This January we met our children and their significant others in Hawaii for a delayed Christmas vacation, primarily because Hawaii emerged as the midpoint of our scattered lives. Ned and Emily joined us from China, while Frances and Dan traveled from Seattle, and we arrived from Chicago. Nick and I looked forward to leaving mainland staples behind and sampling Polynesian food. To Ned and Emily, this was the first outpost of the United States, and they looked forward to a respite from the daily Chinese fare of stick food, duck tongue and various rodents. They reveled in an American supermarket, feasting their eyes on American comfort food – thick hamburgers and French fries and boxes of Kraft Macaroni and Cheese.
Kraft Macaroni and Cheese –that pasta that comes with powdered milk/cheese combo – how can that be a comfort food? What does that say about me as a parent? Shouldn’t a comfort food be a nostalgic reminder of a home-made favorite, touching all the key senses – sight, smell, taste and mouth feel? It is definitely true that our kids were served their share of processed mac ‘n cheese, typically something that I made in the last few minutes before the baby sitter came and we went out to dinner. I did feel a touch of guilt as I sprinkled in that bright orange radioactive powder, but perhaps I thought that at least I wasn’t serving them one of those wretched McDonald’s Happy Meals. And then I would take a bite of the mac ‘n cheese, and then another – it was actually not bad. Here I was about to go to someone’s house for dinner, someone who had probably spent a good part of the afternoon cooking a very fine meal, and I was snacking on shitty mac ‘n cheese. That was the guiltiest part of the whole experience. Continue reading
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