WRITTEN BY YASMINE SHEMESH

In 1991, when I was in kindergarten, I told everyone in my class that Macaulay Culkin was my boyfriend.

“You know Kevin McCallister, from Home Alone?” I whispered, with the intensity of holding important information.

The eyes of my schoolmates widened like saucers. “Really?”

“Yes, it’s true. We’re in love.”

We weren’t, obviously. But I had the biggest crush upon seeing him as the precocious eight-year-old who defends his home against a pair of rag-tag burglars in the 1990 Christmas classic. I all but shouted it from Vancouver’s rooftops.

Naturally, I had to like everything that Kevin—and Culkin, by extension—was associated with. Cheese pizza. Michael Jackson. Kraft Macaroni and Cheese (known, in Canada, as Kraft Dinner). The latter was major. The golden, slightly florescent pasta makes an important appearance in Home Alone as a last supper of sorts before Kevin faces off with the Wet Bandits as they break into the booby-trapped McCallister house. The dining room is candle-lit, Kevin is wearing a nice sweater, and he even blesses “this highly nutritious microwavable macaroni and cheese dinner and the people who sold it on sale.” Amen. He doesn’t actually get to enjoy his feast—the showdown ensues before he can take a mouthful—but, to me, the elaborate set up emphasized the great significance of the tubular noodles. It was something special. And cool, because Kevin liked it.

Soon, Kraft Dinner became my favourite food. It was probably the only junk allowed in our house, which only made me crave its cheesy deliciousness more. (I liked it extra saucy.) My family generally ate quite healthily, our meals directly pulled from my mixed heritage. Mostly fresh salads, vine leaves stuffed with spiced meat, homemade hummus, and pita from my father’s Iraqi-Israeli side or British comforts, like custard, from my mother’s. For me, a first generation Canadian, Kraft Dinner felt like it was mine, something I discovered on my own. Apparently, it’s even known as Canada’s “true national dish.” And, though it was invented in 1937, it was very much a staple of a nineties childhood. Our pop culture was saturated in it. Commercials featured cartoons of the era, like Animaniacs and Super Mario Bros. Barenaked Ladies waxed on about it in “If I Had A $1,000,000.” It was omnipresent at friends’ houses. When neighbourhood kids came over to ours, my mother would ask their parents what they’d like to eat. “Oh, just give them Kraft Dinner,” was the resounding response, “they love it.” We did. It tasted like the zeitgeist.

Over the years, I’ve picked up the blue-boxed treat whenever craving something comforting and nostalgic. Kraft, of course, is fully aware of its charms on people like me: today, ads featuring Vanilla Ice and slogans like “imported from your childhood” intentionally wink at our wistfulness. And, maybe I’m a sucker, but it’s true. Just the tangy aroma itself immediately transports me to preadolescence again. A heaping bowl of the stuff never fails to feel like a big hug.

The music I listened to as a kid embraces me in the same way, as it tends to for most. But, once in a while, something new comes along that hits that sweet spot. “KD and Lunch Meat,” the blissful opening track to Boy Golden’s debut album, Church of Better Daze, taps into that delicious warmth. The sunny melody and jangly guitar riffs go down easy as the mustachioed Winnipeg, Manitoba artist preaches the joy of good vibes and simple delights —altogether, a kind of playful doctrine for life.

It’s a song you’ll want to keep in your pocket and return to for the feeling it stirs up, one of happiness, comfort, even innocence. Just like that soft, cheesy macaroni.

This week’s playlist throws it back to the nineties. Listen to “KD And Lunch Meat” alongside a tasty mix of classics from Michael Jackson, Hanson, Coolio, No Doubt, Barenaked Ladies, and more.