Why The Homemade Version Of This Family Fave Can't Beat The Boxed Kind

I don't think I'm bragging when I say that I've mastered the art of homemade macaroni and cheese. It's my go-to meal for impressing guests; it's what my best friend asks for when she comes to visit. When I am feeding between 60 and 80 hungry high school theater kids during Hell Week for the spring musical, I make vast hotel pans of mac and cheese, and the kids, in turn, revere me like Saint Mom. It's scaleable, customizable, comforting, and not that hard to make, honestly. You can hack it in a cast iron pot to add nutrition; you can gussy it up with bacon and caramelized onions. If you know the basics of concocting a roux and own some method of shredding your own cheese at home — no cellulose-coated bagged crap in my casa; thanks — you're already at the finish line.

Why, then, do I keep buying boxed macaroni and cheese from the grocery store? That blue box of cheese powder and anemic, skinny noodles scratches some itch in me that it shouldn't. And I'm not the only one. When a writer for The Guardian stopped eating ultra-processed foods in her family home, boxed mac was the one thing her kids wouldn't accept homemade substitutes for. Over seven million boxes of mac and cheese are sold each week, proving that this is a staple food for many North Americans. What is the mystique behind boxed macaroni and cheese? If you ask me, the answer has something to do with convenience, but a lot more to do with nostalgia. The truth is that gooey, cheesy homemade mac with a lovingly-selected blend of cheeses isn't the same thing as boxed mac, even though the two foods may share a name.

There is, of course, the fact that boxed mac is cheap and easy, neither of which homemade macaroni and cheese can claim to be for newbies. Boxed mac and cheese does eventually expire, but it takes a lot longer than fresh cheese in your fridge. It's not fussy. It's predictable, which, in trying geopolitical times, is a huge pro. That segues nicely into the fact that, when Reddit pondered the question of why boxed mac and cheese drubs homemade pasta, one response was pithy and insightful: "No matter how much 'better' any mac and cheese is, though, nostalgia is a potent ingredient to be up against."

Whether you boost your boxed mac and cheese with Dijon mustard or eat it as-is, for many of us, the first taste of this orange-sauced macaroni is a blast from the past. It evokes childhood dinners, snacking after school, and some of our first attempts at "cooking" on our own. Kraft mac and cheese (notably, the one with SpongeBob SquarePants noodles) was all three of my children's entrée into preparing their own lunch. No wonder they happily down a box any chance they get, even when objectively "better" food is up for grabs!

If I had to sum up the appeal of boxed mac and cheese, I'd say that it's a peerless food in the most literal sense. It may share a name with homemade mac, but that's denotative and not connotative. Pasta with cheese is a wide and varied category, but, for comfort and good vibes, nothing is ever going to touch that packaged stuff. Even as a self-proclaimed foodie who loves making "real" mac and cheese, I'm oddly at peace with that.