Well hello there you messy plate of messy-ness. Chicken and corn are the perfect marriage. But. Chicken and corn and cheese and tortillas and cheese and red capsicums or peppers and cheese and some green onions and, well, cheese, are like the best food love affair that could ever exist besides lasagna, chocolate, brownies, cheesecake, and, ummm, food.
I must’ve been latina in a past life. Oh wait….I am latina. No wonder I love good food all the time. Truth be told now… the family was all divided and confused about the dinner menu. Like I’m a 5 star chef at a restaurant waiting on orders. Funny stuff. Half wanted lasagna. The other half wanted fajitas; enchiladas…you get my drift. So fusing both together to make something sooooo outta this galaxy, I settled on this. Half enchiladas, half lasagna. Happy family. Happy whammily.
I have a story. Sit down and get your slippers. And a cafe. And a chocolate. We could be here awhiles. Once upon a time, I went to South America in my full Aussie accent and my full Aussie transformed character. I had no idea what salsa was (well, the music, not the food of course) let alone Cumbia, Merengue, Mariachis. Nada. I was a dance/pop music dancer in love with Janet Jackson and her abs. Anyway, walking on the street of somewhere in the middle of Argentina, three men started chasing me down the street, shouting stuff at me in Spanish I can’t repeat on my innocent and pure blog, but that’s not the worst part. My father was watching — and laughing. ‘Welcome to latin america, Karina.’ Oh hayyyyyy thanks for the heads-up DAD. Yes my blood boiled. I didn’t think it was funny at.all. Because I wasn’t used to so much attention. Over here, men are a little more – well a lot more – reserved. Over there? Locos.
So, even though I never made it to Mexico, I can just imagine the loco-ness. The party atmosphere. The music. The people. And the food. As much as most of latinos hate to admit it — sometimes, all of us are exactly the same. Yeah some countries say we’re better than others, (for example: don’t ever tell a Chilean he/she looks like a Colombian, and vice-versa), but mostly when we hear a song shouting out for all latinos to jump and go more loco than we already are, you bet we all jump. Together. Unified. And that’s what I love about my latino people.
So what the hell is the moral of my story. One day, I want to go to Mexico. To eat real tacos. Real fajitas. And real enchiladas. Th End.
But in the meantime, this’ll do. Thi’s’ll do me juuuuuust fiiiiyne. Tender chicken and corn enveloped in a rich tomato sauce, layered with tortillas and melty cheese, and served with sour cream.
Is it bad that I’m eating a slice and typing at the same time? At 11:30 in the morning? No. I didn’t think so. … Read More
