The Catskill Chronicle

By Jude Waterston

I was sitting on my knees under the weeping willow tree, clutching my Barbie doll and guiding her through the motions of making breakfast for her boyfriend, Ken, who was in a box under my sister Janet’s bed. Due to a past transgression, Barbie and I were no longer allowed to play with him. Barbie’s blonde hair was pulled up into a pony tail and she was wearing a black and white strapless bathing suit. It took a lot of imagination to conjure such a domestic scene, and I was deeply involved.

Janet and her best friend, Monica, came into the backyard and headed for the swing set. Usually, they sat side by side swinging slowly and talking wistfully of becoming nuns when they grew up. Not an easy undertaking for a Jew and a Protestant. “Let’s play Toby Tyler,” I heard Monica suggest. “Okay, I’ll be Jeanette and you be Ajax,” Janet said. My mother had recently taken the three of us to see the movie, Toby Tyler, about a disgruntled boy who runs away from home to join the circus. There Toby encounters the beautiful bareback horse rider, Jeanette, and her handsome partner, Ajax. When Ajax is violently thrown from his stallion during an exhibition jump, Toby must replace him and is fortunate enough to be trained by Jeanette with whom, naturally, he is secretly in love. Neither Janet nor Monica ever wanted to play the role of Toby, because they thought he was a “big nothing” – not particularly attractive, gallant, or even mildly interesting.

“Do you want to play with us?” Janet asked me. “I don’t care,” I answered, shrugging my shoulders. I had Barbie leaning against the bark of the weeping willow, reaching for the pancake mix. “You can be the monkey,” Monica offered. There’s always a chimp in every circus story, and if the choice was between playing Toby Tyler or the monkey, I’d take the monkey. I walked over to them, bent in half, swinging my arms against my knees, and mugging. I scratched my underarm and clutched at Monica’s leg while jumping up and down, making grunting noises. I made the girls laugh, which pleased me. “Eat some grass, monkey,” Monica commanded. “Monkeys are vegetarian,” Janet chimed in. I’d fallen for that routine once before. At their suggestion, I’d obediently eaten a small fistful of grass and had thrown up on my sneakers. Recalling this incident, I suddenly became tired of monkeying around and abruptly walked away from them and headed toward the house.

Through the side door I could see my mother in the kitchen. I opened the screen door and stepped inside. “Hello, sweet potato,” my mother greeted me. “I’m hungry,” I said. “Would you like a little snack?” she asked, walking toward the cabinet that housed the big red box of Sunmaid raisins, the Skippy peanut butter, Ritz, and Triskit crackers. “I want SpaghettiOs,” I announced. “That’ll spoil your dinner,” my mother said. “With the little meatballs,” I added, as though she had not responded to me. She never offered me SpaghettiOs, not for snack time nor dinner, but I knew we had a couple of cans because I had been sitting in the shopping cart when she had reluctantly added them to her purchases after much pleading on my part. “How about some carrot sticks?” my mother offered. “I love my SpaghettiOs,” I said in a whiny voice to which my mother sternly replied, “No whining.”

I was enamored with the creamy, almost soupy, tomato sauce of SpaghettiOs and the soft, slippery rings (in four different sizes) of pasta. The little gnarly meatballs were kind of grainy and hard, but to my childish palate they were a  nice contrast to the overcooked macaroni. I put my hands on my hips and stood looking pointedly at my mother. She peered down at me through her bifocals and I could tell she was deliberating. To my surprise, she caved. “You can have half a can, but only because it might fatten you up. You’re such a little bit of a thing, it worries me.”

I went out through the screen door, clutching a spoon, and sat at the picnic table on the porch while my snack was being heated. I could see Ajax and Jeanette doing handstands, giggling like mad a few feet from the weeping willow tree. Nuns my foot, I thought to myself.

Epilogue:

The urge to return to childhood is powerful, particularly to culinary delights like Mallowmars, Twinkies, and of course, SpaghettiOs. The secret ingredient in SpaghettiOs cheese sauce, as it turns out, is cheddar cheese. I decided to try my hand at reproducing a facsimile. In place of the little pasta rings, I substituted tubular shaped pastas like penne and rigatoni. Using a can of crushed tomatoes, I made a sauce with finely minced onions and garlic and a pinch each of sugar and oregano. After letting it simmer a bit, I whisked in grated aged cheddar cheese and a little heavy cream. The result was nothing like the somewhat thin, smooth, orange-tinged SpaghettiO sauce of memory. Though it was an equally unappetizing color, it was grainy, as if the cheese hadn’t properly melted, and the miniscule bits of onion and garlic felt like gravel in my mouth. Plus, the taste of the sauce gave new meaning to the word bland. A child’s palette is apparently unadulterated enough to appreciate subtle flavors, but boring is another thing altogether. In good conscience, I cannot offer a recipe for a replication of SpaghettiOs. Perhaps some things are best left alone (or to memory).

I will offer, instead, a recipe for macaroni and cheese, which all children adore. I have a small stable of mac and cheese recipes that I’ve developed over time and this is one I like in particular. It is your luck that I will not publish my mother’s recipe from the early 1960’s, which my brother, Buzz, still prepares, poor misguided boy. It consists of Campbell’s cream of tomato soup, Velveeta cheese, and milk. Enough said.

Mac and Cheese

Serves 6

My favorite pasta shape for mac and cheese is cavatappi, which looks like a larger and more complex version of elbow macaroni. Try it, if you can find it, or use medium shells, which fill up with the creamy, cheesy sauce.

3/4 pound dried cavatappi (or medium shells, spirals, or fusilli)

2 ½ cups grated sharp cheddar cheese, preferably orange

½ cup finely grated parmesan cheese, preferably Parmigiano-Reggiano

3 cups (1 ½ pints) half & half

3 tablespoons unsalted butter

3 tablespoon all-purpose flour

1 tablespoon tomato paste

Salt and freshly ground pepper

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Cook cavatappi according to instructions on package, or for about 8 – 9 minutes in salted boiling water, until al dente. Drain well. Meanwhile, combine grated cheeses in a bowl and toss to combine. In a saucepan large enough to hold the cooked pasta, melt the butter over low heat. Add the flour and stir continuously with a whisk or wooden spoon for 2 minutes until smooth. Gradually add the half & half and raise the heat to high. Whisk in the tomato paste and cook, stirring occasionally, until the mixture thickens, about 4 – 5 minutes. Remove from heat and whisk in all but ½ cup of the cheese mixture. Season with salt and pepper. Add the cooked cavatappi to the saucepan and stir well. Pour the mixture into a shallow oven-proof baking dish and top evenly with the remaining ½ cup of grated cheese. Bake for 25 – 30 minutes, until bubbly. Place under the broiler for 1 – 2 minutes, until top is crisped and golden. Serve immediately.

*Editor’s note – For those of us who just can’t get enough Barbie – Enjoy!