am not a cook. I tend toward dangerous switcheroos—two cups of milk instead of two tablespoons, cayenne pepper instead of chili powder—and so I have learned my proper place in the kitchen is within arms’ reach of the wine bottle, smiling pretty. Still, I like the idea of cooking stuff. It’s crafty and it gives me an excuse to use the two cutting boards I insisted on buying at Bed, Bath, & Beyond.

Two weeks ago, the New York Times ran a recipe for “Crusty Macaroni and Cheese” that stayed on the website’s “Most emailed list” for two weeks. For days, I looked at it longingly, until I could stand the craving no more. The recipe was so simple even I couldn’t screw it up: One pound pasta, a splash of milk, and a whopping 24 ounces of cheese. So I unloaded $20 at the specialty grocery for three kinds of cheddar, all but a few bites of which wound up in my garbage can. In short, it sucked. Today’s Slate explains perfectly, bless their heart, why it wasn’t my fault.