Thanks to NetGalley & Columbia University Press For the ARC!
Karima Moyer-Nocchi’s The Epic History of Macaroni and Cheese offers a delightful selection of recipe curios, but the surrounding history is unforgivably dry—leftover tidbits and scraps that can’t even fill out a casserole dish.
What does macaroni mean?
Every good food history wrestles with a variation of that question (sans “macaroni”), and it’s always a delight to see how a seemingly insignificant meal can serve as edible ethnography, carrying entire histories of culture, trade, politics, and race in every bite. I think of Russell Fielding’s Breadfruit, another book in this series, as an excellent example of how an author can expand one’s appetite for knowledge even as they feed it. Unfortunately, macaroni just isn’t as “epic” as breadfruit, and although Moyer-Nocchi’s scholarship is thorough, one can’t help but feel that she is straining to craft it into a coherent whole.
First, the early history of macaroni, at least as it’s presented here, feels like semantic pedantry more than etymological exploration. What they called macaroni isn’t what we call macaroni, so what exactly is macaroni? Likewise, the more recent history is interesting but uninterpretable, offering little more than factoids that would feel at home on the back of a box of Kraft. Did you know Thomas Jefferson hand-wrote a recipe for macaroni? Cool! On the one hand, it’s admirable that Moyer-Nocchi has the integrity to carefully caveat the information she includes, but there are so many maybes, it’s plausibles and we can’t say for sures that the book’s academic rigor starts to feel a little silly—macaroni and cheese might be an engaging tangent but an inadequate subject.
All that said, the book shines in one regard—the recipes themselves. Moyer-Nocchi has exhaustively collected hundreds of years of variations on macaroni and cheese, and each one is presented in both its original form and a modified, kitchen-friendly version. There’s such a range of ingredients, cooking practices, and levels of detail that gastronomy speaks where history doesn’t. It’s enough to make me wish The Epic History of Macaroni and Cheese had been a historical cookbook instead of a history with recipes, and that might be the best way for would-be readers to approach the book. After all, maybe we don’t need arguments for why macaroni is important; maybe we just need to taste why it’s been a comfort food for so long.