Cabinet Potluck #1
AUTHOR'S NOTE:
In honor of National Mac n Cheese Day, I thought I would write a silly little story about a Cabinet potluck held at Washington's place.
Brief history lesson (which some of you may already know, but I'm a history major so I thought I'd give you a lesson in case you didn't…. ha ha):
We have Thomas Jefferson, America's third POTUS, to thank for this macaroni and cheese. No, he did not invent it, as urban legend (and TV chef Alton Brown) tells us, but he is responsible for popularizing the dish in the States. After returning from France, he was known for serving the dish at dinner parties, much to his guests' disapproval. Eventually, though, people started to come around and the dish became quite popular and has been improved upon over the years. At Monticello, the museum-ized home of T Jeffs, there are still models of his first macaroni-making machine, notes about the machine, and his personal recipe for macaroni.
That being said, the rest of this story is highly historically inaccurate, and most of it is based on the portrayal of the characters by the OBC of 'Hamilton: An American Musical,' except Martha, who is based on my great-aunt.
"Hamilton," Washington said, nearly making the younger man jump out of his skin. He hadn't been expecting anyone to interrupt him while he sat at the desk in his Mt Vernon office.
"Sir?" he asked nervously, turning around.
"Son, I told you: today is for leisure," Washington reminded him. "You don't have to work on that today. Just come downstairs. Eliza has been asking where you are, and Martha wants to ask your opinion on the punch."
"I'll just be five more minutes," Alexander promised. "Please, just let me finish this section."
"No, you're coming with me," Washington said, and pulled a reluctant Hamilton to his feet. "You are going to take a break and have some fun, and not work."
"Alright," Alexander said, looking over his shoulder at his cluttered desk as his boss and closest friend dragged him away from his work. He hadn't even had the chance to put the cork back in his inkwell.
Ah, well, he thought as they entered the dining room.
"Ah, there you are, Alexander!" Martha cried.
"Sure am," Alexander sighed.
"Not you," the old woman laughed.
She bent over and when she turned around, he saw her holding that big, ugly cat of hers. He laughed to himself and nodded in embarrassment. Seeing Hamilton blushing, Knox and Rudolph burst into a brief fit of laughter.
"Of course," Hamilton said.
"Well, I'm happy to see you, too," she said to the young immigrant, then continued in a hushed tone: "Could you go try some of the punch and tell me if you think I put enough rum in it?"
"Martha!" he said slyly. "You know George doesn't approve of that."
"What he doesn't know won't hurt him," she whispered, giving him a wink as he ducked into the kitchen.
"I heard that, you two," George said.
"Oh, you said yourself that today was for leisure," she said. "You can overlook it for today."
"Of course," he said.
"Martha, you didn't put enough!" Alexander called from the kitchen, but when he stepped back through the door and saw George's expression, he changed his attitude. "Strawberries. You didn't put enough strawberries."
"Uh-huh," George said skeptically.
"George, just be glad you got Alexander away from that writing desk," Eliza chimed in. "You know, I can't even do that at home."
"Eliza, if that's the case, tell me where all those children of yours came from," Martha teased.
"Martha!" Eliza laughed.
Just then, there came a loud knock at the door, as if by a hard wooden stick. Everyone turned their attention toward the ruckus, the looks on their faces showing that they knew just who it could be. Alexander scowled and started to retreat back upstairs, but Washington caught him by the shoulder.
"You are going to stay here, and you are going to try to behave like a civil human being, Alexander," he said in a low voice.
"Alright," he sighed.
"Thank you, son," Washington said.
"Not your son," Hamilton muttered.
Washington shook his head, trying to ignore the comment his Treasury Secretary had just made, and went out of the room to answer the front door.
"I have arrived!" Jefferson's voice boomed through the house.
"Secretary Jefferson, lovely to see you," Washington greeted him, his voice sounding a bit muffled by the door. "And what did you bring this evening?"
"Macaroni and cheese – you're going to love it, Mr. President," Jefferson said. "Sally, dear, go to the kitchen with the others. I'll see you after dinner, darling."
Through the kitchen door, the sound of another door opening and closing could be heard, followed by a quiet but excited exchanging of greetings.
"Thomas, you know how I feel about these strange foods and things you bring over," George said, sounding more than a little anxious.
A moment later, Thomas burst through the dining room door, a large, ornate pot in one hand and his cane in the other.
"Hello, everyone," he said proudly, like he was some sort of guest of honor.
Thomas sat his dish down and went around the table to shake every man's hand and kiss every lady on the cheek. Everyone gave him a polite nod and a "how're you?" Except for Alexander, that is, who simply scoffed and rolled his eyes at his fellow cabinet member's showy entrance once he passed by.
"So, Thomas, how is life at Monticello?" Eliza asked politely, earning a glare from her husband.
"Oh, just lovely, Elizabeth," he said with a smile. "Thank you for asking. I trust all is well at the Hamilton homestead?"
"Oh, yes," she assured him.
Alexander looked nervously at the table cloth in front of him and adjusted his silverware.
"Alexander, how is your revised financial plan coming?" Thomas inquired.
"I'm not revising it," he replied firmly.
"Right," Thomas said. "Of course you aren't. You're so stubborn."
"Gentlemen, we're not going to talk about work today," George said as he sat down in his chair at the head of the table, Alexander to his right and Thomas to his left.
"Yes, sir," Alexander muttered.
"Alright," George sighed, looking across the table to where his wife was seated at the end. "Martha, would you say grace?"
"Sure," she smiled.
Everyone joined hands and bowed their heads, anticipating the start of a stately, well-worded prayer befitting a First Lady.
"Grace," Martha said abruptly, and dropped the hands of those beside her. Everyone stared at her vacantly and George narrowed his eyes. "Oh, fine. I'll be serious this time." She took their hands back up, bowed her head, and said, "Dear Lord, we thank You for the food we are about to enjoy, and we thank You for being able to have friends and family with us today. We ask that You bless us this day and keep watch over this young nation of ours in this period of transition. We ask this in Your name. Amen."
"Amen," they all echoed, and released their hands.
"That better, George?" she said with a sweet smile. "I thought my first one was good enough…."
"Thank you, Martha," he said. "Now, let's eat. I can't wait to see what everyone brought this afternoon."
No one was thrown off guard much at all as the usual casseroles and stews and bread dishes were uncovered and served. But when Thomas removed the lid to his dish and everyone saw the thick, yellow-orange cheese and noodle dish before them, steam pouring off of it and the smell of dairy filling the room, everyone fell silent.
"What is that?" Secretary Knox cried, aghast.
"Is that cheese? Melted cheese?" Eliza asked in bewilderment.
"Thomas, you've brought something foreign again that we aren't used to," George said. "I thought we talked about this."
"Do I have to eat that?" young Philip Hamilton asked his mother quietly.
"At least try one bite so you don't offend Secretary Jefferson, okay, sweetie?" she whispered.
"Thomas, have you brought something that's going to kill us all off?" Alexander asked.
Martha almost fell out of her chair with laughter. "Really, everyone, how bad can it be?" she asked. "But I'm with Alexander – you eat some first, Tom."
"Oh, really, everyone!" Thomas said. "It's great. You'll love it. I do!"
"Thomas, you love a lot of things we haven't liked at all," Alexander reminded him.
"You're one to talk!" Thomas shot back.
"I don't know what you're talking about!"
"You want to –"
"Boys, no fighting!" George said.
"He started it," Alexander and Thomas both argued at the same time.
"And I can end it right now. Stop."
"Fine," Alexander sighed, and dipped a large helping of Thomas's cheese dish onto his plate. "I'll stop fighting with him. I'll even try whatever the hell this is."
"I for one, will not," Madison said. It was the first thing he had said all day.
Thomas looked a little surprised at that, but he didn't say anything. Everyone except Madison got a scoop of Thomas's dish, and they all tried it, but almost no one said anything to him about it at first.
"What do you think of this?" Eliza whispered to Alexander as she chewed hard on a single cheesy noodle.
"I like it, but I'm not going to tell him that," he murmured.
"I don't like it at all," she replied. "It's nothing like the things I grew up eating in New York."
"You must remember, you grew up rich," Alexander said. "I grew up very poor, so I grew up eating different things from you and my taste buds are a little different from yours. I grew up eating anything and everything I could get, so this is good compared to a lot of the things I've dealt with."
"This is true," she said, setting her fork down and taking a big sip of punch from her glass to rinse the taste from her mouth.
"Thomas, this certainly is…different," George said.
"So you do like it?" Thomas said hopefully.
"I didn't say that. I said it was different, and it is."
"Mama, do I have to eat Mr. Thomas's goo?" Angie whispered, tugging on Eliza's dress.
"No, dear. You tried it, and that's all that matters. I'm proud of you for trying something new," Eliza said quietly, giving her daughter a smile.
"Thomas," Martha called across the table. "I like the cheese, but the noodles…why are they shaped like that?"
"What do you mean?" he asked uncertainly.
"They're all tiny and bent," she said with a little giggle, spitting one out, bare of cheese, onto her spoon and holding it out across the table.
"That's what makes it macaroni!" he said defensively.
"If you say so, son," she laughed and dropped the noodle onto her plate.
"It's unlike anything I've ever had in my life, I can promise you that," Knox said.
Thomas sighed and took a sip of his punch and slumped down in his seat like a defeated child.
"I like your cheese goo, Mr. Thomas," Philip said brightly.
"Well thank you, Philip," Thomas said with a half-smile. "Your son has good taste, Hamilton."
Philip beamed up at his father, who shook his head and smiled back, but still did not admit to Thomas that he did in fact like the macaroni, too.