Mark Linbeck and his crew dare to commit culinary sacrilege. They do so every day at the Blue Wing Saloon in Upper Lake, knowingly and without remorse.
Macaroni and cheese, as we all know, comes from a box. The slippery orange coating results from a powder shaken over pasta and water until something chedder-hued and salty emerges. Words like “reconstituted” and “processed” apply to just about every step — and have since 1937, when Kraft introduced the packaged stuff.
At the height of the Great Depression and during world war rationing, cheap mac and cheese kept America going. The chef at Blue Wing and his kitchen staff choose to ignore this sacred tradition, however. Instead of tearing open a package containing a cheese-flavored agent, their version of the classic dish starts with slabs of Gouda and Cheddar, smoked slowly over mesquite on their outdoor wood-fired grill, and someone dicing American Black Forest ham.
“I think it”s unique, smoking the cheese first,” Linbeck said. “It makes it seem less rich.”
The macaroni and cheese at Blue Wing perhaps needs a little humbling. In addition to the cheeses, the mesquite and the hewn savor of the meat, the sauce is built with a roux and whole cream.
That”s right, Linbeck said with a nod, “we use real cream instead of using 2 percent milk and wondering why it”s so bland.”
Blue Wing”s version of mac and cheese is rich and full, without losing that worn-blanket familiarity. A gentle, acrid notion permeates the dish. It soothes the sharper nature of Cheddar, without dulling the sharp memory. Ham is lulled by the siren sauce, becoming part of the rustic, smoky undertone.
It”s not even close to the stuff served by countless harried American moms to kids demanding a quick lunch.
Linbeck shrugs off any ”what”s a dish like this doing in a nice restaurant like Blue Wing” suggestion.
“It”s a nice restaurant, yeah,” he said. “But there is that word ”Saloon” in there.”
That”s the thing about mac and cheese—it is equally comfortable on a Formica table and under a chandelier. Common American cookbooks from the 1950s recommend Velveeta and canned mushroom soup over elbow macaroni. Thomas Jefferson, who served the dish at the White House, prepared fresh pasta, using local aged cheese well, his slaves did all the work, actually.
While Kraft boxes are still ubiquitous, many chefs in fine kitchens dress the recipe with anything from pata negra to shaved truffles. Blue Wing, indeed, is not the only restaurant breaking from the orthodox. Many branch out from the plebeian Cheddar and, like Blue Wing, feature finer cheeses. Some (think Paula Deen) even deep fry mac and cheese squares.
Still, it”s not an item you expect to see at restaurants. But when a Blue Wing cook named Tony Chicarelli approached Linbeck with the idea, the chef was receptive.
“It”s comfort food,” Linbeck explained.
Now the rich, rustic macaroni and cheese is a staple on Blue Wing”s menu—one that sells every day, alongside everything from burgers to salmon and steaks.
Linbeck knows he could play with the recipe, perhaps drizzling in some truffle oil or adding a crisp shell of baked panko.
“Yeah, I could,” he said. “But then I”d have to fight with Tony, and I don”t want to do that.”
Dave Faries can be reached at 900-2016
