Blue Box Blues

Last night I decided to throw in the towel and admit defeat.

I can make a meatloaf that would put your grandma to shame.
I can whip up the creamiest, fluffiest, most delicious mashed potatoes you've ever had at the drop of a hat without the aid of a cookbook or measuring tools.
I can clean trout and cook it five different ways - none of them dry or burnt.
I make a mouth watering brisket and mean eggs.

But, try as I might, the blue box defeats me every damn time.

The powder doesn't mix. It's too buttery. The noodles are too hard or too mushy. The sauce is creamy, but bland. Every time my confidants ask, "How do you ruin mac and cheese? That's like burning water!" or comment on how amazing my mashed potatoes are and how puzzling it is I can't make edible Blue Box. The Boy's constant line is, "Did you follow the directions?" (For awhile I was known to throw all the ingredients in the pot and wish it well. It never turned out well.)

It hasn't always been this way. When my mother left I became the chief chef of the house. And, really, there aren't too many recipes a nine-year-old can follow, so we ate a lot of mac and cheese, Hamburger Helper, and Red Baron 4-cheese pizza.

I hereby renounce my claim on my childhood favorite and will leave the Pasta tipo Macaroni con salsa de Queso to the DH (pictured making Blue Box on our honeymoon in Puerto Vallarta).