Guy Fieri’s Macaroni Salad

Okay, listen: I believe pasta salads are where memories go to get comfortable and then make bad decisions. There—big opinion, right off the bat. Also, I think Guy Fieri made something that tastes like summer in a neon shirt: Guy Fieri’s Macaroni Salad is the kind of thing you bring to a picnic and immediately regret not making two bowls of. If you’re into tangy comfort, and you like a little crunch with your nostalgia (who doesn’t), stay with me. And yes, if you prefer something fresher, try my version of a Caprese pasta salad—I’ll still love you.

My First Disaster (Yes, I Burned the Pasta Once)

I made this once and it smelled like regret and oily mayo breath for three days. Picture this: a pot bubbling over, pieces of macaroni sticking to the bottom like small saucy fossils, and me, very loudly telling the smoke alarm to calm down (as if it was going to listen). The texture was wrong—mushy corners and undercooked middles—like chewing a pasta-based existential crisis. Also, I used the wrong kind of onion (big mistake), which made the whole thing bitey in a way that felt personal. Embarrassing? Yes. Did I post about it on the internet anyway? Of course.

I kept fiddling because I’m stubborn and because my neighbor yelled “toss it with more mayo”—which, bless, she’s not wrong but she’s also not helping. The sound the salad makes in the bowl when you stir it—do other people notice that? It’s a very specific, slightly moist scooping sound. I still hear it sometimes. Not healing. But also, oddly comforting.

Why This Version Finally Works (Also, I Changed My Mind Twice)

I’ll be honest: there was a moment of surrender where I almost gave up and said pasta salad was for people with perfectly curated picnics. Then I realized what I was missing was texture balance and restraint (and maybe less onion). So I cut back, added a hit of Dijon, and stopped boiling the pasta like I had a vendetta against al dente. Small technical changes, huge emotional impact. It’s like therapy but cheaper.

This Guy Fieri’s Macaroni Salad version works because the mayo isn’t trying too hard, the relish gives it cheeky sweetness, and the veggies save it from feeling like an oil slick. Also I started rinsing the pasta with cold water immediately and it changed everything—EVERYTHING. Confidence? Sure, but with the usual tiny doubt that I secretly need to add more crunch. I compared texture notes to a lighter summer option I love (and yes, I’m brash enough to compare it to a Caprese pasta salad with balsamic glaze once, for science), which made me question some childhood convictions about mayonnaise. The learning curve was short but dramatic.

Ingredients

• 2 cups elbow macaroni
• 1 cup mayonnaise
• 1 cup diced celery
• 1/2 cup diced red onion
• 1/2 cup diced bell peppers
• 1/4 cup sweet pickle relish
• 1 tablespoon Dijon mustard
• Salt and pepper to taste
• Optional: chopped hard-boiled eggs, cooked turkey bacon, or other protein

budget, texture, availability (look—use what’s on sale, or what’s left in your fridge after a busy week; I don’t judge, except sometimes I do)

Cooking Unit Converter

If you want to swap cups for grams or scale this up for a crowd, this little tool helps with all the math headaches.

Cooking Process

1. Cook the elbow macaroni according to package instructions until al dente. Drain and rinse with cold water.
2. In a large bowl, combine the cooked macaroni, mayonnaise, diced celery, red onion, bell peppers, relish, and Dijon mustard.
3. Stir until all ingredients are well mixed.
4. Season with salt and pepper to taste.
5. Optional: fold in any additional proteins.
6. Refrigerate for at least 30 minutes before serving to allow flavors to meld.

And then—listen—don’t just shove it in the fridge and forget it. Taste it after 30 minutes, then again an hour later. It develops an attitude over time. If you like drama, let it sit overnight. If you hate yourself, add more onion. Also, once I accidentally used spicy mustard and my mouth cried but my heart was happy. BE CAUTIOUS. Or don’t.

Household Chaos and You (Let’s Talk About The Mess You’ll Make)

Do you ever start a recipe and then realize you need five bowls and two cutting boards and a spatula with feelings? Me too. Who else has that moment of “where did the celery go” only to find it in the salad already? Questions: do you prefer more relish or less? Do your relatives pilfer the bowl with suspicious speed? I assume we all have a cousin who declares mayo evil, but then eats two bowls. Was that you last summer? Tell me. Also, if you’re debating what to serve alongside, you could go tangy-sweet like the time I tried to pair this with a zippy Caprese spin and almost started a friendly food fight (that version was involved in the lore).

I keep thinking about how food is memory and compromise and sometimes just a vehicle for conversation about how someone once left a jar of pickles open in the fridge for a month (not naming names). This salad is small, silly, and reliable—like an old friend who always shows up with chips. And also: if you end up tweaking it into something weird and wonderful, gimme a photo, I will absolutely critique it and then steal the idea mid-sentence.