On self-respect and macaroni

A cheesy reflection

OpinionsKendra Sharp — Published February 6, 2022 3 minutes

The first meal I ever learned to cook was macaroni and cheese. In the early 2000s this was, of course, neon-orange Kraft Dinner. All I had to do was boil water, cook the pasta, and stir in milk and butter, but I did it meticulously.

Macaroni and I have a long history. It’s one of the earliest things I remember eating: Plastic plates full in preschool with hot dog pieces cut into it, and countless evenings in my best friend’s basement growing up. We’d each have a bowl of macaroni on our laps, hers covered in ketchup, and a movie spinning in the DVD player. 

When I first moved out of my parents house, I lived with two acquaintances on Waverly St. in the Mile End. I was broke and profoundly lonely. I hadn’t learned to cook much else—or at all— since learning to make boxed mac n’ cheese. 

The Mile End being what it is, the dépanneur near my place had an organic food section. This is where I discovered Annie’s. 

Unlike KD, it’s easy to convince yourself that Annie’s is a healthy choice. The pasta is organic, the box boasts words like wholesome and real ingredients, and Annie may or may not be a happy bunny in Connecticut.

On most nights, I would walk the 300 feet to the dépanneur and buy myself a box of Annie’s for $2.49, often accompanied by a 6-pack of Moosehead for $8.99 to sip at alone in my room for a week.  

When I met my boyfriend a few years later, we moved in together and became vegans, vowing our love for the environment and our empathy for cows. Still, on nights he was away, I’d sneak a box of Annie’s—an adulthood rebellion in the form of powdered cheese. 

These days, Annie’s has come back into my life in a big way. During the doom and gloom of the pandemic, my boyfriend and I gave up our vegan plight in the name of small joys, a.k.a. cheese. I’ve been balancing a full time job with grad school and haven’t been giving myself time to make proper meals. 

The amount of times I’ve turned to a box of Annie’s seems like a failure, and it's as much a running joke amongst my closest friends as it is a worry. I’m not above admitting that there have been weeks that I’ve eaten a box every day, or pretty close. 

The frequency at which I eat Annie’s mac n’ cheese has had me thinking a lot about my own self-respect. Do I value myself so little that I won’t make time to cook? Is the macaroni some kind of masochistic expression of my meager self-worth?  

What if instead, I could accept my love for Annie’s for what it is? In Joan Didion’s seminal 1961 essay in Vogue, she says to lack self-respect is to come home to yourself and find no one is there. 

Eating Annie’s is the opposite. Each bowl is a nod to the girl I once was in my best friend’s basement, or to my lonely nights on Waverly St. Rather than a failure, it may be my most sincere way of acknowledging my worth during difficult times. No matter what I do or don’t accomplish in a day, I deserve to eat something warm and comforting. 

I guess what it comes down to is this: At its most beautiful, a bowl of macaroni and cheese is an act of self-love. And at its worst, it's a delicious and cheap alternative to frozen pizza. Self-respect is accepting that it’s okay to eat macaroni if that’s what you need to get by; If that’s all you can afford, or if that’s all you have the heart to make yourself at night.