I've been exhibiting oddly retro behavior this week. I resumed my quest to make the best baked mac & cheese . We went through weeks of this a couple of years ago. Very high caloric weeks. This time, I cut right to the chase.
(Long story follows to tell how I cut right to it) .
Last spring, my older son rode shotgun when I did the west coast Oregon to San Francisco leg of the Shear Spirit book photography.
Here he is modeling cashmere at Goat Knoll, just for reference. (Another pattern that, sob, got cut due to space.) Everywhere we went, we stayed with ranchers and farmers and friends of friends in their homes, and everywhere we went, people wanted to feed Leo. Don't let his build deceive , he can eat you under the table, and still look waiflike, asking if there are seconds . I am not kidding, I am still getting emails from people we met saying they cooked something or other they think Leo would enjoy. Ribs in Texas. From- scratch pancakes with fig and peach preserves in Oregon and, in California, at Old Mill Farm, Barb made us her most wonderful mac and cheese.

Here's her kitchen, can't you almost smell the good things that come out of it?
That's Barb herself, bringing in salad and eggs.
Here's where the chase got cut to. We had a quick consult and you'll never guess where she got the recipe. Uh huh. From M-Diddy, herself.
Martha's scary-perfect domesticity creeps me out but she's got style to spare and man, can she bake a mean mac & cheese. Barb knows a Good Thing. Quest is over.
p.s. there is no jump, haven't I said enough? I can't figure out how to get rid of that line once I engaged it.