The vegan mac and cheese that made my Wisconsin-raised husband forget to complain

Marcus grew up on a dairy farm outside of Madison. His childhood memories are steeped in fresh milk, cheese curds that squeaked against his teeth, and his grandmother's baked macaroni and cheese, the kind with a breadcrumb crust that shattered when you broke through it.

When I went vegan at 35, he supported me completely. But he also made it clear, with the gentle honesty that defines our marriage, that he would never pretend vegan cheese was the real thing.

For five years, I accepted this. I stopped asking him to try my cashew-based attempts. I made peace with cooking two versions of things. And then, one ordinary Tuesday, I placed a bowl of mac and cheese in front of him, and something shifted.

He took a bite. Then another. Then he looked up at me with an expression I can only describe as confused betrayal, like I'd somehow tricked the universe. "This is... actually good," he said. No qualifiers. No "for vegan food." Just good.

The problem with most vegan mac and cheese

Let's be honest about why so many plant-based mac and cheese recipes fail. They're either trying too hard to replicate something they can't, or they're not trying hard enough and end up tasting like nutritional yeast soup with noodles. I've made both versions more times than I care to admit.

The issue isn't the ingredients themselves. Cashews, potatoes, carrots, and nutritional yeast can create something wonderful. The problem is usually ratio and technique. Too much nooch and you get that overpowering, almost metallic tang. Not enough fat and the sauce feels thin and unsatisfying. Skip the acid and everything tastes flat.

What finally worked for me was approaching it the way I used to approach financial models: systematically, with attention to how each variable affected the outcome. What does each ingredient actually contribute? What's the minimum amount of nutritional yeast needed for that cheesy depth without overwhelming everything else?

The secret is in the base

Here's what changed everything: I stopped relying on cashews alone. Instead, I use a combination of raw cashews, white beans, and a small amount of refined coconut oil. The cashews provide richness and that slightly sweet, creamy quality. The white beans add body and protein without any detectable bean flavor.

The coconut oil, and it must be refined so there's no coconut taste, gives the sauce that slight coating quality that makes dairy cheese so satisfying on the tongue.

I also roast my garlic before blending it in. Raw garlic in a cheese sauce can be sharp and distracting. Roasted garlic becomes sweet, mellow, and almost caramelized. It adds depth without announcing itself.

The other game-changer? A tablespoon of white miso paste. It brings that fermented, umami complexity that nutritional yeast alone can't achieve. Marcus doesn't know it's in there, and I'm not telling him.

The recipe that changed everything

Ingredients:

• 1 cup raw cashews, soaked for at least 2 hours
• 1/2 cup canned white beans, drained and rinsed
• 2 tablespoons refined coconut oil
• 1 head roasted garlic (about 8-10 cloves)
• 3 tablespoons nutritional yeast
• 1 tablespoon white miso paste
• 1 teaspoon Dijon mustard
• 1/2 teaspoon smoked paprika
• 1/4 teaspoon turmeric
• 1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
• 1 cup unsweetened oat milk
• Salt to taste
• 1 pound elbow macaroni or shells

Instructions:

1. Cook pasta according to package directions. Reserve 1/2 cup pasta water before draining.
2. While pasta cooks, blend soaked cashews, white beans, coconut oil, roasted garlic, nutritional yeast, miso, mustard, paprika, turmeric, lemon juice, and oat milk until completely smooth. This takes about 2-3 minutes in a high-speed blender.
3. Pour sauce into a large pan over medium heat. Stir continuously until it thickens slightly and becomes glossy, about 4-5 minutes.
4. Add drained pasta to the sauce. Toss to coat, adding reserved pasta water a splash at a time if needed.
5. Taste and adjust salt. Serve immediately.

The optional but highly recommended crispy top

If you want that grandmother's-recipe nostalgia factor, transfer the mac and cheese to a baking dish. Top with a mixture of panko breadcrumbs, a drizzle of olive oil, and a pinch of smoked paprika. Broil for 2-3 minutes until golden and crispy. Watch it carefully because broilers are unforgiving.

This is the version I made for Marcus that Tuesday. The crunch on top, giving way to the creamy pasta underneath, was what finally won him over. He's requested it three times since.

Final thoughts

I've learned that the best vegan cooking doesn't come from trying to perfectly replicate what we've left behind. It comes from understanding what made those foods satisfying in the first place, and then finding new ways to deliver those same qualities.

Creaminess. Umami. Richness. Comfort.

These aren't exclusive to dairy.

Marcus still visits his family's farm. He still loves cheese in a way I never will again. But now, when I make this mac and cheese, he doesn't compare it to anything. He just eats it. And sometimes, that quiet acceptance is the highest compliment a Wisconsin boy can give.