American Idol

"Who doesn't love mac and cheese?" Sarita Ekya explained the other night as she took orders at the counter of Sarita's Macaroni & Cheese, or S'MAC, for short. The restaurant has quickly become a destination and judging from the line behind me, her logic for opening a restaurant that serves 10 different versions of that one iconic dish continued to hold up. Even among people who fear carbs and shun fats, there's something irresistible about pasta smothered in gooey melted cheese.

For most of us this love stems from childhood, where we all experienced mac & cheese differently. I knew it mainly as the Kraft kind with the nuclear orange, squeeze-out sauce, though on occasion I also enjoyed the casserole-style block of bloated macaroni, mortared with tangy cheese. In truth, most of us settled for sub-par renditions of this dish, and were perfectly happy with them, too. Though one customer at S'mac had obviously grown up eating the homemade version, since she flashed her friend a thumbs-up and yelled, from across the room, "Breadcrumbs!" when she learned the topping was an option. Breadcrumbs being shorthand, presumably, for "They know what they're doing!"

You would think so based upon S'MAC's inventive riffs on the old standard, including a Manchego mac with fennel and shallots or a Brie with roasted figs, shiitakes and rosemary. In fact, the liberties taken here are all the more surprising once you learn that Sarita and her husband, Ceasar, are both retired engineers-she's the mechanical one, he's the software kind-who wanted to make a career change when the idea hit Sarita nine months ago (a much cooler time of year) to open their one-track mind café. (She and her husband happened to be sitting in another single-themed restaurant, Peanut Butter & Co., at the time.)

Sarita developed the 10 basic recipes and then hired a chef to perfect them, who in turn recommended they serve their specialty dish in cast iron skillets, straight from the broilers. They come in three sizes, nosh ($4.25-$6.75), major munch ($6.50-$9), and mongo ($11-$16), and Ceasar ferries them out piping hot, with cute little potholders over their handles.

Unfortunately, it's hot as a furnace next to these ovens, and on a sweltering summer night, the potential for heat stroke inside this cheddar and Kraft-colored cafe is palpable. And yet the people still come-in droves. I hovered near the counter for about 20 minutes waiting for a table to open as customers shimmied around each other, passing chairs above people's heads for a seat. I had time to ask Sarita her recommendations, and she named the Gruyere with slab bacon followed by the Mozzarella with roasted tomatoes and basil, before recalling that the Cajun-andouille sausage, cheddar and pepper jack-had recently become a favorite, too.

Finally a seat opened and, as I sat down, I noticed that the woman leaving had barely touched her "major munch." Did you not like it? I asked. "No, she said, "I wasn't impressed at all. And he didn't like his," she added, though, to be fair, there wasn't one elbow of macaroni left in his pan-the Cajun one as it turned out. Hers was the Mozzarella.

I played it safe, then, with the Gruyere; a friend tried the All-American, and another had the Brie. The standard american & cheddar one was boring: Creamy with no sharp cheddar bite and crying out for salt and pepper. The Brie was slightly better; still on the bland side but with an interesting note of sweetness, thanks to the figs. The Gruyere won by a long shot, primarily because of the thick chunks of smoky, slab bacon. Ultimately, we couldn't finish our skillets, either, but not because we were disappointed. This is a dish that tugs at the heartstrings of our youth, after all, so it exerts a powerful pull, but not in 100-degree heat. If nostalgia is all you're looking for, this will do-though you'll probably appreciate it more come fall.

S'MAC (Sarita's Macaroni & Cheese)

345 E. 12th St. (betw. 1st & 2nd Aves.)

212-358-7912