Thomas Jefferson Mac N Cheese Recipe

You've probably seen the claim a dozen times: Thomas Jefferson invented mac and cheese. Think about it: it's not true. Because of that, the problem? Also, it's one of those food history "facts" that gets repeated on TikTok, in listicles, and on the back of boxed pasta boxes. Not exactly.

What Jefferson did do was bring a pasta machine back from Europe, serve a "pie called macaroni" at a state dinner in 1802, and leave behind a handwritten recipe that looks suspiciously like the work of James Hemings, the enslaved chef he brought to France to train in French cuisine. The dish they made wasn't the neon-orange, elbow-noodle casserole we know today. In real terms, it was simpler. Richer. Closer to what an Italian nonna would recognize as pasta al forno*. Small thing, real impact.

If you want to cook the version that actually showed up on Jefferson's table — not the mythologized version, but the one documented in his own papers — here's what you need to know.

What Is the Thomas Jefferson Mac and Cheese Recipe

The recipe survives in the Library of Congress, scribbled in Jefferson's hand (or possibly dictated to him by Hemings). It calls for six ingredients: macaroni, butter, flour, milk, cheese, and salt. In practice, no mustard powder. That's it. Now, no breadcrumbs on top. No cayenne. No evaporated milk. No three-cheese blend.

The pasta shape matters. Because of that, jefferson's "macaroni" wasn't the curved elbow shape we buy in blue boxes. On top of that, in late 18th-century usage, macaroni* referred to any long, tubular pasta — think bucatini or a thick spaghetti with a hole down the center. He owned a pasta extruder made in Naples, and the machine produced hollow tubes roughly the diameter of a pencil. If you want historical accuracy, hunt down bucatini or perciatelli. Break them in half if your pot isn't tall enough.

The cheese is the other variable. " In his household, that likely meant a hard Italian cheese — Parmesan or something similar — possibly mixed with a younger, meltier cheese like a French Gruyère or a sharp English cheddar. The Hemings family had access to both European imports and American-made cheeses. That's why jefferson's recipe just says "cheese. Modern recreations tend to split the difference: half Parmesan for salt and umami, half sharp cheddar for melt and body.

The James Hemings Factor

You can't talk about this dish without talking about James Hemings. Day to day, he was nineteen when Jefferson took him to Paris in 1784 to apprentice under French chefs. Five years later, he returned to America as one of the most technically skilled cooks in the country — enslaved, unpaid, and responsible for the most sophisticated kitchen in Virginia. The macaroni pie served at the President's House in 1802? Almost certainly his execution, his technique, his judgment on cheese ratios and oven temperature.

Jefferson wrote the recipe down. Worth adding: hemings knew* it. That distinction matters.

Why It Matters / Why People Care

This recipe gets attention for three reasons, and only one of them is the food itself.

First, it's a gateway into early American food history. Think about it: the dish sits at a collision point: Italian pasta technology, French technique, English cheddar-making tradition, and the forced labor of an enslaved chef who mastered all of it. Cooking it forces you to confront who actually built American cuisine.

Second, it's genuinely delicious in a way that surprises people used to modern mac and cheese. Even so, the sauce is a béchamel* — butter, flour, milk, cheese — not a roux-thickened cheddar soup. It's lighter, silkier, and the cheese flavor comes through clean instead of being buried under starch and processed cheese powder.

Third, it's a flex. Here's the thing — serving "Thomas Jefferson's mac and cheese" at a dinner party starts conversations. Just maybe don't repeat the "he invented it" line unless you want a history nerd correcting you over the Chardonnay.

How It Works (or How to Do It)

The technique is straightforward if you've made a béchamel before. If you haven't, this is a forgiving place to learn.

Equipment You'll Need

A heavy-bottomed saucepan. An oven. A whisk. Think about it: a 2-quart baking dish (or a cast iron skillet). That's the whole list. Jefferson's kitchen had copper pots and a brick oven; your stainless steel and gas range will do fine.

The Ingredients (Scaled for a Modern Kitchen)

• 12 ounces bucatini or perciatelli (or regular spaghetti if that's what you have — no judgment)
• 4 tablespoons unsalted butter, plus more for the dish
• 3 tablespoons all-purpose flour
• 2 cups whole milk, warmed slightly
• 1 cup finely grated Parmesan (the real stuff, not the shaker can)
• 1 cup finely grated sharp cheddar, aged at least 12 months
• 1 teaspoon fine sea salt, plus more for pasta water
• Freshly grated nutmeg (optional, but Hemings would have had access to it)

Step 1: The Pasta

Bring a large pot of heavily salted water to a boil. You want it tasting like the Mediterranean — about a tablespoon of salt per gallon. Think about it: drop the bucatini in and cook until just* shy of al dente, usually a minute less than the package says. The pasta finishes in the oven. Drain, reserving a cup of pasta water, and toss with a teaspoon of butter so the strands don't weld together.

For more on this topic, read our article on 20th president of the united states of america or check out what year was the nineteenth amendment passed.

Step 2: The Béchamel

Melt the remaining butter in your saucepan over medium-low heat. Whisk in the flour and cook, stirring constantly, for about two minutes. You're not looking for color — this is a white roux. So it should smell nutty, not toasted. Slowly stream in the warm milk, whisking like your sanity depends on it. Lumps are the enemy. Once it's smooth, keep whisking until the sauce thickens enough to coat the back of a spoon, about five minutes. Pull it off the heat.

Step 3: The Cheese

Add the salt, a few gratings of nutmeg if you're using it, and both cheeses. Whisk until smooth. The residual heat melts them. Which means if the sauce feels too thick, thin it with a splash of reserved pasta water. Taste. Adjust salt. This is your only chance.

Step 4: Combine and Bake

Butter your baking dish. Fold the pasta into the sauce until every strand is coated. That's why transfer to the dish. Smooth the top. Still, bake at 375°F for 20–25 minutes, until the edges bubble and the surface develops golden-brown patches. Not a uniform crust — patches.

Step 5: The Final Touch

Once the gratin emerges from the oven, its aroma will linger like a memory. Let it rest for five minutes—this allows the sauce to set, ensuring each bite holds together without collapsing. Serve in shallow bowls or directly from the dish, garnished with a final sprinkle of Parmesan and a twist of nutmeg. Pair it with a crisp white wine or a bold red, and watch as guests debate whether it’s a casserole, a pasta dish, or something transcendent.

Why It Works

The beauty of this gratin lies in its alchemy: starches from the pasta and roux thicken the sauce into a velvety embrace, while the cheeses create pockets of gooey richness. The oven transforms it into a dish of contrasts—crisp edges, molten centers, and a flavor profile that balances nutty, salty, and earthy notes. Unlike a creamy pasta tossed in sauce, this gratin’s components meld into a cohesive whole, each layer reinforcing the next.

A Note on History (Without the Chardonnay)

While Hemings’s original recipe remains shrouded in culinary secrecy, this modern adaptation honors its essence by prioritizing technique over tradition. The use of bucatini, with its porous texture, adds a subtle chew that complements the sauce’s silkiness—a nod to Italian pasta traditions. The cheese blend, meanwhile, reflects 19th-century American ingenuity, marrying European staples with local dairy innovations.

Final Thoughts

This dish is a testament to the idea that great food doesn’t require complexity. With just a handful of ingredients and a willingness to stir, whisk, and bake, you can create something that feels both historic and utterly modern. So, channel your inner Hemings, fire up the oven, and remember: the best gratins are the ones that make you want to sit down, linger, and savor every bite.