BLTA Tacos!

I doubt the average American knows the significance of Memorial Day, nor that it became an official national holiday in 1868. (Ya. I DEFINITELY had to look that one up!) For me, this particular weekend has always felt like an initial toast to summer: the worst of the allergy season has hopefully passed; salads are back in style; a bowl of watermelon cubes sits free for passersby on the kitchen counter. On my favorite summery days, when I’m not walking around barefoot or holding the hose for babies in swimsuits, I am sitting in the outdoor patio of a restaurant ordering a BLTA.

According to some sandwich history, we have the roaring twenties (1929) to thank for the addition of Bacon to our sandwiches. In a period of U.S. history where thriftiness was respected, it was natural to use every part of the pig and leave nothing to waste. The greasy strips of bacon were easy to roast over a fire and stick between bread. Today, I would argue, summer is incomplete without BLT’s… and BLT’s are incomplete without Avocado.

Considering I love twisting traditions to meet my Melting-Pot-American lifestyle, I recently tweaked the traditional BLTA by accident. My boyfriend had been unexpectedly freed from work, giving me less than ten minutes to prepare a mini-lunch date. Within seconds of reading his warning text, I had the fridge and every cabinet wide open. Ugh! I thought. Of course we’re out of bread! So I took inventory. What DO we have? Hmm. Turkey Bacon. Whole-wheat tortillas. Lettuce. Oh YES: Avocado. And tomatoes. PERFECT! I threw a few strips of turkey bacon in the microwave, whipped out the mayo, and while the tortilla was steaming on the stove, I slapped BLTA on top. By the time my poodles were yapping at the fully suited man on my front porch, lunch was served.

The mayo and the tomato juice ran together to combine with the smoky grease off of the bacon. As the romaine lettuce crunched, I felt like I was eating a fried tortilla. With sun tea in my left fist and a dripping, BLTA taco in my right, this instant meal felt like July 16^th.

These BLTA tacos ended up being a new go-to. You NEED to try it. Plus, in my opinion, it’s much more satisfying to turn your head sideways to eat a BLTA, than to occupy your drink hand with a two-handed sandwich.

1) Bake Original Bacon on a sheet pan with either parchment paper or a drip rack: 375 degrees for 20 minutes

(or thick cut at 400 for 18 ish).

2) Lather some mayo on your whole wheat (or regular flour) tortilla.

3) Cut Tomatoes in half-moons, slice open the avocado, and prepare whatever lettuce you have on hand. (We had bagged lettuce in the fridge left over. Romaine or butter lettuce would be best. Keep it mild).

4) Put the BLTA (Bacon, Lettuce, Tomato, Avocado) on top of the mayoed tortilla however you think it looks pretty Sprinkle with salt and pepper.

5) Place it on a warm/medium heat comal (flat pan on the stove). If you’re rushing, just lay the tortilla on the pan while you’re adding all the ingredients. You’ll be sad if you burn it. Just get it a little warm.

6) Fold it like a taco, turn your head sideways, and chomp!!!!!!

Choose Your Fortune…Cookie

Finishing up my final three days of college is like being trapped in a tornado and liking it. Last week I:

1)    Solidified my commencement eligibility.

2)    Was informed about two awards that I will be receiving.

3)    And was hired with a non-profit organization.

As I prepare for a life of full-time employment, I must first reflect on how the heck I survived juggling four years of double-major, collegiate insanity. The answer? FORTUNE COOKIES!

Here’s the story:

Last week Professor Spicher lent me a movie that reveals the secret to success (“The Secret,” also available in Spanish, “El Secreto”). The movie describes that thinking positively about your desires, as well as envisioning your dreams coming true, releases ripples into the universe that will bring the dreams to life. In other words, if you envision yourself graduating with honors and believe it to be the real future, you will graduate with honors; if you envision yourself dropping out of school and developing depression, you will not have a happy future. If you envision yourself being an obese 50-year-old Grandpa, you will be obese; if you envision yourself healthy and riding bikes with your grandkids at age 50, you will likely have a longer lifespan. Granted, it’s not simple as pie, but it is definitely as simple as fortune cookies.

For as long as I can remember, my family has gotten take-out Chinese food from China Gourmet. My sister and I would reach into the wax paper baggie, grab the first cookie we touched, and crack the two halves apart as though the winning lottery numbers sat trapped inside. After reading the message, we decided between two things:

1)    If the fortune was positive, we would eat the cookie AND eat the paper message!

2)    If the fortune was negative, we would eat the cookie and throw away the message.

As we got older, we learned how seriously disturbing it was to eat paper. Instead, I started saving the positive messages. Later, I would unexpectedly find them in jean pockets, in the crack of a seat in the car, in the pencil pocket of my backpack. Considering I always forgot the mini-message a minute after reading it, finding the fortune for the second time was just as thrilling as the first.

Throughout college, I saved my favorite fortunes and posted them in corners of places I see often:

My Car Speedometer:

My Bathroom Mirror:

My Desk’s Magnet Strip:

My Inspiration Board:

Call me a hoarder, but glancing positive words throughout my whirl-wind days brings a constant breeze of happiness. They remind me periodically that life is positive if I allow it to be positive.

Today, when I picked up some take-out Wonton Soup, I pleaded for a few extra fortune cookies thinking I could share with all of you. I sat down at my final essay with my soup and some Yogi Tea, and took the first cookie out with you in mind:

When I looked in the bag, I saw that one had already been cracked during the ride home. Deciding that this particular fortune was destined for me, I pulled it out:

Yes universe, I will certainly be celebrating my graduation this week. Call it good fortune; call it superstition; call it faith; call it chance; call it serendipity; call it whatever you want! If you ask me, I think the something wanted you all to take this positivity thing very seriously.

PS: Please visit the Fortune Cookie Factory in San Francisco’s China Town. It takes less that one minute to see the entire place, but watching the cookies get formed so rapidly is a necessary addition to your bucket list!

Giada and I…

So as you may have already heard, I’m on a first name basis with Giada. Psh. Well not really. She held up a motivational sign for the children I babysit and then retweeted me an hour later (I refuse to admit that I acted like I was a 12-year-old who just got a text from Justin Bieber).

Clearly I have Giada’s new cookbook: Weeknights with Giada(Apparently every girl and her mother are on a first name basis with this food network wonder-woman. Poop.) The first recipe that caught my eye, Apricot Oat Bars, intrigued me for a few reasons:

1) It reminds me of cobbler. Sigh…

2) It is a possible breakfast food, giving us a reason to get out of bed.

3) Since these bars include fruit and nuts, I was reminded of how Mexican culture is obsessed with the ingredients of fruits and nuts. Seriously. Mexicans will sit around a table and describe fruit textures and names for hours. My favorite is Zapote Negro, a black fruit that grew on a tree at my host family’s house in Mexico…I could go on for hours.

4) Tangent #3 led me to think that Giada’s southern-Italian style of cooking is similar to customs in Mexico. Mexican mole has almonds; Italian pesto has pine nuts. The list goes on forever! (I wonder if this has something to do with climate zones. Or price of animal protein products versus availability of fruits and nuts. I’ll have to do research. I’m in the middle of finals at school. Gimme a break.)

Thus, I decided to try Giada’s Apricot Oat Bars. Considering we had a ton of fig jam chillin’ in the cabinet, I used the exact recipe for a separate pan of Fig Oat Bars (just use dried figs and fig jam instead of dried apricots and apricot jam). They are a great gift for a Mother’s/Grandma’s day picnic, for teacher appreciation come the end of the year, and obviously, for an energy booster when you feel like you’ll die if you spend one more minute slaving on homework.

Apricot (or Any Dried Fruit + Jam) Oat Bars with Walnuts

Follow Giada’s recipe:

http://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/giada-de-laurentiis/apricot-oat-bars-recipe/index.html

If you plan on making these as a breakfast or a mid-afternoon pick-me-up, I recommend putting half of a cup of brown sugar rather than a whole cup. If you want dessert, by all means, load it up!!!!

You may want to try another nut like almonds. I was also thinking that cranberry with pistachio would be fun to try. Make them any way you wish. Just tell me when you make them so I can tell Giada when we meet for coffee this weekend… (cough).

Cinco de Mayo: Paloma Time!!!!!

Are you ready for Cinco de Mayo?! It’s actually ironic how much Californians love to celebrate the fifth day of May. Mexico unexpectedly won a single battle against the French in the state of Puebla on May 5^th, 1862. Thus, the day has almost nothing to do with us. I took this picture of that particular battle site while studying abroad in Mexico:

I suppose the U.S. is stoked off their asses that the French didn’t take full control of Mexico. Plus, can you imagine taco trucks being Nutella, crepe stands?! Anywho, I can tell you from experience that Cinco de Mayo is a fiesta that mainly takes place here, considering Mexican Independence Day isn’t actually until September 16^th. I took this picture in 2010 of the countdown board for Mexico’s 200th year freedom from Spain in Mexico City:

Still, there is something quite Mexican about this day. Octavio Paz, a famous Mexican writer from the mid 1900s, once wrote an essay about how Mexicans embrace every excuse to party. This is one reason I am thankful for having a Mexican boyfriend:

“C’mon Kat, it’s Friday and I got paid today. Let’s celebrate!”… “C’mon Kat, it’s Thursday and I got an A on my math test today. Let’s celebrate!” …  “C’mon Kat, it’s never this warm out this late at night. Let’s celebrate!”

So, it’s Cinco de Mayo guys…let’s celebrate!!! Give in to the wannabe-Mexican-inspired liquor-sale stands that greet you at the entrance of every single effing store!!!!!!!

Paloma (pah-loh-mah)

My boyfriend calls this a Paloma. I call it Tequila-n-Squirt. You should call it whatever the heck you want. Although, I think it’s serendipitous that a Dove (a “Paloma” in Spanish) was nesting on my parent’s deck last week.

THUSSSS……my boyfriend’s family’s signature drink:

-Hornitos, Jimador, Don Julio, Patrón, or Milagro Tequila (Mexicans mainly drink tequila in Guadalajara since the Agave plant is grown in that region. Just like Americans don’t only drink their stereotypical Whiskey, Mexicans don’t only drink Tequila. But hey, this is mainly a Californian celebration anyways so pff… we’ll stick to our confused stereotypes of what’s Mexican.)

-Squirt (This is a similar taste to that lovely triple sec flavor, only it’s easier, it’s carbonated, and it comes in Diet for those who count calories).

-Salt (Because it’s good for our hearts. NOT. Actually it balances the intensity of the alcohol and the sourness of the lime. You know how we lick salt and chomp a lime when we take a shot of tequila?—same  idea. Plus, salt keeps it colder. That’s why we mix salt in the ice while making ice cream J.)

-Lime (An irreplaceable citrus that reminds me of the beach. Lemon? Psh. We’re trying to be Mexican here people… cough cough.)

Directions: Rub lime on the rim of the glass. Sprinkle salt all over (I recommend doing this over the sink, or over a plant next to you if you’re outside). Then, just get it all in the cup! A handful of ice, a double shot of tequila, fill the rest with squirt, squeeze a lime on top, and stir it with anything you have. Your stir-stick may just be the utensil you broke into the lime with. I always end up stirring with my knife.

Swish swish. Sip. Ahhh… Happy fiesta day!

Cinnamon Raspberry FroYo: A Marvelous Mess!

“What?! We had a spotless kitchen like five minutes ago!!” That’s what my mom said when she appeared at the kitchen door and saw this on the newly wiped counter:

“…but I wanna make raspberry cinnamon frozen yogurt!” I whined. She was probably thinking, “psh, if I really wanted fro-yo I could just gather some spare quarters and drive down the street to get some.” She’s right, and so could I. So why the heck did I choose to subject myself to mounds of dishes?! Plus, having an insane amount of egg whites left over guilted me into making mint meringues on the side: more ingredients, more spills, more clanking utensils, more dirty towels, and more left over sweets to stare us down throughout the week.

Well too bad!!!! Some days, making a mess is necessary for our happiness. Case in point:

-Do surfers opt out of a day at the beach because the sand is inevitably going to invade the carpet in their van?

-Does my family give our poodles away (or my Pop for that matter) because they track trails of leaves five feet inside every single doorway?

-Do runners choose not to go jogging because they’ll dirty an extra pair of workout clothes?

-Do painters leave their paint at home because cleaning the brushes is too much work?

-Does a wood worker throw away his belt sander because it spreads too much sawdust?

The answer to all of these questions: sometimes.

Sometimes we abandon the spotless kitchen and walk down the street for some take out, but sometimes a little artistic expression, appreciation of ingredients, and tired knees are necessary. Actually, going out to grab a bite is often cheaper. Using practically a whole carton of eggs just to make a quart or two of ice cream seems insane, but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t try out Pop’s retro ice cream maker every couple months.

In an instant, you might end up sprinting across the kitchen with a hot plate in your left hand, gooey egg whites on your right hand, opening the oven door with your foot while making your iPhone timer stop quacking with a free pinky finger. These unsolicited, frantic moments happen spontaneously but they’re thrilling in their own Julia-Child-Bad-Girl kinda way (not to mention entertaining to guests).

Yes, I threw apart the kitchen and had to repaint my nails after doing so many dishes, but next time we eat frozen yogurt at Ian’s Yogurt, the contrast of an organized, self-serve toppings bar will flood me with memories. As the clerk weighs my styrofoam cup, I’ll be daydreaming about cracked cinnamon sticks steeping in warm milk, a roaring, ancient ice cream maker, and my smiling family as they scraped the pink edges of their fancy frozen yogurt cups.

Make a mess this weekend. Your creativity is craving it.

Cinnamon Raspberry Frozen Yogurt Recipe:

My favorite ice cream recipe is from BrownEyedBaker. I have an addiction to cinnamon stuff based on my obsession with Horchata, so I tweaked that cinnamon ice cream recipe this time to make it a TAD! bit healthier.

Steep the cinnamon sticks, ¾ cups sugar, and a pinch of salt in two cups of slowly heated, whole milk for an hour.

Beat five egg yolks and add the milk mixture (cinnamon sticks removed) into the yolks slowly. Strain that yolkie mixture back into the saucepan.

Warm yolk mixture again and stir-stir-stir until it leaves a film on your spoon.

Strain this mixture into a bowl; add a cup of plain Greek yogurt, another dash of cinnamon for looks, a tiny bit of vanilla, and a few handfuls of raspberries.

Then let your retro ice cream maker drive your family crazy. Or maybe you have a quieter one…? Haha.

Need a Spicier Relationship?

Speaking of spices, a friend and I recently essay-texted about a typical relationship spoiler: How can a couple rediscover their spice when it seems like the Silk Road has been buried for years? Yesterday, during my final minutes in Treadmill Hell, songwriter Ricardo Arjona delivered me the answer via his song “Di me que no” on my iPod:

En Español:

Si me dices que si, dejaré de soñar y me volveré un idiota,

Mejor dime que no y dame ese sí como un cuenta gotas;

Dime que no pensando en un sí

Y déjame lo otro a mi,

Que sí se me pone fácil

El amor se hace frágil y uno para de sonar.

Dime que no,

Y deja la puerta abierta.

In English:

If you tell me “yes,” I’ll stop dreaming and become a fool.

Just tell me “no” and give me that “yes” like a slow-trickling story;

Tell me “no” thinking about a “yes”

And leave the other to me,

Since “yes” makes me seem easy,

Love becomes fragile and one stops dreaming.

Tell me “no,”

And leave the door open.

-Ricardo Arjona, Di me que no

Everyone needs to dream in order to keep loving. Why does winning the lottery not guarantee happiness? Because solving the money problem makes you stop dreaming about how you’d the spend money and then you’re forced to focus on other problems.

Why can eating chocolate cake every single night ruin the decadence of chocolate cake? Because you’re no longer left to dream about the lusciousness of chocolate cake; the thrill of the hunt and the aspect of restraint gone, chocolate loses its exotic lure. Without imagination and looming hopes, any love, even love of chocolate, can lose its flavor.

Ricardo tells us couples to “leave the door open”… to culinary adventure. No pair is capable of checking all “first times” off their list:

• Duck into an Indian, Asian, or Mexican market together to pick out a foreign fruit and leave laughing about how many people stared at you for seeming out of place.

• Put Italian ingredients into your typical quesadilla dinner and compare how much easier that was to concoct than making a “calzone” would have been

-My Favorite: flour tortilla, Sautéd mushrooms, spinach, basil, sundried tomatoes, Mozzarella (folded half-moon style of course).

• Ask your partner what country they’d die to go to and then Yelp the closest restaurant for an international date next Friday (followed by a country-themed movie rental).

-How about Spain?: Order some Paella and sangría at Esperpento in San Franscisco’s Mission District. We love that place.

• Wake up early and pack a picnic for a low budget ferry ride across the bay. Then, bike from bench to bench, munching home packed snacks at each post, and complimenting each other’s attention to picnic-food-detail.

If you’re anything like us, culinary adventure might cause the kitchen to go up in flames. It may even award you both Moctezuma’s Revenge after eating those 1a.m.-hotdogs from a Guadalajara street vendor. Safe or not, the outcomes of adventure continually add fresh layers of spice that our perpetually virgin pallets have never experienced before.

Keep that kitchen door open, lovers

Beware of Diet Obsessions!!!!!

Sometimes, I get so annoyed by people talking about “losing weight” that it makes me want to inhale ten chocolate cupcakes. (Clearly, my rebellious character wasn’t just a teen phase.) Did you know that in the U.S., 1% of women between ages 15 and 25 develop anorexia? Not to mention, of all college students, 3% develop anorexia (Eating Behavior page 139). That means that right now, in the library where I’m writing this, probably three people are starving. Plus, thanks to globalization and reverence of skinny western culture, these numbers are skyrocketing in places like China, Japan, and Greece. So while the whole world is talking about people dying from obesity, a silent crowd is starving to death.

Here are a couple of my theories:

1) My generation wasn’t taught how to cook. Thus, we don’t know where to start the first time we are thrown into a kitchen alone: “You mean we have to create a meal with protein, vegetables, grains, starch, calcium, … ? Wait… lemme get a pen! No, forget it. Let’s go to Chipotle; I haven’t eaten all day.”

2) Most of us are living in a climate region of the world in which our genetic heritage does not belong (read about it). AKA: If my great grandma is from Sweden (where my ancestors ate only specific grains and vegetables for centuries), I doubt my genetic make-up is meant to tolerate mounds of tropical pineapple and corn every day (no wonder I’m mildly allergic to pineapple, and melon, and grapes, and…). Thus, I argue, Americans have found themselves nutritionally lost. We’ve developed sporadic and unhealthy eating patterns without understanding why. Nor do we care when we get gas; we just pick up some Tums!

I have many theories, but the point is that I have done some research. Sometimes when I’m standing in line at Safeway, I want to reach over and claw down the cover of Women’s Health Magazine, rip it up, and make it rain. Those computerized photos of 100-pound women next to ridiculous diet headlines are infecting our innocent children. Still, slashing magazines will accomplish nothing. All I can do is take interest in the facts.

Once you’ve read about the side effects of all the diets (good AND bad), you learn what is truly beneficial for your specific body type. Full, religious submission to one diet is nowhere near as beneficial as studying how each diet works and why. Remember: a healthy diet doesn’t always mean losing weight!

If you’re interested in learning about a healthy way of living, I recommend reading one of my right-hand reference books: The Complete Book of Ayurvedic Home Remedies (Contra Costa Library). I also have this Modern Ayurvedic Cookbook where recipes are labeled for which type of body benefits from which meals, and why. This particular soup is beneficial for all body types (that is, of course, unless you have a food allergy to one of the ingredients): Asparagus Miso Soup!

Sauté half an onion and a teaspoon of minced ginger in some heated olive oil. Then, add 2 cups vegetable broth (or bouillon cube with liquid). Simmer two cups of chopped sweet potato in this mixture for about ten minutes. Briefly mash this up with a potato masher. Then add two cups of chopped asparagus and simmer five more minutes. Finally, stir in 1 tbsp of miso paste, a pinch of cayenne, some pepper, and a squeeze of lemon. I like to put a dollop of plain yogurt and a dash of cayenne on top of mine, but of course, everyone’s body is different. You should decide what to garnish it with. (btw, this insanely delicious and satisfying soup has protein, starch, vegetables, calcium, …you name it…)…

Spring Break Panuchos

Considering it’s Spring Break, I decided I had time to dedicate an entire evening to learning to cook something. I am the craziest person I know.

Why Panuchos?… you ask…

-       I prefer to make things that people have never heard of before. That way, when my boyfriend eats it, there is no way in heck he can compare it to his mom’s similar, yet far superior, dish.

-       I was craving black beans because they remind me of Cuernavaca, Mexico. (Plus I wanted to practice making refried beans from scratch and black beans can’t be compared to our usual pinto beans, which the pros in our families always make).

-       In the spirit of Easter, I was searching egg recipes but I didn’t feel like constructing some lame morning scramble.

-       I had way too much time on my hands because the entire point of Spring Break is to pretend you have no homework.

Once I decided to make Panuchos, I read up on those Yucatan medallions in the handful of old school, faded Mexican cookbooks we have around the house. Apparently, travelers passing through the Yucatan area during the 1800s stopped at “Don Hucho’s” food stand where they bought a unique on-the-go snack. Don Hucho basically created a sandwich by slitting open a fried corn tortilla and tucking beans and an egg inside. Hence the name: Pan-Hucho (aka: Bread-ooch-oh). I swear, when humans get in a hurry, we wrap a layer of grains around some protein and then munch on the run. The Grilled Cheese, the Pita Pocket, the Sushi Roll, the Burger, the Crunch-Wrap Supreme, the Panucho… psh, they’re all related.

So, after over three hours of a Mexican Monsoon swirling in my kitchen, I had constructed something you could more or less call a Panucho. A fried, homemade corn tortilla was slit open with refried black beans and a hard-boiled egg tucked inside. On top, I’d piled a layer of chipotle mayonnaise, chicken, and a mixture of lettuce, tomato, avocado, and cilantro.

(Granted, slitting open the tortilla was well above my skill level so the rest ended up being tostadas. Psh. Don’t hate.)

Let me clarify one thing: DON’T TRY TO MAKE THIS ENTIRE THING FROM SCRATCH IN ONE SINGLE EVENING unless you had a long string of “hey-I-have-a-good-idea” moments and an endless amount of time.

What you should do is this:

Go to the Mexican market and find dried chipotle peppers. Put a bunch of the shriveled little guys in a bowl and pour boiling water over them. Let them sit about a half hour or three (while you cook whatever you’re cooking). Then remove the reconstituted chiles. With a fork and knife, cut off the stem side, scrape out the seeds, and put what’s left (the outer layer) in the blender. Puree them and mix in either mayonnaise or sour cream.

I’m pretty sure this simple nonsense is exactly what made the entire Panucho dish “one of the best ever.” I will soon be making burgers with this runny goodness.

Happy Spring Break everyone

Raviolis and Buff Triceps

This is what I looked like when I thought constructing raviolis from scratch would be as fabulous as woofing them down at Rocco’s Pizzeria.

I made a crater of flour, dropped some eggs into the well like I was Anne Burrell, kneaded until my arms were sore, and rolled until I was sweating.

An hour after the cooking endeavor began, my famished boyfriend took control of the rolling pin. I caught my breath on a stool and drank another glass of Apothic Red Wine while I stretched my triceps.

He wrestled those gummy globs until he got thirsty for another Corona and I took over again. Soon the bag of Stacy’s Simply Naked Pita chips were out on the counter and the filling for the unfinished pillowcases became an appetizer dip.

The outcome: beautiful pillows with chewy, rubbery, almost inedible, edges. Thus, I learned that adding too much flour and having no pasta-dough flattener attachment for my Kitchenaid is like going to the gym. Seriously, I felt like I needed a Whey protein shake after I finished constructing them.

I was definitely NOT Italian in a past life; or if I was, I was an Italian with celiac disease. And next time I passively take my boyfriend’s request for what I should make for my weekly, KathrynGuacamole lesson, I will do a little more research first.

Officially, the only thing I can promote about the recipe I used is the filling: it was fast, decadent, and contained a pound of Spinach. These are three things we will always agree on. I beg of you, buy some Spinach and add it to everything. Because at the end of the day, even if everything goes wrong, you can always look back and say, “Well shit, at least we mowed on hella calcium, vitamin K, and iron.”

           

PS: Please donate to my Kitchenaid, Pasta Roller Attachment Fund by leaving me a comment with your credit card number, expiration date, and security code. Thank you. Come again.

Attention to simple…

It has been brought to my attention that my posts are too long. Normally I would argue that I am simply a long-winded person… a modern Proust. But something happened this week that made me think: can something short and simple provide an even more complex sort of comfort?

Here’s the story (it’s short… well short for me… I promise).

***

For years after my 5-year-old graduation from Forest Hills Preschool, my parents would honk the horn every time we drove past the school. And we would wave through the window as if to say “Hello again! We miss those carefree, preschool days!”

17 years later, last Sunday, my boyfriend was taking me on the scenic route to Target when suddenly he honked. I slapped my ponytail into the sides of my headrest, trying to find a manic, intrusive driver, when I suddenly spotted my old preschool’s fence shrinking in the right, sideview mirror. Letting out a gasp of excitement as though I were a Kindergartener all over again, I turned to look at my driver. “What?” He said as he leaked a proud, guilty smile and continued steering down the road.

***

One half honk—a slight beep really—and I was left to wonder: when, in these past five years, had I told him that my family maintained such a quirky tradition?! Who knows. Whenever it was, he remembered, and he put away his obsessive un-use of his horn just to let me know that he listens when I tell useless stories.

If one beep can provide decades of comfort, maybe petite ideas do pack heavy force. (I’ll try to work on applying this idea to creating shorter blogs. Just not today.) Now, I encourage you to find your simple comfort this week. Just, please, don’t go honking around town. Leave that to me.

Recipe:

In the spirit of simple comfort, I learned to make a creamy, oh-so-simple pinto bean puree soup  (inspired by my “Mamá” in Cuernavaca, who often began our comidas with this smooth, tummy warmer).

Sauté a chopped onion with a Serrano chile about five minutes. Add two minced garlic cloves to the pan and sauté another minute or so.

Pour in a 15oz can of pinto beans (plus the luscious liquid). Pour in a cup of vegetable broth. Salt and Pepper the beauty! Cover and simmer for about fifteen minutes.

 

Then, take out the chile, puree the soup until it’s smooth, and serve piping hot!

My Mexican Mamá used to chop corn tortillas into small, friable squares and set them to drain in a paper-toweled ceramic bowl. We would all take turns dropping baby, fried chips into our creamy bean soup, as though adorning a cake with rainbow sprinkles. My favorite thing to do, though, is to swirl Mexican Crema Casera onto the surface. The more I swirl the cream into the soup with my spoon as I eat, the more comforting and complex it feels.

(See Marcela Valladolid‘s “Mexican Made Easy” for other simple Mexican dishes like this one.)