When Hamburger Helped Me – The Magic of Melted Cheese

I was a twenty year old woman using melted cheese to create a sense of home for myself. Had I already peaked without knowing it? I lived on Long Island. Flat, boring, with all the houses basically the same and lined up in rows. No mountains, no beauty, and usually overcast. Always a feeling of bland greyness hanging in the air. I was afraid I’d be trapped there forever.

My mom often joked that dad told her he was taking her from her small town in Ohio to a big island to live… Long Island, NY? Maybe I had taken on my mom’s disappointment when her grand vision for her new life was crushed by the lack of palm trees and sunshine she expected of any place called an ‘island’ as I heard her mumble this often.

But I had cheese.

Ok not glamorous but for me, and all teens back then, melted gooy salty cheese was like a delicacy, our martini after a long day of bullies, battles, and bus rides.

Most days after school I’d come home and make grilled cheese or mac n cheese. (culture note: never say ‘and cheese’ … just ‘n cheese’) Cheese truly was the goto convience food back then even though it didn’t fair well in microwaves which were becoming all the rage. Nope, these meals were still cooked on the stove. Was I a cooking purist?

Our stove had the dials down in front and for the life of me I could not remember which dial connected to which burner and in our house we often had to light the pilot light on top of it, so blindly turning the dials didn’t work. No, you had to learn to read the stove correctly. You also had to be careful not to leave a gas dial turned too long without a fire or a flash burn across the whole stove would happen and then you’d be lectured (yelled at) for an hour on kitchen safety while your siblings snicker in the other room.

But melted salted cheese was worth it.

Dipping my spoon into the mac n cheese, I knew if the cheese was gooy and thick and clung against it, it was ready. I had a secret system for making sure I got the perfect cheesieness. Everyone praised me for my version of this prized snack “it’s a box of noodles and a packet of dried cheese, why is her’s better?” Oh ye of little sight, it’s the MILK! I always used less milk then was called for and a tad more butter. This made my secret version extra creamy. I told no one of this, they’d have to ask (beg) me to make it for them.

Then at 19 years old – I got a great corporate job.

Then at 20 years old – dad decided I was doing well and it was time for me to move out and be responsible.

Then my older boyfriend at the time – was pushed by his family to get out and move in with me. Happiness right? Maybe we will get married after years together? Well he responded by doing the only logical thing and that was to get another girlfriend and dump me. He was as terrified of being responsible as I was. And I was blessed with heartbreak now too.

I had never lived on my own before and I was determined to stay connected to my family and prove that I could be responsible. I had to bridge the past to the present and lessen all of these blows I was taking. So I responded by doing the only logical thing and that was to get some cheese. This time it was more sophisticated. Cheesy hamburger helper. You know, the box with seasonings and dried cheesy mix that you combined with browned hamburger meat.

My goal was to invite my siblings over for a great meal in my new place. It was basically the garage connected to a house an elderly couple owned but it was redone so well it was hard to tell. Little did I realize there was a door between this garage apartment and their home and I am pretty sure they used it when I went to work.

I had never lived on my own before and I was determined to stay connected to my family and prove that I could be responsible. I had to bridge the past to the present and lessen all of these blows I was taking. So I responded by doing the only logical thing and that was to get some cheese. This time it was more sophisticated. Cheesy hamburger helper. You know, the box with seasonings and dried cheesy mix that you combined with browned hamburger meat. Oh it is better than loosing your soul but eating Veal.

Hamburger Helper to the Rescue

My goal was to invite my siblings over for a great meal in my new place. It was basically the garage connected to a house an elderly couple owned but it was redone so well it was hard to tell. Little did I realize there was a door between this garage apartment and their home and I am pretty sure they used it when I went to work.

Anyway…. I invited my siblings over, they are mostly younger, and they dutifully came. They wanted to see my place and how nice it must be to get out of the house.

They sat at the table eagerly awaiting the delicacy they assumed they were getting. Expectations seem to be an issue in my family because much like my mom and her ‘Island adventure’ that turned out to be a suburban nightmare, my siblings were about to be disappointed.

I spent some time talking with them and then asked them to set the dishes out while I cooked. I felt very responsible and in charge. I got out the ground meat. Started cooking it on the stove. And it smelled pretty good.

They chatted around the table for a while.

I pulled out the hamburger helper and opened the box. Behind me all I heard was quiet. Crickets.

I dumped the contents of the box over the meat and let it simmer as I turned around.

“Oh is that hamburger helper? Great! We love that.” They said. I was so busy trying to make everything perfect I didn’t catch on that they were very disappointed.

Eventually we all ate and talked about mom and dad. I felt like I could actually do this responsibility thing.

Years later when we all got together for a holiday and mom was browning meat on the stove much like I was that night, they spilled the beans “We were just being nice to you Vic, it was awful.”

Well at least they got a lesson in politeness because I didn’t pick up on a thing.

Expectations dear siblings, expectations. Lower them. Now.

Except when buying cheese then you keep those expectations HIGH! ©

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