Lobster Mac and Cheese

Everyone has a macaroni and cheese story. Mine just happens to involve a drag queen.

The ingredients:

• 8 ounces preferred pasta

• 1 stick butter

• 2 heaping tbsp. flour

• 2 cups whole milk

• 4 ounces cheddar cheese, shredded

• 4 ounces gruyere, shredded

• 1 tbsp black pepper

• 2 tsp salt

• 1 tsp nutmeg

• 1 tsp garlic powder

• 1 pound cooked lobster meat

• 2/3 cup breadcrumbs

The recipe:

Salt pot of water and bring water to a boil. Prepare pasta, according to package instructions, minus two minutes (the pasta will continue to cook in the oven). Drain, rinse, and set aside. Preheat oven to 425.

In a sauce pan, melt butter and then add flour. Whisk quickly until the ingredients form a roux. Let the roux continue to cook until it smells slightly nutty, then begin adding milk in quarter-cup increments. Once all milk has been incorporated, add in seasonings, then cheese, and mix until you have a rich, creamy cheese sauce.

Add in pasta to a baking dish and sprinkle chunked lobster meat onto pasta. Pour cheese sauce over the pasta and mix. Bake for 20 minutes, then remove and spread breadcrumbs evenly. Broil for two minutes. Sprinkle chopped parsley on top, if desired.

The story:

I recently redid my office and painted the whole thing blue. I’ve always dreamed of having a blue office, with walls covered with the things that mean the most and inspire me. One thing I asked for was for my mom to hand write two recipes for me. I’ve framed them and now, her macaroni and cheese recipe hangs behind me, every time I write one of these posts. Her recipe is one that is, frankly, sinful. Velveeta is the star of her dish, but the commonality with this one and my mom’s is that it always begins with a roux. There’s a lot of mac and cheese truthers out there, but if you’re not kicking things off with a roux, you’ve already gone astray in my opinion. Creating your own cheese sauce takes just a bit of practice, but once you’ve gotten the art of the roux down, the roux really is your canvas. This one uses gruyere because I think it pairs really well with shellfish. But I’ve been known to get saucy and throw some pepper jack in. Or gouda, if you’re just feeling nasty.

This version is the one I worked on last summer, with lobster. Mini tails were on sale at the store, so I splurged. My favorite version of this particular recipe is one that replaces lobster with crayfish, or crawdads, as we called them growing up. I used to get in the creek below our house and catch them, turning over rocks with my dad or my friends, in hopes of not just seeing one, but being fast enough to catch it. What I love about mac and cheese most though—shellfish-laden or not—is that it’s one of those dishes that everyone has a memory attached to.

For me, the most chaotic mac and cheese in my life was the year I helped my mom make it for the first time, as a kid in 2002. That was also the year my cousin showed up to Thanksgiving in full drag for the first time, without telling anyone that he was going to do so. I remember helping my mom that year, which also happened to be the same year I had an inkling I might be gay. I loved helping my parents in the kitchen, and Thanksgiving was a high holiday for me. It was one of those marathon events that combined food, family, and a little creativity. I just didn’t know how creative we’d end up being that day. Once Demitrya made an appearance, right after we got the macaroni and cheese into the oven, my mom took me into my parents’ bedroom and took me off of macaroni and cheese duty, saying, “I need you to make sure your dad and Matt don’t get into it.” That’s another reason I like food—there’s no better distraction from familial chaos than a good plate of food.

Despite some tense interactions and a poorly executed fishnet stocking, Thanksgiving went off without a hitch, thanks largely to my ability to change a conversation and, if I may say so myself, a fabulous casserole dish with gooey, macaroni and cheese. I, unfortunately, have not served a drag queen macaroni and cheese since that day: a true disappointment. But hopefully, we change that soon. For good measure though, if you recreate this recipe, invite a local drag queen over and think of me.