disaster is the spice of life. or was that variety?

i love my enchilada recipe; it brings back memories of a hot summer kitchen, my dear friend nathan and his boyfriend at the time, federico. federico was a chef in mexico city, and spoke very limited english, so nathan translated whole meal preparation, since we were in my kitchen.

it was an ongoing chatter--federico asking for a colander, nathan translating, me fetching. the kitchen was humid and sticky, full of the fresh snap of cilantro and mellow garlic.

it was the first time i'd used tomatillos--dried husks peeling off, we boiled them until green faded to yellow, and then tossed them in the blender with onions and serrano peppers. the resulting sauce was poured over two warmed corn tortillas full of steamed chicken, covered in sour cream and cheese and lettuce, and garnished with avocado.

the food was hot enough to leave your mouth tingling, your lips feeling flushed and swollen; cold coronas tasted divine.

i've made the recipe since that august many times. added too many peppers one time and it was nearly inedible.

last saturday night at spoon's house we made enchiladas--the kind you stuff and bake. she used flour tortillas, and a meat substitute called "quorn" that was so good you honestly could not tell the difference between that and chicken. i made the sauce; sarah stuffed the enchiladas. the resulting dish was delicious--flour shells curling around tasty filling, verdant sauce spilling onto the plate. lovely.

so last night i decided i would make the same for my lunches this week. i spent a good hour and a half in the kitchen, making the filling and sauce, boiling and chopping and blending. i rolled and stuffed, dumped sauce over the top and sprinkled with cheese. the pan was full and in my opinion, looked delicious.

what emerged from my oven later appeared tantalizing as well. the cheese had crisped and browned on top. i let it cool and then dug in, separating out amounts for lunches this week.

and that, my friends, is when my meal went from wonderful to FEMA qualified.

i didn't have the neat enchiladas of saturday evening; i had a mound of enchilada filling mixed with disintegrated corn tortilla.

today at lunch when i dumped the mixture onto my plate, it smelled just like that august dinner from years ago. i covered it in sour cream and lettuce. from the outside, it looked the same, too.
but when i dug into it, it did not taste quite the same.

it wasn't my ingredients--those were all the same. the difference was in the texture of the food concealed beneath toppings and cheese.

last year at this time i was still struggling with truths that i didn't want to face. all the ingredients--the people, the emotions--they were all things i had experienced before. but presented in a different light, they were raw and unsavory.

i think for a long time i garnished the truth so that it would be palatable, edible, you name it. i wanted it all to be the same. i didn't want to imagine that what i was removing from the oven was anything other than wonderful, was anything painful.

my lunch-shaped lump of enchiladas went in the garbage half way through today. i'll probably try the other lunches but i don't have my hopes up; i know now what lies beneath the greenery and dairy. i've got the option to chuck the whole batch, start over some other time. it's a waste of money and time, true enough. and i'm struggling with that, small as it may be.

but the result doesn't have to be hidden. the result doesn't have to be the end result. i can change--my emotions, my path, my enchilada recipe. the change i made last night to my recipe didn't turn out quite as intended. i need to tinker with it.

make it better.

because glossing over the disaster that is my enchiladas isn't going to make them any tastier.