Let me take you on a journey through the thoughts of my scattered mind to show you just how I created my (now infamous) Fancy Mac & Cheese Delight.
It was a Thursday night. Work was long, the sky was wet, and my stomach rumbled beneath my heart. That same heart, subsequently, is where this story begins. You see, my heart is the organ that feels love (or so they say). That love inside of me outstretches to many people. In particular, it gravitates toward this guy:
I feel like that picture doesn't do my heart justice.
There we go. That's better.
This is Spencer. If it weren't for him, this story would not have come to pass.
So there I was, alone, again, in my kitchen, with nothing to do but listen to my tummy grumblings. Normally, I would have found some hidden tortillas and morsels of cheese in the back of the fridge and made myself a dang quesadilla. But today was a special day because I knew that Spence would finish his church meetings late and that he would be hungry when he got back. So my heart convinced me to make something special. I psyched myself up for a night in the kitchen. However, upon further analysis (i.e. a quick glance into my cupboard), I discovered that there was no food to be had. No food, that is, except a box of Kraft Macaroni & Cheese. (And my roommates' food, of course.)
{I was going to include here the long story of finding a fun mac & cheese recipe on Pinterest, scrambling for ingredients, and mixing in substitutes for those that I couldn't find. But I'll leave that part to your imagination. Let's get to the juicy stuff.}
Finally! The buzzer! My casserole was ready to be examined! I pulled it out, hoping for the best but expecting the worst (just like I do with every part of my life--from the novels I read to the food I order to my phone calls with my mother). (JK mother ;) ) Well, it was bad. I mean, the casserole underneath the bread crumbs looked delicious and creamy and yummy. But Houston, we had a problem. Turns out, the recipe called for a sprinkling of large bread crumbs (like the kind you make stuffing out of), not a dumping of finely grated bread crumbs (like the kind I found in my roommate's cupboard) on top of the casserole. Now I had 2 cups worth of dusty crumbs just chillin on top of my cooked casserole. How was I supposed to get to the creamy goodness beneath with a dry layer of crumbs in the way? I had to get those crumbs off, and I had to get them off fast. So I panicked.
{Side note: After this whole shindig happened, I talked to a couple trusted friends and family who, when posed with the bread crumb crisis, gave two excellent (and quite frankly, smarter) ideas for crumb removal. Their suggestions included the use of duct tape, a lint roller, and a straw. If you have any other ideas, comment below. I'd love to hear what you would come up with in such a predicament.}
Where was I? Oh yeah, panic. I'm not quite sure why I panicked, I just did. I looked around frantically for a solution--anything--to rid me of the pesky crumbs. Ironically, my angel roommate had been cleaning our apartment just the day before. She left one of her cleaning tools out. Something that cleans the floors. Somethings that sucks. Why hadn't I thought of it before?? The perfect solution was sitting right there in front of me the whole time, already plugged in, ready to go. The vacuum.
I realize now that this may not have been my brightest idea. But what was a girl to do? Choke on an excess of finely grated bread crumbs, or risk a little de-sanitization for a delicious mac & cheese casserole? To my credit, I did at least come up with a plan to keep the end of the vacuum extension from touching the casserole. I would hold the end very steady, just over the casserole, close enough to suck up the crumbs but far enough to consider this process at least semi-sanitary. So that's what I did! Little by little, I sucked up grain by grain (almost literally) each section of layered bread crumbs. However, with each passing section, I became more and more impatient, slowly inching the vacuum closer and closer to the warm, orange delight. And wouldn't you know it, I let my guard down for one second and WHOOSH the vacuum pulled my hand down toward the casserole, sucking up not just the crumbs, but a large portion of the ooey gooey mess beneath. Yup. Remember that stage of panic from before? I had now moved to freak-out mode. My mind quickly switched to denial, and soon I found myself laughing uncontrollably.
And that is where Spencer found me. Laying on my couch, laughing at myself. So much for impressing the man of my heart! Now all I had to offer was a mangled casserole and a good laugh. But I'm okay with that.
By the way, Spencer hates mac & cheese.
