Blue Box Blues

The worst days of my usually very sexy and fabulous single life have typically ended with a hungry and  uncomfortable bus ride home on a cold and dreary evening after a long day at my 9 to 6.  I love to cook, but not on days like that.  There is only one thing that will turn my frown upside down and satisfy me on crappy weeknights: Kraft Macaroni and Cheese.  The original.  Not the quick microwave version or the whole wheat and white cheddar versions.  Only the unnaturally orange and gooey goodness from that original sweet blue box.

I usually turn my nose up at such highly processed food-like substances, but from a young age I have continued to indulge myself every once in a while with this stuff.  Honestly, I don't think my mom even allowed me to eat boxed macaroni and cheese very often at home (if at all) when I was a little girl.  Perhaps this partially explains my mild obsession with it.  I even get fancy with the blue box, adding real butter instead of margarine, organic whole milk, frozen petite peas or steamed fresh broccoli, and freshly ground black pepper while trying to convince myself that I am eating a legitimate food.  Anyway...today I salute you, Kraft Macaroni and Cheese.