MY Grandmother's Macaroni
Evelyn Rebinczak
My Grandmother's Macaroni
My grandparents lived together in Arnprior from the moment they got married. My grandpa’s childhood home, where he grew up, and where they grew old. At least once every week, my mom would take me and my brother to their house—tall, yellow, on the small street just outside of town. I loved these visits, but in some ways, I dreaded them. When we would pull up in their driveway, my heart would race. A knot would form in my stomach, my palms would grow sweaty. I’d begun to grow scared of confrontation and embarrassment. But my eyes would light up when my grandmother pulled out the sectioned white container of markers and old, yellowed paper.
I grew up knowing my grandparents were a bit more traditional than not. My grandfather worked all day out in his garage, making magic. He could turn an old chair into something museum-worthy. My grandmother spent her time in her favourite green chair with a cat blanket, knitting. She cooked, he didn’t really, and it was normal.
Every time we came over, my grandmother would make what I call her ‘famous macaroni’. We would set the table: Christmas placemats in July, glasses full of ginger ale. My older brother and I would pick our seats, always the same. We would be served, and we would both ask for seconds.
Her macaroni was simple, just cheese and tomato, but it tasted like home, and arms wrapped around me and my knotted stomach at the dinner table. I missed and longed for it every day.
My grandmother passed away in January 2022. I knew it was going to happen a week before it did, six days before her birthday. There was a sinking feeling in my stomach, reminding me that my grandpa was living alone in the old yellow house. So we visited more frequently.
He started making my grandma’s macaroni, so it was still there for us. My mom made it often, too, and my brother started asking for it more at home. I think, along the way, he learned the recipe too. When my grandpa died, I relied on them for that feeling of home.
When we sit down at our dinner table—my mom, my dad, my brother, and me—the one without Christmas placemats, I think of my grandparents, and the lessons they taught me, and the ones I would’ve learned if I hadn’t been so afraid.
I grew up knowing my grandparents were a bit more traditional than not. My grandfather worked all day out in his garage, making magic. He could turn an old chair into something museum-worthy. My grandmother spent her time in her favourite green chair with a cat blanket, knitting. She cooked, he didn’t really, and it was normal.
Every time we came over, my grandmother would make what I call her ‘famous macaroni’. We would set the table: Christmas placemats in July, glasses full of ginger ale. My older brother and I would pick our seats, always the same. We would be served, and we would both ask for seconds.
Her macaroni was simple, just cheese and tomato, but it tasted like home, and arms wrapped around me and my knotted stomach at the dinner table. I missed and longed for it every day.
My grandmother passed away in January 2022. I knew it was going to happen a week before it did, six days before her birthday. There was a sinking feeling in my stomach, reminding me that my grandpa was living alone in the old yellow house. So we visited more frequently.
He started making my grandma’s macaroni, so it was still there for us. My mom made it often, too, and my brother started asking for it more at home. I think, along the way, he learned the recipe too. When my grandpa died, I relied on them for that feeling of home.
When we sit down at our dinner table—my mom, my dad, my brother, and me—the one without Christmas placemats, I think of my grandparents, and the lessons they taught me, and the ones I would’ve learned if I hadn’t been so afraid.
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Ingredients
Equipment
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Preheat the oven to 350 degrees fahrenheit.
Boil the water in the pot, and add the macaroni. Cook until el dante (a little harder, not fully cooked, because it will be put in the oven). This could take around 8 - 10 minutes. Drain the pasta using the colander.
If using onion, saute in butter using the original pasta pot until soft; around 5 minutes.
Return the pasta to the pot; add cheese, tomato soup, and hot sauce. Mix until well combined. The tomato sauce should be evenly distributed, creating an orange pasta. Keep in mind while adding the tomato sauce that some of it may be absorbed by the pasta while in the oven, so you may want to add a bit more than necessary.
Put the pasta in a casserole dish, and add the mozzarella cheese on top.
Bake for twenty minutes.
To keep up with the tradition, serve with ginger ale!