THE GLUTTON

In the pantheon of comfort foods, few dishes soothe the soul as blissfully as macaroni and cheese. Who can resist the buxom curves of the elbow macaroni, the glistening beads of just-out-of-the-oven fat?

In a pinch, you can find a decent mac and cheese at chains such as El Pollo Loco and Koo Koo Roo. In fact, the only places where the Glutton has consistently been disappointed are barbecue restaurants. Case study: Despite serving brisket that would make a Jewish Texan mother weep, the Boneyard Bistro in Sherman Oaks gilds the lily by slicing its m&c; into thick wedges, then battering and frying them. As gloriously, gratuitously fatty as fried m&c; sounds, the results are blander than Dane Cook’s comedy.

Then there are the posh eateries hellbent on gentrifying comfort food. Melisse in Santa Monica insists on serving an $85 version topped with a “brown butter truffle froth.”

But savvy eaters like the Glutton eschew the pretension and head to Royale near MacArthur Park where $85 will buy you 17 servings (do the math) of truffle m&c; during the weekday happy hour.

After that, the Glutton likes to swing by one (or both) of her favorite m&c; peddlers: Larkin’s in Eagle Rock or Lucky Devil’s in Hollywood, where the humble noodles-and-cheese combo has been raised to a gustatory art. Because as hard as it is to do this classic wrong, it’s equally hard to live up to it.

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