable and I am shipping you food. He laughed. I was not laughing. I packaged up fried chicken, mac and cheese, collard greens, and pound cake and sent it with James, who was driving through Huntsville on his way to see Dorothy's doctor in Nashville.

Made a big pot of black-eyed peas Thursday for no particular reason except that I had dried peas in the pantry and a ham hock in the freezer and those two things together are a conversation that always ends well. Cooked them with onion, garlic, a bay leaf, and enough smoked meat to give the broth a backbone. Served them over rice with hot sauce on the side and cornbread for sopping. Marcus ate two bowls. Calvin ate one and fell asleep in his recliner by eight o'clock, which is his standard Thursday performance and I have stopped being offended by it.

The summer evenings are long and golden and full of cricket song. I sat on the porch after dinner and shelled butter beans from a bag Carolyn brought from Bessemer. The shelling is mindless work, the kind that frees your thoughts to wander, and my thoughts wandered to Mama in her kitchen, shelling butter beans, humming. I hummed. The same hymn. The evening held.

That pot of black-eyed peas Thursday night reminded me what real cooking is for — not impressing anyone, just feeding people well and letting the food say what you sometimes can’t put into words. When I packaged up Calvin Junior’s care package and tucked the mac and cheese in alongside the chicken and the pound cake, I knew that was the dish that would hit him hardest, the one that would taste most like home. Mac and cheese has been on the New Hope homecoming table since before I was running the kitchen, and it will be on that table long after, and this is the recipe — rich, creamy, baked until the top is just set and the edges are pulling away from the pan — that I have made so many times my hands know it without the recipe card.

Prep Time: 15 minutes | Cook Time: 45 minutes | Total Time: 1 hour | Servings: 10–12

Ingredients

1 lb elbow macaroni
4 tablespoons unsalted butter
1/4 cup all-purpose flour
3 cups whole milk, warmed
1 cup heavy cream
1 teaspoon dry mustard powder
1/2 teaspoon garlic powder
1/2 teaspoon onion powder
1/2 teaspoon smoked paprika
Salt and black pepper to taste
2 cups sharp cheddar cheese, shredded
1 cup Colby Jack cheese, shredded
1 cup Gruyere cheese, shredded
2 large eggs, beaten
1/2 cup sour cream
1/2 cup shredded sharp cheddar (reserved for topping)

Instructions

Preheat and prep. Preheat your oven to 350°F. Grease a 9x13-inch baking dish with butter and set aside.
Cook the pasta. Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Cook the elbow macaroni one minute less than package directions (it will finish cooking in the oven). Drain well and return to the pot.
Make the roux. In a large heavy-bottomed saucepan over medium heat, melt the butter. Whisk in the flour and cook for 1–2 minutes, stirring constantly, until the mixture turns light golden and smells nutty.
Build the sauce. Gradually whisk in the warmed milk and heavy cream, a little at a time, until smooth. Continue cooking over medium heat, whisking frequently, for 6–8 minutes until the sauce thickens enough to coat the back of a spoon.
Season the sauce. Stir in the mustard powder, garlic powder, onion powder, smoked paprika, and a generous pinch of salt and black pepper. Remove from heat.
Melt in the cheese. Add the sharp cheddar, Colby Jack, and Gruyere to the warm sauce in three additions, stirring after each until fully melted and smooth. Let the sauce cool for 5 minutes.
Combine. Whisk the beaten eggs and sour cream together in a small bowl. Stir the egg mixture into the cheese sauce quickly. Pour the sauce over the drained macaroni and fold together until every noodle is coated.
Bake. Transfer the mixture to the prepared baking dish. Spread evenly and top with the reserved 1/2 cup shredded cheddar. Bake uncovered for 35–40 minutes, until the top is golden and the edges are bubbling.
Rest before serving. Let the mac and cheese rest for 10 minutes before scooping. This helps it set so it serves cleanly and holds its shape on the plate.

Nutrition (per serving)

Homemade Mac and Cheese — The One That Always Makes the Homecoming Table