I thought Mom was a bad cook -- until I learned she did it on purpose.

I thought Mom was a bad cook -- until I learned she did it on purpose.

I grew up eating Kraft -- the blue box. Every day after school, I'd run home, drop my backpack, and park myself in front of the TV to watch cartoons. Mom would make me a snack. Sometimes she'd make mac and cheese -- my favorite.

Then I went to college. One day, my roommate asked if I wanted some. "Of course," I said without hesitation. 15 minutes later, he handed me a bowl. I took one bite and froze. It was the best mac and cheese I'd ever tasted.

"What did you add to it?" I asked. He looked confused. "What do you mean? I just followed the directions." I grabbed the blue box and read it: boil macaroni, drain, then stir in cheese packet, milk and butter. Wait -- milk and butter? Mom just stirred in the cheese mix and served it to me. I suspected she never read the directions.

That night I called her. "Of course I knew," she said. "I didn't add milk and butter because I wanted you to eat healthier."

Oh.

Looking back, I always thought Mom was a bad cook. Everything was bland. Mostly boiled or steamed. Maybe a pinch of salt or a dab of soy sauce. We didn't eat out much either -- and I just got used to eating those bland meals.

When I started eating out with friends, everything was overwhelming -- too salty, too sweet, too rich. I wasn't used to it. Now, given the choice, I still eat rather bland because it tastes normal to me.

I know the milk-and-butter version has more flavor. But I make Mom's version -- missing half the directions -- because it tastes like my childhood.