Recipe Box Project

In Scotland, you live a little bit like bears, all year round. In the winter, you hibernate (because it gets dark at 3pm), and in the summer, you stay up and bask in the sunshine all day (because it stays light until 11pm and gets light again by 3:30am). And so every winter, we (along with everyone else in this country) find ourselves eating dinner at 5:45pm, the minute we get home from work, because our bodies assume it must be at least 9pm, based on how long it's been dark. And in the summer, we routinely find ourselves awake (and convinced we've slept til noon) at 5am, and not eating dinner until we notice our stomachs growling and realise, with surprise, that it is, in fact, 10:45pm.

This is exactly what happened to us last week when I made this meal.

It was a normal Thursday night, we were hanging out doing Thursday night stuff, when suddenly I realised that it was 10pm and, though still light, far beyond a reasonable dinner hour. So I did what any self-respecting American living in Britain would do and got a box of 'Macaroni Cheese' out of the pantry. Over here, there is (bewilderingly) no 'and' in the title-- and while I am the first to admit when Scottish phrases surpass American ones in cuteness (wee), awesomeness (higgledy-piggledy), or weirdness (peely-wally), I think that in the case of macaroni, the 'and' is merited. Without it, I get nervous that it's the noodles that are cheese-flavoured, not the sauce, and that would just be terrible.

Also, Kraft and Velveeta aren't available in Scotland (which is why, when I spent a month in Miami in January, I ate macaroni and cheese approximately three times a week)-- there's just one terrible generic brand that comes with powder cheese that's not very cheesy so if you make it yourself you have to add real cheese in order to make it taste anything besides just yellow. The package, however, is tartan, so at least there's that. But the fact remains: it's a little embarrassing how I keep thinking that the weirdest-sounding recipes in the box will be absolutely disgusting, and then, inevitably, Judson and I end up happily munching away on our dinner... and this latest one is no exception. Neither of us are picky (we're both quite the opposite), and while we've definitely found recipes we wouldn't make again (looking at you, chicken-flavoured-chicken), there haven't really been any that we couldn't at least muddle our way through. (Judson's good humour in this regard is probably a giant reason that this blog still exists, as he's been stuck eating an awful lot of dishes we never would have otherwise tried since I started this project.) I thought for sure this recipe would change our near-perfect track record, though-- its core ingredient, after all, being a box of macaroni and cheese-- but I'll be damned if this wasn't a perfectly fine late-night meal on a cool summer night when we could hear a storm blowing in as we cooked.

Your eggs should be cooked more than these ones, it just turns out I'm SO good at eggs I can't make a dry one even when I'm trying.

Eleanor, who cut corners on dinners but never desserts, would be proud, I think, by our ability to make do with only the barest of pantry essentials on this recipe-- you're almost sure to have everything needed for this recipe already in your pantry, and whatever you're missing is, of course, completely omittable (except for the mac n' cheese, which is kind of the backbone of this recipe-- for better or worse). This is the kind of meal I imagine Eleanor making for her kids after a long day of work at the middle school where she made her career, and while it may not be healthy, it's got a vegetable, a protein, and a starch in it and sometimes, that kind of stodge is all you can ask for.

The verdict:

3 spoons out of five. I'd be embarrassed to give it a higher rating, but I'd also be lying if I said I wasn't excited to eat the leftovers on the night after we made this. It's not a glamorous recipe, and it's definitely not one to make on a date, but I'm almost thirty now and so I worry very little about impressing anyone anymore, and, for an almost-thirty-year-old with a cooking blog who still sometimes forgets to eat dinner, this meal will do the job.

The recipe:

Cheesy Tuna Macaroni

the directions:

Prepare macaroni and cheese as directed.
While water is boiling, saute green pepper in olive oil until cooked but still crisp.
Add green pepper and tuna to prepared macaroni and cheese, mixing well over low heat.
Serve into bowls and top with sliced egg.

Makes 4 servings, perfect for a petite dinner with a wee salad on the side.

the ingredients:

1 box macaroni and cheese
1 green pepper, chopped
1 tablespoon olive oil*
2 cans tuna
2 eggs, hard-boiled and sliced

*The original recipe called for margarine. I changed it. You're welcome.

I spent the weekend in Liverpool with Judson and a friend of mine from college, doing all the things you'd think we'd do in Liverpool... a lot of Beatles stuff and a lot of pint-drinking, mostly. While I was there, it struck me how I was walking into the very places my mom would have dreamed about visiting fifty years ago, and how the magic of that city still feels very real and not at all cheesy, the way I would have expected. I got to see Eleanor Rigby's actual grave, you guys. I didn't cry, but I totally thought about it. We danced in the Cavern Club, drank a pint at John's favourite hole-in-the-wall bar, and drove down Penny Lane on the sunniest day I've seen since we left Miami in January. (Oh, and we even stumbled into a mansion-turned-Irish-bar where we spent a couple of hours listening to two elderly British gentlemen sing Motown songs while a lot of elderly people danced along. Eleanor would have loved it.) Also, here's a weird fact: you know how the Beatles all kind of talk the same? It never occurred to me until we got there, but everyone in Liverpool sounds exactly like that. It's uncanny and a little weird to hear Paul McCartney's voice coming out of every cabbie, bartender, and child you meet, but there you have it.

Anyway, the weekend was more about Eleanor Rigby than my Eleanor, so it feels nice to get back into the swing of cooking again. Naturally, after nearly a week without cooking a single meal for ourselves, I dove right back in with a recipe for... 'tasty tuna casserole for two.'

(I know. Why do I do these things to myself? Partly because it sounded like good comfort food and partly because I tend to forget about tuna for about 364 days out of each year, then when I remember it, it's like a weird craving I can't get rid of until I have it.)

Andrew, me, and John lennon, just hanging out on Mathew street.

This isn't exactly light fare, though according to the newspaper clipping, it only has 331 calories per serving. We had it alone, but you could pair it with a nice rocket salad if you're ravenous. It was the perfect meal for these transitional days, where it's warm during the day and then cold as soon as the sun goes down. Plus, how often do you find a casserole for only two people? This makes an awesome dinner on a night when you're hungry and in a rush, but still want some proper homemade comfort food. Best of all, it's fast and cheap, so have at it! Next time you're stuck in traffic on your way home from a rainy day of work, make this casserole for dinner, then curl up with a book and a blanket and relax your way into a better evening.

The newspaper clipping that this recipe came from recommends serving it with a “marinated bean salad and hot coffee, for a hearty and even elegant dinner.” Unfortunately, it not being the 1970s, I didn't know what a marinated bean salad was, and drinking coffee with this seemed like a bad idea. If you try it that way, let me know, but don't hold me responsible if it's terrible.