America’s Melting Pot Tastes Pretty Good
Photo credit: Victor Garcia via unsplash.
One of my oldest friends, Liz, is half Mexican, half Italian, which I’ve always thought is the best combination. She’s as feisty as she is beautiful and knows her away around the kitchen.
Her dad emigrated to the United States from Mexico when he was 15 and has lived the American dream. Not only did he marry an Italian-American Princess but he became an undercover cop that Liz likens to Donnie Brasco. While her dad wasn’t always around when Liz was little, he did impart some incredible kitchen knowledge, particularly how to make a proper Mexican breakfast (hint: lots of Chorizo). After Liz’s dad retired from law enforcement he opened the first Mexican restaurant in his small town, featuring many of the recipes from the favorite late-night burrito joint of his youth.
Liz’s grandfather had already been coming into the country via the Bracero program and was working as a mechanic. He applied for citizenship and was able to bring his family over legally. Liz’s dad didn’t speak a lick of English and his high school guidance counselor told him that his best option was to quit school and get a factory job. Instead, he taught himself English listening to music and translating the lyrics, earned his high school diploma, and matriculated to community college, where he met Liz’s mom, a nursing student. Afterward, he became the second Latino to join the local Police Department and first to earn the rank of Sergeant. And he sent his daughter (and son) away to college so she could meet me (and her older brother could bring us sandwiches).
Liz and I met in the college dorms of Champaign, Ill. We did not have a Champagne Suite. Instead, we were living in one of the un-coolest dorms on campus, so far away from classes that we were encouraged to take the bus. My roommate was a sophomore, which was simply not done at U of I. Everyone moved out of the dorms after Freshman year. Ugh.
I first laid eyes on Liz at our floor’s orientation and was instantly captivated by her dry wit, style, and ethnic ambiguity.
I decided right then and there that I would befriend her and borrow her boots. We must have exchanged words because I somehow gleaned an invite to her dorm room where she was hosting friends from out of town. My uncool sophomore roommate had a fake ID so I was able to procure a hostess gift for the gathering. Did I pick up a bottle of flavored vodka or maybe a bottle of Boone’s Farm Strawberry Hill? Oh no, I went with a bottle of orange-flavored Mad Dog 20/20. The look on Liz’s face said it all as she opened the door and I thrust the bottle in her face. I don’t remember much from the rest of that weekend, but I’m certain the bottle got drunk.
Liz (left) and Laura (right) at a Hawaii-themed college party. Aloha.
The following year we moved into the worst apartment that money could rent, across the street from one of the grossest college bars in history. We were regulars. The legal age to enter a bar in Champaign was and still is 19. The drinking age was still 21 but all that was required to purchase pitchers of beer and sugary shots passed around in test tube containers was acquiring a “21” stamp from the bouncer. We knew many of the bouncers, and one of our best tricks was running across the street to get stamped prior to peak bar time and presenting them later that night to avoid a cover charge. During this time period, I acquired the nickname “nibbles” from Liz, as I would sneak into the fridge to steal pieces of deli meat between classes and after bar close.
The American dream continues to burn brightly in Liz. She is now the mother of three living in a Southern town where she is one of the few people of Latina descent. Her husband, a doctor currently on the front lines of the pandemic, ran for a local congressional seat last cycle (Liz ran his campaign), and she volunteers on so many committees for the betterment of society I can’t keep track.
Moms Demand Action is one of them. She’s a founding member of her local chapter and the data lead. She grew up in a household with firearms (her dad was a cop, after all) and believes in our second amendment, but doesn’t believe it extends to assault weapons. This point was driven home when an unstable veteran took the lives of five Dallas Police officers, the first of which occurred mere feet from where her family was taking an evening stroll while on vacation. The unlimited ammunition raining down forced her family in the opposite direction of their hotel, ducking behind bushes and pillars, desperately seeking shelter in a business district after hours. About four hours later her family finally reached the safety of their hotel room, where two of her kids fell asleep huddled together in a closet.
Liz has taught me a lot over the years, but one thing that has stuck is the importance of always having good tortillas in the house and the proper way to cook them. If you want an authentic taste, the best way to heat a tortilla is directly over the flames of your gas burner without a pan. Slowly crank up the flames for a blast of heat, turn down, flip, and repeat until you’ve reached desired doneness. You know you’re doing it right if you see the tortilla bubbling up with little puffs of heat. Maybe you get a few char marks. Maybe you burn your fingers. But it’s worth it.
El Milagro tortillas straight from Liz’s freezer. I can vouch for their delicious-ness.
These days Liz’s dad sends her El Milagro tortillas from Chicago. Luckily she has a few bags in the freezer because the factory closed temporarily after a worker’s Covid-19 death. The good news is that employees scheduled to work while the facility is closed will continue to be paid for 40 hours a week.
The Lizard Sandwich
I like to use leftover poached chicken to make quesadillas that have a slightly Italian flavor profile. You might say they’re inspired by my friend Liz (known in some circles as Lizard). They aren’t exactly Mexican or Italian, so I’m calling them Lizard Sandwiches. They’re more of an impromptu feast than a recipe, so I’m providing the basic outline as well as a recipe for those of you who need something a bit more precise.
Sauté some shallots and whatever veggies you have in the house—perhaps a handful of spinach, a bit of chopped tomato, and a chopped crimini mushroom. Sprinkle on a pinch of salt. Maybe add a shake of dried thyme or oregano. Just as everything is getting nicely softened, add some sliced poached chicken until it’s just heated through. Remove the chicken mixture from the pan and arrange on your favorite tortilla. I like the corn-wheat tortillas from Trader Joe’s. Liz prefers El Milagro flour tortillas. Sprinkle on your favorite cheese—mozzarella works quite nicely. A melty Mexican cheese like Chihuahua or Aserdo would work nicely too. Top with another tortilla. Wipe out your veggie/chicken pan, add more oil, and carefully put the quesadilla in the hot oil. Turn down the heat slightly and cook for a few minutes. Flip, cooking a few minutes more. Your finished Lizard Sandwich should be nicely browned on either side and super melty.
Mmm melty. Just like America.
