At least the Black & Tan Macaroni & Cheese was good...

The other day I made Black & Tan Macaroni & Cheese.

I know the photo above isn't my best photography.  But I shot it in a restaurant kitchen with super bright industrial lights, aluminum container on steel counter, and my crappy cell phone camera.

And yes, like a Black & Tan---it's made with Guiness stout and lager beer.

It was incredibly delicious!  I even took some into work for the staff, told the cooks to just sprinkle some panko breadcrumbs on it and stick it in the oven.

Everyone LOVED it!  The chef even took some home for his partner to try.  Not only was it a roaring success, but my friends (even the ones who didn't get to try it) all wanted to know how it was made.  And just telling people the recipe sounds kind of fun and sexy, "You start by boiling the pasta in lager beer..." 

What the???

So I was riding high on the success of my exotic mac and cheese!  

And then the next day, I think I waited on Neil LaBute.

I'm a playwright.  He's a freaking AMAZING playwright!  

I noticed the resemblance as soon as he sat down and started looking at the menu.  

I walked over and greeted him with a glass of water.

Wow.  He REALLY looked like Neil LaBute.  He even sounded like him.  Oh my god, I think I'm waiting on Neil LaBute.  At least, I was pretty sure.  Or as Larry David would say, "pretty, pretty, pretty...pretty sure".  

But before I could even begin to process the fact that I'm possibly waiting on one of my literary idols, he looked up from his menu and noticed my t-shirt.  In fact, he did a double-take.

Oh no.

Of all the t-shirts I could have worn that day...

I could've worn my vintage Froot Loops shirt with Toucan Sam on the front.  Or my shirt that promotes a farm and educational center in Harlem called "Harlem Grown".  I could even have worn my sassy hot pink t-shirt that reads, "Ain't Nobody Got Time For That!"

But no.

The t-shirt I put on that morning read, "Careful...or you'll wind up a character in my next play."

Shit.

I know this might seem like the perfect t-shirt to be wearing while waiting on a famous playwright---but it really isn't.  I don't wear it for playwrights.  I wear it for defense.  The general public can be mean.  They don't care about you.  They just want to complain about something so the manager will give them free dessert.  

That's why I wear the t-shirt.  It's an extra piece of armor in a cold, hard world.

Maybe he won't say anything.  This will buy me some time to be 100% sure... 

And then he said something.

"Well...I'll be careful.  I certainly don't want to wind up a character in your next play."

It wasn't exactly snarky.  But it wasn't all jokey-friendly, either.  There was the faint hint of a smirky-smile at the end that sentence.  

It was, in fact, a very Neil LaBute sort of response.  I wouldn't have expected anything more or less of him.

And it was my opening.  He looked at me.  As if he were waiting for it.  "Here's where she tells me she's a playwright, too.  Let's just get it over with."

To be honest, it would be a perfectly natural thing to talk to another playwright.  Playwrights like to talk to each other.  We spend a lot of time alone with our thoughts and a blank page.  And LaBute was a teacher.  He's very supportive of playwrights.  Not exactly a good idea to ask him to read the new play you're working on...  But general stuff---absolutely!  I'm sure he would be more than generous with advice.  

Especially when he knows you're serving him his food and he's going to be stuck with you for the next half an hour.

He even gave me an opening!  Okay lady---you're wearing the playwright shirt.  You obviously want the world to know you're a playwright.  And I'm sitting here in your section.  This is your lucky day.  So go ahead...

But you see, I wasn't POSITIVE it was him.

I mean, maybe it was just some guy who LOOKED like him.  And sounded like him.  And responded like him.  

I'm a very cautious person.  I'm from the Midwest.  I can't just start telling this guy how much I love his plays when maybe he's just a mechanic.  

A mechanic going out alone to one of the top restaurants in NYC for a $50 lunch.

It could happen.

And let's be honest---Neil LaBute isn't exactly a fashion plate.  He "dresses down".  He looks like he could be a famous playwright---or a mechanic.  I feel okay saying this because I'm not a fashion plate, either.  Bear in mind, I almost wore a 20 year-old t-shirt with a breakfast cereal on the front that morning.

And practically every piece of clothing I own has a food stain somewhere.

And I'LL STILL WEAR IT!!!

Because it's comfortable and it fits me and I like it...

And because I'm a writer.  We're not really into the whole designer thing.

If only I hadn't been wearing the playwright t-shirt, he would never have known my secret identity as a playwright.  He would've gone thru the entire meal thinking I was just some waitress.  I could've bought some time to figure this out.  I could've just been friendly and helpful and maybe he would've just liked me as a waitress.  That would've been okay.

Lots of people like me just for me.

And maybe, when I was 100% sure it was him, and he now thought of me as a helpful, friendly waitress---I could've surprised him with a little something we had in common....

Or maybe he was a mechanic.  I didn't want to confuse the nice mechanic.  

And I just couldn't bring myself to say the old hack phrase, "Excuse me, but are you...?"

I couldn't do it.  Because I'm a better writer than that.  I swear I am.

So when I got my big opening:

"Well...I certainly don't want to wind up a character in your next play."

Looked me in the eye.  Gave me the smirky-smile.  And waited for my response.  Which went a little something like this:

"Um...yeah.  Yeah."  (look down at shirt uncomfortably) "You don't want that.  No."

And then it trailed off into something like Annie Hall mumbling, "la-di da, la-di-da..."

It was horrible!!!!!!  It was possibly the most uncomfortable moment in my life.  And I know I say that a lot.  But we could possibly have a winner here.

Because even if he actually WAS a mechanic, that was not the proper response.

And I studied improv!  At Upright Citizens Brigade, for crying out loud.

I quickly took his order.  I suggested the egg roll.  

"It's really good.  You should try the egg roll."

"What's in it?" he asked.

So I told him ALL about the egg roll in as few words as possible so I could get the hell away from him.

Because by now, I sensed that it had become painful for both of us.  No sooner did I leave the table, than he immediately took out his cell phone and took great interest in it whenever I approached the table.  

I could be over-imagining things in my head.  I'm aware that I do that sometimes.  But as I was ringing in (potentially) Neil LaBute's lunch order, all I could think of was the horrible dialog going on in his head as he sat huddled over his cell phone a few feet away from me.

"I'm one of the most famous playwrights in the world and she's walking around with this cocky 'Don't Fuck With Me, I'm a Playwright' t-shirt and doesn't even recognize me?  I even gave her an opening!  And 'la-di-da'?  What kind of dialog is that?  Good thing she has a waitress job."

Or maybe it was something like, "She's a playwright and has no idea who I am?  Seriously?  Wait---maybe it's me.  I feel like I'm connected to the theatre community, but...  Or maybe she DOES know who I am and she hates my plays so she's not saying anything.  Why does she hate my plays?  They're good plays.  Why doesn't she like me?"

Or maybe it was something more like "I promised Mr. Snider we'd have his brakes repaired by 4:00.  Where's that fucking part?  I texted every warehouse from here to New Jersey!"

Somewhere in the middle of his meal, I finally got up the courage to do something besides walk by his table with "silent service".  I finally spoke up again. 

"How was that egg roll?  Wasn't it good?"

He looked up from his phone for a moment and agreed that the egg roll was quite good.

What the hell is wrong with me?

I'm usually perfectly normal around celebs and all the VIPs of the culinary world.  I wait on them all the time.  I've been around them for years!  Doesn't phase me in the slightest.  I'm on top of my game.

When a former manager wanted to make sure that Carol Burnett's party was taken care of without being bothered, he called me at home and asked me if I'd come in on my day off to take care of Ms. Burnett.  

And I did and she was one of the loveliest celebrities I've ever waited on.  

But I KNEW it was her!  I knew it was Carol Burnett.  Not only because it's Carol Freaking Burnett---but the reservation was for CAROL BURNETT!!!

And I don't want to be Carol Burnett.  She's one-of-a-kind.  But I do want to be a playwright.

No.  I AM a playwright.

And I'm pretty fucking good.  

But this was (potentially) Neil LaBute.  And I couldn't hide behind the waitress mask in that stupid t-shirt.

I was clearly a playwright-slash-waitress.  A wanna-be.  Wearing my nervously-pounding playwright heart on my rolled-up waitress sleeve.  And doing it in front of a somebody.

Or a mechanic.

Either way, it felt the same.

But like a good waitress, I kept a smile on my face.  Some days, I don't know how I manage that.

My one ace in the hole was that at the end of the meal, he'd hand me his credit card.  It would either say "Neil LaBute" or it wouldn't.  

I had no idea what I'd say if it really was him.  But I really am a good writer.  I could do it.  I could say the perfect thing.  

Really I could!

I know it may not seem like it, but I'm normally pretty quick with the snappy banter.  I may only have about 30 seconds between the time I get the credit card and bring the receipt back to the table...

But I can turn words on a fucking dime.

And I'm a playwright, dammit.  Dialog is what I do.

I cleared the crumbs off his table, dropped the check, and took a deep breath.

And then he paid cash.

NO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Cue the international sound cue for loser:  "Whon, whon, whon..."

Oh, he tossed the cash on the table like a John who'd just seen a pair of balls peeking out of the Victoria's Secret and got the hell out of there.

I've spent the past two days over-thinking a lunch shift and beating myself up.  Because I possibly waited on Neil LaBute and all I did was suggest the egg roll.

But what could I have done differently?  What?

It was only late last night on the train that I finally figured out what I should have done in that situation.  It goes a little like this:

Extend my hand.

"Hi.  I'm Joyce."

"Hi.  I'm Neil."

Problem solved.

Why is my life so complicated?!?!?!  I mean, I know it's all my fault.  But why?

WHY????

But at least I had leftovers.

So finally, here is the recipe for Black & Tan Macaroni & Cheese:

I first heard about this concoction on a Food Network show several years ago.  It was a televised competition of home cooks.  These ladies (and a few men) were SO brave to take their home recipes (and their bad selves) on national television.  WAY braver than I was waiting on (most likely) Neil LaBute.  This recipe, in particular, caught my eye.  After the show, I went online to print it out.  They said the recipes would only be up for a limited time, so I'm not sure if it's still online.  I made sure to print out a copy asap.

But credit goes to Autumn Clements from Amelia Island, Florida.

I tweaked her recipe a tiny bit, but I was merely the dramaturg.

Ingredients:

6 cups water
24 ounces lager beer
16 ounces rustic shaped pasta
1 1/2 cup whole milk
1 cup heavy cream
12 ounce can evaporated milk
6 tablespoons lightly salted quality Irish butter
2 1/2 tablespoons flour
1 teaspoon dry mustard
2 teaspoons kosher salt
1/8 teaspoon cayenne pepper
1 cup stout beer
8 ounces shredded smoked Gouda
24 ounces shredded fine quality Irish cheeses
1/2 cup panko bread crumbs
1 1/2 pounds ground beef
1 teaspoon pepper
1 teaspoon onion powder
1 teaspoon garlic powder

Directions:

1.  Start by shredding your cheeses.  I used a smoky Gouda, Aged Irish cheddar, Irish Dubliner, and Irish Porter Cheddar.  The Gouda is not pictured because I hadn't bought it yet when I shot the cheese party pix.  But like an Indian curry---this is your flavor base.  The rest of the ingredients are inexpensive.  This is the money shot.  

   
2.  Put water and lager beer in a big 4 1/2 quart or larger pot over high heat.  Bring it to a boil and add pasta.  It's going to fizz and it will look pretty awesome.  Cook till al dente and then drain and keep warm.

3.  On your second burner, start browning your ground beef.  The original recipe doesn't call for this, but I wanted to make it a full stick-to-your-ass meal and give it that hipster Hamburger Helper feel.  Add 1/2 the salt (1 teaspoon), pepper, garlic powder, and onion powder.  I made it all even for the written recipe, but do as you will to taste.  But bear in mind, your primary flavor is going to come from the high-quality cheeses.  Don't go crazy on the garlic.  This is Irish, not Italian. 

3.  On a third burner, bring all your milks JUST to a boil over medium-high heat.  Use a medium-sized sauce pan for this.  

4.  On your fourth burner, in a medium-to-large-sized saucepan, melt 4 tablespoons of butter over medium heat.  Add flour, stir with a whisk, and make a light brown roux.  Whisk in your hot milk, mustard powder, remaining salt, cayenne, and stout.  Bring to a strong simmer.   Reduce heat to low and stir in cheeses until melted.  

5.  Combine pasta mix with ground beef.  Stir well.  Place remaining butter in a FIFTH saute pan over medium heat and stir in bread crumbs till golden brown.  Spread bread crumb mix on top of pasta.  Alternately, you can put this in an oven proof pan and bake for a few minutes.

Feel free to garnish with some applewood smoked bacon, if you like.

The leftovers keep well and will help you get thru even the most awkward and humiliating moments in your life.

Enjoy.