Macaroni and
Cheese
by Eric Miller
Four year old
Andrew Mack was getting antsy. He was hungry, his
mother wasn’t home, and his babysitting
grandparents said he had to wait for lunch,
because they all were going to a restaurant as
soon as his mother returned.
“I want
my lunch now,” Andrew proclaimed in his
infamous todderly tone of disagreement.
“I think
I hear your Mom’s car as we speak,” his
grandfather said, with his hand cupped over his
ear.
“I
don’t hear her car,” Andrew replied.
“You’re
not listening carefully enough,” his
grandfather said. Cup your hand over your ear
like this, stand on the front porch, and
concentrate.”
“I still
can’t hear her car,” Andrew announced,
pouting prodigiously.
“Yes,
she’s coming. I hear her car, but it’s
still kind of far away. It sounds like she’s
near the supermarket. So, she won’t be long
now. Can you hear her now, Andrew?”
“I think
so. Which restaurant are we going to?”
“Well,
why don’t we make a list of all your
favorite ones, and then pick your most favorite?”
“Rocco’s
is my most favorite. We don’t need to make a
list.”
“Rocco’s
it is. And guess who’s home?”
“I want
macaroni and cheese, and, uh, French fries, and
lemonade, and chocolate ice cream," Andrew
stated with utmost certainty.
“His diet
is so bad!,” groaned his grandmother.
“Andrew,
you can’t have lemonade and ice cream, just
one or the other. Which do you want?,” his
mother piped in, with appropriate authority.
“Uh, I
want ice cream!”
“You can
have water, but you can’t have French fries.
They don’t go with mac and cheese,” his
mother stated with the sagacity of a graduate
from the Culinary Institute of America.
“They go,”
Andrew whined, as he gave his pre-meltdown look,
but the feared tantrum misfired and all seemed
well. Becoming more agitated as the seconds
ticked away, he cried: “Where’s my
macaroni and cheese?”
“The chef
has to make each noodle, one at a time, and he
has to cook them in hot water, and he has to rub
the melted cheese on each noodle, and that takes
time,” his grandfather said.
“I want
it now," Andrew screamed, banging his spoon
on the table.
“Listen,”
his grandfather said, “the noodles are
hollering in the kitchen, hopping up and down in
the hot water trying to get out of the pot, but
the chef keeps pushing them back in.”
Andrew looked
at his grandpa with just the hint of a smile,
then instantly snarled: “It’s time for
them to get out of the pot and come here.”
He put his head on the table and began to whimper.
“Hurray!,”
Grandma and Mom cheered. “The noodles are
coming!”
Andrew threw
his arms up with glee. A second later he shrieked:
“They’re too hot!”
The steam
subsided as his mother, his grandmother, and his
grandfather stirred, fanned, and blew.
Andrew’s spoon finally rose to his mouth,
his smile radiating everywhere, the same place
his noodles were going.
|
