The Great Macaroni Salad Saga

I’ve been a connoisseur of what I think of as picnic or potluck type salads for a long time. Things like three bean salad, potato salad, ham salad, coleslaw, and the granddaddy of them all – macaroni salad. Put me at a picnic and I’ll walk right past the desert table and load my flimsy paper plate with cold globs of mixed goodness. The reigning undefeated champion of my palate for the past twenty years is Tim’s mom’s macaroni salad. Over the years I’ve been blessed to attend many of their family functions and parties. I’ve been invited to Halloween parties, New Year’s parties, summer holiday parties, graduation parties etc., whatnot. I never question the date, time, or who else is invited. I always ask: “Is Joan making macaroni salad”.

True to her outstanding polish mom nature, the answer is always a resounding yes. I don’t think she always made it only because I asked, but I think I may have influenced at least a quantity decision or two. During more recent times, there has been an added upside in that she makes or sets aside a special individual container just for me. This is not an individual serving size however (for most people(more on that later)), but I’d hazard a guess at about a quart.

I don’t know what makes it so amazing, but one can tell those little sweet gherkins were cut with love.

A couple weeks ago we decided to have a little Labor Day get together. Nothing too fancy, just mom & dad, and some local family, a perfect occasion for macaroni salad. But there was an issue, my supplier is located hours away and I couldn’t bear the thought of have substandard salad in the mix. I decided the best course of action was for me to make Joan’s super salad. There were a couple obstacles to overcome. I’m not a culinary wizard nor did I have a recipe.

My first consideration was to call Tim and see if he had the recipe or he could give me his mom’s number, but I decided against calling him because he was vacationing in the tropics. I thought it’s kind of rude to call, disturb and interrupt someone’s beach vacation looking for a macaroni salad recipe. So I cleverly moved on to plan #2, which was to call and bother Tim’s sister Becky regardless of whatever she was doing and ask the same.

I dialed Becky, heard a couple rings, then some weird other sounds and heard her voice:

“Hi Dale what’s up? Are you in the casino?”

“Um, no, I’m not at a casino, why would you ask that?”

“Well, I’m here in the casino and I thought maybe you were and that’s why you called”

Side note: as strange as above conversation is, I paid it no mind because at least half of Becky’s and my conversations over the past thirty years make as much sense as say, calling someone because their brother is on vacation to get their mom’s macaroni salad recipe.

I explained my quest which Becky completely understood because my love of Joan’s mac salad is far from a secret.

“Mom’s here in the casino too, but she’s not right with me”

Bling, bop, whoop, fake sounds of coins hitting a metal tray “I just won”

“Great Beck, do you have the recipe”?

Bling, bop, whoop, whir “I just hit again”

“I don’t have the recipe but I’ll get it from her”

“Why don’t you just give me her number and I’ll call her later?”

I scramble for pen and paper and took down Joan’s digits.

A couple hours later, I dialed the number I had written on back of a utility bill and noticed I already had Joan’s number in my phone for some reason, but I was still happy I talked with Becky as she won on the slots.

I explained my plight to Joan who was more than happy to share, however, there was an issue. A grave issue, while we were on the phone she couldn’t find the recipe. I heard drawers opening, kitchen cupboards closing, and paper shuffling along with bits of phrases like “it should be right here”, where is it?” I cringed with worry, not only for my upcoming soiree, but the thought that the world’s great macaroni salad was lost to the ages concerned me deeply. It would be like a world without Mozart’s Eine Kleine Nachmusik, without the Mona Lisa, or the TV show Alf. This was serious.

My blood pressure went down a few hours later when Joan sent me an email of what I think was page 42 of the November 1963 better Homes & Gardens magazine with a recipe. She let me know not to fear that the recipe is actually for potato salad but she just uses a one-pound box of pasta. Joan also said that the quantities listed, while directionally accurate, were just a guide. She said go heavy on the gherkins. I’m no smidgen of this dash of that type guy, but I thought: “Hey, I can muddle through this”.

I went over the ingredient list with my wife since I don’t know where most things reside in the kitchen and discovered a number of surprises. First there are a number of ingredients in mac salad that I never imagined, second, I knew where more of them were in our home, than I suspected. The scary moment in reviewing the ingredient list with Vicki involved the gherkin sweet pickles.

“Hmm, do we have any of those handy, honey?” I asked

“Yes, they’re in the garage fridge behind the sodas.”

“I only see dill pickles in there.” I questioned

“Just use those”

At that moment I knew it was a solitary road to mac salad stardom.

I made a quick dash to pick up the gherkins then came home to dive into the salad making research. I needed to know things like. What pasta shape has the best dressing holding characteristic and will hold up to the mixing? How on earth do I manage to make certain the chosen pasta comes out “al dente”? Because texture may not be as important as flavor but it’s a close runner-up. Which kind of onion does Joan use?!? There are at least seven kinds at the market and the ones I use for everything (Vidalia onions) are out of season. How in the heck do I cook the hard boiled eggs so it doesn’t take me a month of Sundays to peel? I want shells that come off in nice big hunks leaving the slippery inside un-pockmarked.

Once all that was squared away and panic subsided I got down to the business at hand. I cooked the pasta and eggs first and put them in the fridge over night. The next day I dug into the chopping, slicing and dicing. There was no bloodletting! I did every thing by hand with a knife. There was a moment of crying when I obliterated the onions, but I emerged for the most part unscathed. I got out the biggest mixing bowl we have and carefully folded the ingredients in. Things looked pretty good, so I packed the giant bowl away in the fridge overnight because the next day was the important taste test by Vicki.

Cautiously she dipped a spoon into the mixture. So far so good. She had a reasonably good look on her face, but I could see there was constructive criticism coming. “Its a little dry, you should add some more dressing” said the gal who thought I should substitute dill pickles for sweet gherkins((shudder)). Although it tasted great to me, I decided to not fight city hall and whipped up some more of the dressing. The slightly wetter salad was a joy to behold, the only challenge remaining that day was for me not to attack my supply before the soiree.

Party time! People were digging in and cleaning their plates. I even saw a couple people who will remain nameless have a second helping! Proud mac salad moment right there. I smashed a couple bowls back myself and was happy to see there was a little bit let to chow down later.

The next day I spoke on the phone with my dad and asked him how he liked the mac salad yesterday.

When he said the phrase “can you get me a couple five-gallon buckets of that”, I tasted success again as apparently the mac salad aficionado apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.