Barbarella
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The poets have been mysteriously silent on the subject of cheese. — G.K. Chesterton

It was not an invitation — it was a challenge. It didn’t say “Mac and Cheese Party,” it said, “Mac and Cheese Off.” According to the notice, this was a “mac off/mac down,” which meant we really had to bring it.

Unlike me, David is not a competitive person. He gets no pleasure from feeling better than anyone else; he wasn’t in this for the glory. He is, however, a perfectionist. Whether adjusting the lighting in our home prior to a friend’s visit or selecting the ideal tone for one of his photographic creations, David does not desist in his efforts until he has convinced himself that he has done his very best. For the perpetually impatient (i.e., me), such dedication can be crazy-making. But as much as I huff and puff while my partner is attending to details, I am often delighted with the fruits of his labor.

Once we’d officially accepted the cheese challenge by RSVP-ing, we set about researching recipes. After typing “mac cheese contest winner” in to Google, David came across the link for the national Tillamook Macaroni & Cheese Recipe Contest. He reviewed ingredients and procedures; I gauged each recipe’s potential by keeping track of which images of the finished product inspired the most salivation. The process worked — in the end, we had both narrowed it down to the same two recipes. Because we assumed a good portion of the 20-odd challengers were sifting through the same batch of contest winners, David and I decided to take the best bits of the two recipes we liked and then tweak the combo in our own way to avoid any possibility of committing the ultimate party faux pas — bringing the same dish as someone else.

Despite my being about as adept at cooking as I am at quantum physics, I decided I wanted to assist my man in his cheesy undertaking. In my attempt to open the carton of heavy whipping cream, I’d mangled the top so much that David had to rip it open from the other side. While David handled the shredding of four kinds of cheeses, I managed to get a small carton of whole milk open. While David diced onions, minced garlic, shelled shrimp, chopped jalapenos, and rendered fat from imported Hungarian bacon until it was dense and crispy, I measured half a teaspoon each of salt and pepper. We were a team.

We’d been instructed to deliver our creative contribution hot, so as soon as David had whisked the heavy glass baking dish from the oven, we were on the road. He’d set the molten mac on a metal tray so that it wouldn’t melt through his thighs as he held it on his lap in the car. After parking, I laughed at the comical sight of David running across the busy urban street wearing giant red chili pepper oven mitts and carrying a steaming casserole.

Shortly after entering the contemporary loft-style building that had been designed and decorated by our artist and architect hosts, David and I were handed a ginger beer cocktail in a glass that had been rimmed with Pop Rocks. David placed our contest entry in the oven, along with three others, to keep it warm until the moment of tasting. We enjoyed conversation with other guests until a dozen or so of the competitors’ best had been placed side by side on a long counter, at which point our hostess explained the rules.

Beside each dish was a small bowl, into which guests were to drop either a gold-painted piece of bowtie pasta or a black-painted macaroni shell. Every person received three gold, one black, and was told to choose three favorites and one least favorite. At the end of the night, there would not only be a winner — there would also be a loser.

David and I were astonished that no one else had come across any of the recipes we’d reviewed during our research. Each dish was an original take on the classic comfort food. Some had even named their creations. The “Hot Bastard” lived up to its spicy moniker, and the “Mock and Cheese” surprised and delighted with its bold absence of macaroni and its inclusion of Ritz crackers and chunks of sweet pineapple. One plate contained salmon, another mushrooms, and many had some kind of crunchy breadcrumb topping. Because most stuck to rigatoni or elbow macaroni, the wagon wheel pasta quickly grabbed a visual edge. One woman brought a “deconstructed” mac and cheese; we were invited to skewer large pieces of rigatoni on long, thin forks and dip them into the liquid cheese bubbling in a fondue pot. My favorite was the hot dog wrapped in bacon and sprinkled with Kraft macaroni and cheese. It tasted like my childhood, only better. David’s favorite, the “Mac and Cheesecake,” offered the best of both worlds with real macaroni in rapturous homemade cheesecake and a crust made from vanilla wafers.

A few more dishes arrived, and as the evening wore on, gold and black macaroni were deposited in favor or aversion. I considered dropping a black shell in the bowl next to the salmon mac and cheese because I don’t much care for fish, but then that didn’t seem fair. In the end, I broke the rules and pocketed the condemnatory shell. David, however, had no problem picking a loser. Clearly, he wasn’t alone — but for one ironic gold piece of pasta, the bowl beside a submission I had overlooked was filled entirely with black.

I was on the verge of slipping into a cheese coma when Ame, our hostess, called the room of 30 or so guests to attention and announced it was time to reveal the winners. But first, the loser. Ame grabbed what appeared to be a plastic Gatorade bottle, only the orangey-yellow liquid inside was oddly opaque. She held it up for all to see. The label read, “Mac and Cheeseade.” People cheered and laughed; a few groaned. Though it was the most postmodern and avant-garde of all the cheese-inspired entries, it was also the only one to trigger my gag reflex. I was not alone.

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Comments

Kansaskid June 19, 2008 @ 9:41 a.m.

You never cease to amaze and entertain. I nominate David for immdiate canonization.

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Barbarella Fokos June 19, 2008 @ 7:35 a.m.

I just posted the big, secret RECIPE of the winning dish on my web site: http://www.divabarbarella.com

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Barbarella Fokos June 19, 2008 @ 11:13 a.m.

Thanks, Kansaskid! On a side note, David would certainly be granted sainthood for his extraordinary ability to put up with a neurotic freakcase like me. And he makes a mean mac & cheese, to boot. The church is WAY into mac & cheese. ;)

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AmyK June 20, 2008 @ 4:34 p.m.

What a fantastic and original party! On the other hand, knowing you, I can't believe you drank from that bottle after everyone's mouth had been on it...although I suppose you didn't have a choice. hehe. Can't wait to try David's (and yours) winning recipe! See you when you return from your travels! XOXO

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Barbarella Fokos June 20, 2008 @ 7:24 p.m.

I'm not sure what grossed me out more -- sharing germs or tasting that heinous liquid. ;) But it was all part of the experience. Seriously, though, you would LOVE the taste of that dish. Or-freakin-gasmic.

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Barbarella Fokos June 24, 2008 @ 11:07 a.m.

I don't know what I find more repulsive -- Gene Simmons or the chicks who are willing (and wanting) to do him. Thanks for testing my gag reflex. The walls at the party weren't covered, but there were tons of fun decorations. ;)

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Josh Board June 23, 2008 @ 4:04 p.m.

I had some free time on my hands. So, I watched two videos today while browsing around. Both made me gag equally. One, was your fine piece on the mac and cheese, and watching you guys drink that mess. Yikes!!! (the other was the Gene Simmons sex video). Did they cover the walls with some fine macaroni art, like we used to do in 3rd grade for our parents?

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