![]() The Velveeta melted admirably into the soup and milk mixture, creating a perfectly creamy, abnormally bright orange-colored sauce into which my mother stirred the cooked elbows. Like a cockroach, it would, most likely, survive a nuclear holocaust. A “cheese” that need not be refrigerated and probably doesn’t have an expiration date, I may add. The next addition was cubed Velveeta, a processed cheese if ever there was one. The empty can was then filled half-way with whole milk, which was poured into the pot. ![]() The gelled contents of a can of Campbell’s tomato soup plopped into a saucepan. While the Ronzoni elbow macaroni boiled away in a large pot of salted water, my mother worked on the sauce. In the nineteen sixties, that meant a dish composed of a combination of convenience products popular at the time. The main course for dinner “the day after” was a favorite. All I recall about the ham, oddly enough, was its presence in another guise the following evening. But a baked ham, well, all I can think is that my mother must have, for some reason, felt obligated to produce one yearly. When I was growing up, my family wasn’t big on ham.
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