The Catskill Chronicle

By Jude Waterston

One of my memories of my mother is of her picking and eating wild mint leaves. It seemed that she, alone, noticed it growing and enjoyed that particular taste. I certainly didn’t, though I insisted on trying some every time we happened upon it, and I caught her snipping off a leaf or two with her fingernails. It wasn’t until my middle age that I discovered my own love for this herb when it sat,  by way of garnish, atop a rich chocolate dessert I’d ordered in a restaurant. I soon began growing different varieties. My mother, who died in 1976, would be shocked and delighted to hear of the existence of pineapple, chocolate, and grapefruit mint, among others.

Now that I think about it, my mother’s tastes, in general, were unlike anyone else’s I knew, particularly considering that the late 50s and early 60s were a time of convenience foods, and most people were scarfing down TV dinners and making sauces, at an alarming rate, with Campbell’s soup. The idea of  eating a fresh vegetable, as opposed to canned or frozen, was unique. Our family dinners always included a dressed raw salad, albeit made with iceberg lettuce, though I’m sure my mother would’ve preferred arugula had it been available locally in those days.

My mother seemed to gravitate toward bitter flavors. She adored watercress. And I can see her dipping endive spears into a shallow bowl filled with a simple vinaigrette. She liked anchovies, and I recall her spreading anchovy paste from a tube on toasted whole grain bread, a phenomenon in itself, since everyone else we knew was eating fluffy white bread. A “treat” she’d make herself was cottage cheese, also on toast, topped with thinly sliced cucumbers. Over the top she would grind fresh black pepper. From a mill!

She did not have much of a sweet tooth, though when we went our for Chinese food she would have pistachio ice cream, in contrast to the rest of the family’s choice of chocolate, and for dessert at home she would sometimes open a can of Queen Anne cherries in syrup. My sister and I were doubly delighted at this because my playful mother would give us each a dish of cherries and then placed the empty can in the center of the kitchen table. As we ate the silky sweet-tart cherries, we would attempt to spit the pits, in a wide arc, into the can.

My mother was a good cook and enjoyed trying new recipes. Often a clipping from a woman’s magazine would be stuck to the refrigerator with a magnet. My siblings and I could always be counted on to give our unasked-for opinion of the dish in question, prior to it being made. In those days we rarely greeted anything new or different with enthusiasm, but my mother remained undaunted. We were presented with these dishes and expected to give them a chance. An  interesting habit she had, which I have since taken up, was making notations in her cookbooks – everything from the family’s reaction to a recipe to changes she made in the ingredients.

On the whole I would say we had a healthier diet than most, and my mother took nutrition seriously at a time when few thought about it at all. Yet, truth be told, she was not above serving us the occasional frozen vegetable and was guilty of using canned soup for just two recipes. As a matter of fact, our family’s all-time favorite meal was: baked chicken napped with a mixture of Campbell’s cream of chicken soup combined with a tablespoon of Lipton’s onion soup mix; string beans almondine or creamed spinach; macaroni and cheese made with Velveeta and Campbell’s tomato soup; and canned peach halves (alongside the chicken) with a dab of butter and a sprinkling of cinnamon and sugar in their recessed centers. That Campbell’s soup figured so prominently in one meal is shocking to me, but I couldn’t have asked for a better supper. The  macaroni and cheese, in particular, was my favorite dish at the time. I liked it even better the next day, crisped up in butter in my mother’s cast iron skillet until it was crusty and a little burnt. I cannot bring myself to make that dish today, let alone buy Velveeta cheese, but I do make various versions of mac and cheese. Here’s an unusual one I think my mother would approve of, particularly if it was served with a tri-color salad of endive, arugula, and radicchio, dressed with extra-virgin olive oil and aged balsamic vinegar. And a healthy grinding of fresh black pepper.

To you, with love, mom.

Mac and Cheese

Serves 3 – 4

I like a mix of cheddar and gouda for this subtle mac and cheese, but feel free to skip the gouda and use all cheddar. However, don’t omit the Parmigiano Reggiano.

You can also choose to use all half & half if you like, rather than my combo of half & half and whole milk.

½ pound (8 ounces) dried pasta, such as cavatappi, fusilli, or medium shells

1 cup lightly packed grated sharp cheddar cheese

¾ cup lightly packed grated Dutch Gouda cheese

½ cup lightly packed Parmigiano Reggiano (or parmesan cheese)

2 cups Half & Half

½ cup whole milk

3 tablespoons unsalted butter

3 tablespoons all-purpose flour

1 tablespoon tomato (or sundried tomato) paste

Salt and freshly ground black pepper

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees. Cook the dried pasta a minute or two less than the directions on the package instruct in salted boiling water, until a little firmer than al dente. Drain well. Meanwhile, combine the 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 about 2 minutes, until smooth. Whisk in the tablespoon of tomato paste and whisk to combine. Add the half & half and milk and raise the heat to high. Whisk until the mixture thickens, about 2 – 3 minutes. Remove from the heat and add all but ½ cup of the cheese. Season with salt and freshly ground pepper. Pour the mixture into a shallow ovenproof baking dish and top evenly with the remaining grated cheese. Bake for 20 minutes, until bubbly, then place under the broiler for 3 – 4 minutes, until crisp. Serve.