It was one of those volunteer duties, the one where you agree to talk to your kid's class about your job. I figured it would be easy: I'd ask the kids what their family eats at Thanksgiving and we'd do a middle-school version of Brillat-Savarin's old saw, “Tell me what you eat and I'll tell you who you are.”

I stood at the wipe-off board and wrote down what the kids called out: Turkey, dressing, pumpkin pie.

Then it happened: One child called out, “Macaroni and cheese.”

Across the room, every white child said a version of “Say what?” And every black child said a version of “Well, sure.”

The person who really got educated that day wasn't the kids. I'd learned that America's beloved comfort food leads a double life.

In black culture, for the most part, macaroni and cheese is the pinnacle, the highest culinary accolade. Who makes it, how it's made and who's allowed to bring it to a gathering involves negotiation, tradition and tacit understanding. It's made from scratch and usually involves multiple kinds of cheese, secret touches (eggs and evaporated milk may be involved) and debates over toppings. It's baked, and it's a side dish, but it's the side dish of honor, present at every important occasion.

Just rip the top off a blue box? It would be like ripping through your grandmother's heart.

In white culture, for the most part, macaroni and cheese is certainly considered tasty — cheesy, comforting and filling. It's also cheap, the kind of thing your mother pulled together on a weeknight to stretch the budget. An adult might make it from scratch for a filling meal, but it's also so simple, any kid can make it: Tear open the box, boil the macaroni, dump in the powder, stir in the milk.

Macaroni and cheese on a holiday table would be as out of place as ripped blue jeans in church.

Maybe it's time we discuss this: Is it macaroni and cheese? Or is it more?

Where did people branch off over macaroni and cheese? Adrian Miller, an African-American writer based in Colorado, has tried to find out.

Some historians think macaroni and cheese became a simple thing during the Depression, when “government cheese” was a commodity handed out to people struggling for food.

But Miller thinks the idea of macaroni and cheese as a celebration food goes back a lot further. Thomas Jefferson brought back molds for making tubular pasta from Italy, and recipes for a cheese-based “macaroni pudding” have been found in cookbooks from the early 1800s.

“My theory is that enslaved people got this expertise (in making it) and it was a special-occasion food back then,” Miller says. “Then, after Emancipation, it gets incorporated into the African-American culinary repertoire.”

Many older black people Miller interviewed had an interesting perspective, he says.

“They were convinced mac and cheese was something white people stole from us. I thought they were kidding, but they were like, 'No, it's like rock 'n' roll — we started that.' They were serious.”

Ashli Quesinberry Stokes, director of the Center for the Study of New South at UNCC, went deeply into issues of food and identity in her book “Consuming Identity: The Role of Food in Redefining the South,” with co-author Wendy Atkins-Sayre.

Talking about macaroni and cheese won't solve the uncomfortable issues of race in this country, she says.

“Food's not a fix, right? It's not going to fix the very real problems in the South.”

But food may be an opening, Stokes says, a way to discover what we have in common.

“Food is a way to, maybe, begin a conversation. How we talk about it matters.”

This version of macaroni and cheese adapted from Epicurious.com, came from Robbie Montgomery of the Sweet Pie’s soul food chain.Using eggs, evaporated milk and Velveeta keeps it creamy. Mac and cheeses made only with shredded cheddar can be grainy.Yield: 8 to 10 servings2 cups dry, small elbow macaroni2½ teaspoons salt, divided5 tablespoons butter, divided1 (12-ounce) can evaporated milk1/3 cup sour cream2 eggs½ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper¼ teaspoon cayenne pepper4 tablespoons whole milk or half-and-half4 tablespoons butter2/3 pound (about 11 ounces, or about 2½ cups) shredded sharp cheddar cheese, divided1/3 pound (about 5½ ounces or about 1 ¼ cups) shredded colby jack cheese½ pound Velveeta, cut in cubesBring 6 cups of water to a boil and add 1 teaspoon salt. Add the macaroni and cook until al dente. Drain noodles in a strainer and rinse with cold water to cool.Preheat the oven to 375 degrees. Grease a 3-quart casserole dish or 13-by-9-inch baking dish with 1 tablespoon of the butter.Combine the evaporated milk, eggs, sour cream, remaining salt, pepper and cayenne pepper in a mixing bowl and whisk to mix well.Pour the cooked macaroni into the prepared baking dish. Stir in the evaporated milk mixture. Dot with the remaining butter cut into cubes and stir in half the cheddar and all the colby jack. Distribute the cubes of Velveeta around the noodles. Stir it all up well while adding the milk. Pack it down into the dish and sprinkle the remaining cheese over the top.Bake for 20 to 25 minutes until the cheese is melted. Place under the broiler about 5 minutes until it’s starting to brown in spots. Let stand 15 minutes before serving.