#like the mildest of mild salsa

[robthegoodfellow]

Billy and Steve get into an argument about Billy’s behavior—he baited Jason Carver until Carver punched him in the face—and Billy has the shattering realization that he’s been zeroing in on Carver in particular because he reminds Billy of Neil—just like how so many of his destructive behaviors are all about Neil. Sensing he’s about to spiral and not wanting to lash out further at Steve, he tries to leave.

“I just—don’t want you getting hurt,” Harrington insisted.

“Noted. Roger that,” he said, bitingly, and Harrington glared, losing patience. Billy tried to press Pause. Didn’t know why he was being so—“Sorry.” He breathed in. Out. “I should go. M’all screwy—I don’t wanna be a dick. I’m sorry.”

“No, you don’t have to—” Harrington looked gutted, and Billy couldn’t stand that, rounded the counter before he knew it. Insinuated himself between long legs, wrapped himself around Harrington’s torso and got an affirming squeeze in return. “Don’t care if you’re being a dick,” Harrington mumbled.

“I care,” Billy said, and stalled out there. He’d been on such a good stretch for a while—hadn’t felt like this in… weeks? This riotous inner mess pulling him in different directions, thrumming in that panicky, aimless way that demanded some kind of release, that sometimes ended in explosions if he couldn’t redirect it. Numb it. Drown it.

It wasn’t altogether unprecedented, periods of relative peace. Of even-keeled almost-normalcy. For one thing, Neil always lay off a bit during basketball season—the one time of year when he deemed Billy marginally less of a fuckup—so there was less to rock the emotional boat, those months. And it helped to have a Neil-approved reason to be out of the house a lot. So yeah—nothing had really sent him spiraling.

But now it was back: that roiling mass just below the surface—a subconscious disturbance that was liable to boil over at a moment’s notice, and he didn’t want to accidentally burn anyone if it did, least of all Harrington. It was partly the fight with Carver, and his mixed-up feelings about it, partly the crummy resentment that came with uncovering the roots of yet another warped behavior and finding they sprouted directly from Neil. Like Billy was a dumb puppet laboring under the delusion that he was a real boy, when really every jerk of his rotten strings was dear old dad.

Huge, heaving sigh, so big Billy could feel the lungs expand and contract within his hold. Harrington tipped his head back, and Billy obligingly dipped down for a kiss, tried to convey through the gentle press of lips that they were okay—but he couldn’t quite repress a fine tremor.

“I care,” he said again, drawing back, trying to step away. Big warm hands framed his face, and he stilled, looked up to find Harrington evaluating him closely.

“By ‘screwy,’ do you mean like that day we did this?” His pinky brushed the hoop in Billy’s right earlobe. “Because I gave you my number for reason.” A small, stern smile. “Remember?”

Billy did. It was the fourth phone number he’d ever memorized—after his home phone, his grandparents’ place, and Cherry Lane. He’d mentally placed the Harrington landline in the empty category that had once belonged to Carlsbad: In Case of Emergency. He nodded in answer to both questions.

“So,” Harrington said, leading. His thumbs stroked Billy’s cheeks, under his eyes. “Don’t go. Tell me what you—need.”

Everything went tight: Billy’s throat, his lungs, every muscle. Tight and trembling. “I don’t know,” he whispered through gritted teeth. The tingle behind his nose heralded tears. “I can’t—”

It was all a jumble. Knew he’d half intended to go home and instigate something: deliberately wake the monster, walk into Neil’s backhand, maybe add some symmetry to the bruise already blooming. You know, seize some punishment now rather than wait who knows how long for the consequences of his actions. But there was a competing impulse to stay as far away from his puppet-master as possible—to give himself over to some other force, whether human or substance, because… was being in control even an option when so much of what Billy did was a reaction to… him? And so—wouldn’t it be better… to pick who or what was pulling his strings? To at least have that reprieve?

“Can’t—couldn’t you?” Billy asked, breathy and begging, resting more of his weight in Harrington’s hands. “Tell me? What I need? What to do?”

Somehow, Harrington didn’t look confused by that—just considering, cautious. Probably helped that he already knew Billy sometimes liked being ordered around during sex, but that had only ever been little commands here and there, a cheeky means of teasing more than anything. Not quite—as all-encompassing as this.

Harrington slowly pushed back on him until he was standing upright, let his hands fall to Billy’s jittery shoulders.

“You’ll tell me if you don’t like something,” Harrington said. It wasn’t a question, but Billy nodded anyway. “Okay.”

Already Billy was buzzing in anticipation—primed to drop to his knees, or strip and bend over. Whatever mind-wiping method was on offer, he’d take it.

Harrington was chewing on his lip, lost in thought. Then he took Billy’s hand, guided him back so he could stand up. Didn’t lace their fingers together like usual, but sort of—grabbed his palm. Held it between them.

“Come on,” he said. Then, in the tone of someone testing a theory: “Past your bedtime, baby.”

Oh. Billy’s eyes went glassy as everything froze. He thought they were gonna—fuck. Not—whatever this was.

“Okay?” Harrington checked.

Billy cleared his throat, blinked till his brain rebooted. “Yeah,” he managed.

Before leading him by the hand out of the kitchen, Harrington asked if he needed anything—Was he hungry? Thirsty? Billy stared, blank, still finding his footing.

“My head,” he said, at last. “Hurts.”

They went to the medicine cabinet. He downed some Advil with the water Harrington gave him in a little Dixie cup.

Harrington kept firm hold of his hand up the stairs, and every step was a toss-up on whether Billy was gonna laugh or cry. His insides had gone fuzzy—staticky and soft. Then he was in the hallway bathroom brushing his teeth because Harrington had told him to, because Harrington would be back soon to check. Unbidden, he’d been silently running through the ABC song—keep brushing till you get to Z, Billy Bear.

He spit, wiped his mouth on a damp washcloth, his burning eyes.

Harrington smiled when he returned, murmured, “Good job,” and herded him down the hall, toward the door at the end, while good job, good job ran on a loop in Billy’s ears. Beyond the door lay a dim cavernous space—the master bedroom. The light from the hallway and the roaring en suite illuminated a massive four poster bed, gleaming dark wood bureau and wardrobe, a chaise lounge by the window…

Not allowed, he thought, nonsensically. Not allowed to be here.

Steam billowed from the adjoining bathroom, the hard surfaces resounding with the thunderous deluge of multiple taps, and the sound shot him back to—god, when he was… eight? Had it been almost ten years since he’d had a bath?

Since someone had given him a bath? Since his mother had?

He stopped a few feet from the threshold, suddenly unsure whether he wanted to…

Harrington came around to his front, ran reassuring hands up and down slack arms.

“All right?” he asked.

Billy followed the arcs of steam curling as they touched the chilly dark. “Are we not gonna…?”

“I wanna take care of you,” said Harrington. On the upsweep, he continued onward, linked his fingers behind Billy’s neck. “Let me.”

“Like this?” Because why would he—want to?

“Like this,” he confirmed. His eyes were warm—dark and steady and sure.

Billy nodded, and Harrington drew him into the golden glow, closed the door behind them. The air was humid, sticky—and between one blink and the next, the lights had softened, only the fixture over the sinks left on.

There was a shower stall to his left, but it was silent and still—all the noise and vapor poured from the opposite corner, where a shining jacuzzi set into this white marble platform was filling up under the onslaught of a pair of ornate faucets.

Harrington helped him get undressed, even knelt to peel off his socks. Billy snuck a glance at the vanity, beheld himself standing there—his broad shoulders, the cut of his pecs, his dick hanging limp from a tawny thatch of pubes.

Lifted his foot, and his foot was bare. Put it down on cold tile.

The definition of his abs, the curve of his biceps, the purple ringing round a socket the way it had so many times before. Then the image split and split and split—the compounding eye view of a bug—and he remembered, in his mother’s voice, the cadence she’d had when reading aloud:

I am still every age that I have been. Because I was once a child, I am always a child… to forget is a form of suicide.

Lifted his foot, and his foot was bare. Put it down on cold tile.

What book had it been? She was at the kitchen table while he stirred the soup. Had paused, looked at him, read it again. Don’t forget that, she’d said. Don’t forget that, Bear.

When Harrington stood, Billy’s face was wet.

He’d forgotten it. And usually his memory was so good. Too good.

“Ready?” Harrington asked, holding out his hand.

Billy sniffed, took it in that childlike grasp from before.

Heeded words of warning as he stepped, awkward, into the water, as he lowered himself into the bubbling currents of the jets. The heat enveloped him, touched every part with liquid sun, and he let out a long unwinding breath. His ass touched the smooth bottom, and Harrington gestured him toward the built-in headrest, where a jet waited to pummel every knot out of his lower back. Billy groaned, heard a chuckle.

“Good, huh?” Harrington crouched by the lip, testing the water.

Billy wiped a hand down his face, rinsing the salt tracks from his cheeks. “Been holding out on me, Harrington.” Eyed him under heavy lids, drowsy in the lulling warmth. “Really not gonna join me?”

The responding smile was so soft that Billy fought not to look away—managed not to blink until Harrington turned his attention to the taps, shutting them off, plunging them into an abrupt, echoing quiet.

“No,” he said, pushing up off of the marble to stand. “Isn’t about that. Just relax.”

Billy sighed, closing his eyes. He heard the thump and creak of cabinet doors, the thunk of items deposited by his head, but he was too droopy all over to investigate—totally al dente. So remote that he sensed Harrington nearby as though through a fog. A palm rested on his brow, smoothed the hair off his forehead.

“Still awake, baby?”

Billy swallowed—wondered why baby was different than babe, why it stung but made him wanna lean into it all the same. He nodded.

“Can you sit up?” At Billy’s whine, he chuckled again. “Only for a bit. C’mon.” He wedged a hand under Billy’s shoulder, and with an aggrieved grunt Billy was levered upright. The water sloshed, settled back to a simmer.

Harrington had pushed his sleeves up, perched himself on the marble ledge next to an array of… fancy-pants body wash and hair products. Considering that Billy was but a noodle, cooked tender by the buffeting current, it was no wonder that, when Harrington arched an eyebrow, it took him a couple beats to put two and two together. But when he did…

His face flushed. Like he was—too big for his skin, heart pounding loud. Harrington waited placidly until Billy nodded, then cupped his nape, told him to lay back. Billy didn’t speak, too focused on his breathing; tilted until he dipped like a ladle, the hot water exquisite, lapping his temples, his forehead, the hinge of his jaw. Shivered when he sat up and streams ran down his skin, dark tendrils plastered to his neck. Harrington gave him a sudsy washcloth then patted the side of the tub by his hip, and Billy shifted so his back was against the smooth surface.

A whisper, warm in his ear: “This okay?”

Billy filled in the rest—that I’m behind you?—and breathed out a broken laugh. “Yeah.” His only associations here were Ma. Just her.

While he scrubbed at his pits, his crotch, strong soapy fingers massaged his scalp, circling firm to work up a lather, and holy fuck, he did not recall it feeling this good as a kid. Damn near divine. Like, so good his dick was taking an interest—until, that is, he noticed some familiar movements up there… distinctly sculpting.

“Are you giving me a mohawk?”

“Maybe.”

Billy turned to level a joking glare at his tormenter, and Harrington let out a giggle.

“Looks good on you,” he said, then leaned over to fill up a plastic cup with fresh water from the faucet. “Tip your head back, baby.”

Billy did, eyes slipping shut, and didn’t mind at all when it took a couple cascades of water—so hot, but not too hot—to wash it out. Pretended it was cleansing him of more than just soap suds.

Harrington offered conditioner, and Billy’s eager nod made him laugh.

When at last Harrington got up to put the supplies away, Billy unfolded, reacquainting himself with the best jet by the headrest, and thought he’d never felt so… pristine. Weightless. A weird buoyancy in the chest rather than floaty in the brain, as when Harrington mind-wiped him the usual way. Like… out, damned spot. And it was out.

Drifting as he was, it took him a moment to realize Harrington had sat on the tile floor, right where Billy had draped an arm… and how could he resist? Harrington hummed when sluggish fingers sank into his hair, craned for better access, and even this spacey, Billy knew what that meant—gathered a fist of brown locks and lightly squeezed. Not enough to hurt, but enough to feel the pull.

“How’d you know?” Billy asked, quiet over the bubbling jets. “To do all this?”

Harrington’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. “Gloria,” he said. “Nanny number two. Had this whole—bedtime routine. Brush, bath, story. It was the best.”

After a pause, hoping he’d keep going, Billy prodded. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Harrington snorted. “She would sing, tuck me in the right way… They let her go when I was—six, maybe? Seven? And nanny number three said I was old enough for showers, so…” He shrugged.

Billy combed his fingers through silky strands, a slow sweeping arc. “No more songs? Stories?”

“She made me brush my teeth, still.”

God, that tone. It was a Harrington specialty—this jaunty, blithe bitterness—and it stabbed Billy every time.

“Babe,” he said, tugging, and when that didn’t work: “Baby.”

“You’re baby,” Harrington said, finally looking over his shoulder. Billy tugged again, and Harrington sighed, shifted into a kneeling crouch, his arms crossed on the ledge. Billy curled forward, mirroring him.

“We can both be,” he said. “You think I don’t wanna take care you, too?”

Harrington’s mouth twitched, side to side, gaze glued to the seam between fiberglass and marble.

And that… that silence was deafening—so damning that something sprang loose, and Billy was murmuring hey, reaching to tip Harrington’s chin, coax his eyes up. They shone, glimmering in the half light. And Billy saw him, in there—the child inside.

“I—” Billy choked on a painful lump. Took a beat to gulp it down. “I do. Course I do.”

Harrington didn’t say anything—couldn’t. Billy watched nostrils flare, his throat seize, the sheen pool at his lashes. Remembered that night when Harrington told him he could cry if he needed to.

“It’s okay,” he whispered. “You can… tell me.”

It wasn’t like Billy, the way Harrington caved in. He smiled, for one thing—this ghastly crooked baring of teeth—and a few tears spilled over rictus cheeks. Just a few before he ran dry. Gasped a punctured laugh.

“Christ, I used to…” Shook his head, unfocused—a million miles off. “I used to do the routine with my bear. After she left. I’d help him brush his teeth and pretend to give him a bath in the sink and I’d read to him but I couldn’t really read so I’d just make stuff up based on the pictures…”

Billy blinked away his own prickle of tears and quirked trembling lips. “That explains it, then—why you were so good at this. You had practice.”

Harrington chuckled wetly, propped his head on his hand. “Guess so.”

He was trying—Billy was trying so hard not to picture it… a little kid with a brown mop of hair, tucking his teddy into bed, play-acting what he wanted for himself but wasn’t getting anymore.

A phantom kiss on his forehead, a sense memory from way deep in the archives, and before he knew it, he’d leaned forward and pressed his lips to Harrington’s brow—clumsy, catching half skin and half hair.

He sank back down in the water, chin pillowed on his wrist, and when their eyes locked, something had—shifted. Thought about how they weren’t each other’s everything but were… some things.

Things they hadn’t been able to name.

“I’ll be your baby,” he said. “And you’ll be mine?”

The slope of Harrington’s shoulder rose and fell, the heave of release—relief. A smile played at the corners of his mouth. He nodded.

full chapter

[briantwomeydallas]

From Mild to Wild: A Guide to the Heat Levels of Chilis and Peppers

Chilis and peppers are not just colorful additions to our dishes; they bring a spectrum of flavors and, for some, a fiery kick that can leave taste buds tingling. From mild and sweet to blazing hot, these fruits (yes, they're technically fruits!) come in a range of heat levels that can be both delightful and daring for culinary enthusiasts. In this blog post, we'll take a journey through the Scoville scale, exploring some of the most popular chilis and peppers from the mildest to the hottest.

1. Bell Peppers

Let's start with the mildest of the bunch—the bell pepper. These colorful staples of the vegetable world are beloved for their sweet, crisp flavor and lack of heat. Bell peppers come in various colors, including green, red, yellow, and orange, with the red ones being the sweetest due to their ripeness. They are perfect for adding a pop of color and crunch to salads, stir-fries, and sandwiches without any fiery surprise.

2. Poblano Peppers

Moving up the heat scale, we encounter the poblano pepper. This chili is mild with a Scoville rating typically ranging from 1,000 to 2,000 units. Poblanos are known for their rich, earthy flavor and are often used in Mexican cuisine. They are commonly roasted and stuffed to create delicious dishes like chiles rellenos.

3. Anaheim Peppers

Next, we have the Anaheim pepper, slightly hotter than the poblano with a Scoville rating of 500 to 2,500 units. These peppers are popular in Southwestern and Mexican cooking, adding a mild heat and slightly sweet flavor to salsas, sauces, and stews.

4. Jalapeño Peppers

Ah, the jalapeño—perhaps one of the most recognizable chilis in the culinary world. Jalapeños range from 2,500 to 8,000 Scoville units, making them hotter than the previous peppers but still manageable for many. These peppers are versatile and can be used fresh, pickled, or smoked (as chipotles) to add a moderate level of heat to dishes like nachos, salsas, and burgers.

5. Serrano Peppers

Stepping up the heat, we come to the serrano pepper, which packs a punch with 10,000 to 23,000 Scoville units. Serranos are small, green chilis with a bright, crisp flavor and a heat level that can vary. They are commonly used in pico de gallo, sauces, and marinades to add a spicy kick without overwhelming the dish.

6. Cayenne Peppers

Moving into the realm of hot peppers, we encounter the cayenne pepper, ranging from 30,000 to 50,000 Scoville units. These slender, red chilis are often dried and ground into a powder for use in spicy dishes, hot sauces, and Cajun cuisine. They deliver a sharp, intense heat that can linger on the palate.

7. Habanero Peppers

Now, we're getting into serious heat territory with the habanero pepper. These fiery fruits can range from 100,000 to 350,000 Scoville units, making them significantly hotter than cayenne peppers. Habaneros are small, lantern-shaped chilis with a tropical, fruity flavor that is often used to add intense heat to salsas, hot sauces, and marinades. Approach with caution!

8. Ghost Peppers (Bhut Jolokia)

Prepare yourself for the heat of the ghost pepper, also known as Bhut Jolokia, which clocks in at a whopping 800,000 to 1,041,427 Scoville units. This chili held the title of world's hottest pepper for a time, known for its searing heat and distinctive smoky flavor. Ghost peppers are not for the faint of heart and are used sparingly in dishes where extreme heat is desired.

9. Carolina Reaper

At the top of the Scoville scale sits the Carolina Reaper, currently holding the Guinness World Record for the world's hottest pepper. With an average heat level of 1,641,183 Scoville units (and up to 2.2 million in some cases), this pepper is a true test of bravery for chili enthusiasts. The Carolina Reaper is known for its unmistakable heat that builds to a crescendo, leaving an intense burn that lingers.

Whether you prefer a gentle warmth or a full-on inferno, chilis and peppers offer a wide range of flavors and heat levels to explore. Just remember, when handling hot peppers, it's a good idea to wear gloves and be cautious—those capsaicin oils can linger on your skin and deliver a surprise burn if you touch your face or eyes! So, next time you're feeling adventurous in the kitchen, consider adding a touch of heat with one of these flavorful chilis or peppers.

https://www.linkedin.com/in/brian-twomey-4a017510/

[arielthelionhearted]

3 & 4

fifty totally random character development questions || still accepting

3. Do they usually eat mild, medium, or spicy salsa?

Usually none. Merfolk are used to a pretty bland diet, consisting of certain species of fish, shellfish, and other sea life which they typically eat raw/live without seasoning or any form of cooking. So Ariel’s tolerance for spice is pretty bad. And back before her father put a ban on all things human, her people used to explore explore ships more liberally, among them merchant ships carrying spices for trade, but the taste was too strong and they had such an adverse reaction that spices were erroneously written off as a type of poison

She can technically build a tolerance, so I do recommend people encourage her, if only to see how red and blotchy she gets from trying to eat the mildest peppers XD

Human verses, she has a better tolerance, and usually goes for medium salsas and spices.  

4. Pizza, McDonalds, or Chinese take-out?

pizza. she likes to try different topping combinations. chinese take out is a close second because she really likes noodles.

[friedbananaswithhoney-blog]

Chile heat index? Scoville units, what? Capsaicin? My mouth and hands are on fire, ouch!

Well here I am making some delicious homemade salsa for the Monday Night Football game and my mouth and hands are killing me. How can you stop the burning and get this salsa recipe ready to go without hurting your guests.

Now, don't take Capt'n Salsa the wrong way, I love the heat of a good chile, but there is a big difference between hot and hurt. But oh boy, what a flavor. You know you're a chile head when you use cheese and chopped habanero to stuff your jalapeno peppers.

Perhaps I can answer a few of your questions about how hot are those chiles and what can you do about it if you get just a little carried away with the heat.

What's that? Your mouth and hands are burning? Okay, let's start with the handsÖ

First wet your hands with cold water, and then rub them briskly together with a teaspoon or so of salt as if you are washing your hands. I prefer kosher salt due to its course texture, but grabbing the salt shaker will work as well. Now, wash your hands again with soap and warm water. This also works well when working with garlic and onions.

You did wear your rubber gloves when you started working with the chiles, right?

Come on, Capt'n my mouth is really burning too!

"Your mouth is on fire?"

What ever you do, do not reach for the water; it will only spread the capsaicin oil around inside your mouth, spreading the oil of the chile and you will swear it just go hotter.

So don't reach for the water, okay?

Here are a few remedies that have proven to work.

Milk or dairy products are cooling; grab a glass of milk or a scoop of your favorite ice cream. Did you ever wonder why you almost always see a dollop of sour cream or a helping of "Creama Mexicana Sauce" on your enchiladas and nachos?

Yes, even a "cerveza" can be cooling too, the alcohol will help dissolve the irritating oils as well as "deaden" the pain. Now, wait a minute don't get carried away, you didn't hear me say anything about Tequila Shots.

In addition, a squeeze of lemon or lime will help balance the palate and distract it from the heat. Perhaps my favorite, simply continue to eat the hot salsa that got you to the fire dance in the first place.

Yep, it's true.

Eating more hot salsa with your favorite tortilla and chips, "the bread" will naturally soak up and help dilute the capsaicin level and reduce "the pain."

Hey, Capt'n, what's a Scoville Unit?

Walter Scoville, a pharmacist back in 1912 developed the Scoville heat index to measure the impact of peppers on the tongue. He came up with a way to determine how much sugar water it took to cancel the burn you were feeling on your tongue. For example, if a hot chile, like the jalapeno is rated at 5000 Scoville units, that means the capsaicin oil needs 5000 times its volume in sugar water to neutralize it.

Fine and good but what does that really mean to me? If a jalapeno is rated from 3500 to 5000 on the Scoville scale and a habanero is in the range of 350,000 how hot is it?

Capt'n Salsa's Fool Proof Chile Heat Index, coming to the rescue.

Now just so you know, you might think the Capt'n named this very appropriately, "fool proof" but believe me it really works.

Let's get right to it. Be sure and read the paragraph about "My mouth is burning" and plan accordingly. Remember an effective quencher for the burning palate is grab a glass of milk or your favorite bowl of ice cream and have it sitting at arms reach. You should also have a bowl of chips, crackers or a slice of bread handy.

Now, time to do some good old fashion testing. Ready?

Do not try this with a habanero!

You will need one jalapeno for this test. Begin by slicing just the tip of the pepper off.

Then ever so gently, I do mean very lightly, "hey it's your tongue" so be very careful, touch the tip of your tongue to the cut edge of the jalapeno. Wow!

Fool Proof! See I told you.

Again I'm telling you not to try this with a habanero, even the mildest habanero will knock my socks off.

Here are a few of Capt'n Salsa's tips for handling hot chiles.

You can build up your heat tolerance for hot chiles by starting with the mild ones then increasing to the hotter varieties in your salsa recipes. Overtime the more often you eat them the more tolerant you will become.

When working with any fresh or dried hot chilies, always wear plastic or rubber gloves when working with them.

Chop or cut green chiles on an impermeable surface like china, glass or metal. Do not use your favorite wood cutting board. The wood will soak up the chile oils and it will pass it along to the next food you chop...Wow; these are the hottest strawberries I have ever had!

Do not cut chiles under running water.

When you process or sautÈ hot chilies they release plenty of burning vapors into the air. Turning your head or wearing a household dust mask will help.

Be sure to experiment with your homemade salsa recipe ingredients. If you are not certain of the heat level the amount of chiles called for will produce, then by all means start with just a very small amount and add to it a little at a time until you achieve your desired results.

Try different varieties of chiles for unique taste sensations.

Share your homemade salsa creations with your family and friends in your student apartment. You will be really glad you did and so will they.

[collegewriting2]

Spicy Ranchero Chicken Enchiladas

by Quinton H.

This recipe will provide for four to six people, a full baking dish size.

           Ingredients:

Ten Count pack of Flour Tortillas

A bottle or can of Salsa Verde sauce (Mom recommended: Mild. Q recommends hot for extra flare)

Spicy Ranchero sauce (Mom recommended: Taco Bell brand. Q recommends adding a hot sauce of your choice with it if you can handle some heat.)

One and a half boneless chicken breasts (approximately 8 - 10 oz)

Preferred shredded cheese (recommended: those labeled “taco” or “Mexican” for extra flavor)

Cooking Instructions:

Preheat oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit

Take chicken breasts and boil them. Once satisfactorily boiled, remove them and shred to your preferred thinness.

Take the now shredded chicken and add the Spicy Ranchero sauce until chicken is coated to your liking.

          Prepare a clean baking dish, glass 9 x 13 inches, and coat the bottom of it with enough Salsa Verde to cover the surface of the dish.

Take each tortilla one at a time and spoon approximately one tablespoon of the chicken into the center of them, then folding them burrito style. Place them close together along the bottom of the baking dish making sure the seam side is down.

           Take the remaining amount or your preferred amount of the Salsa Verde sauce and coat the tortillas amply with it. This will keep the tortillas supple and tasty through the baking process.

Sprinkle your preferred amount of shredded cheese on top of the tortillas

      Leaving the dish uncovered place into the oven that has been preheated to 350 degrees Fahrenheit. Leave in until the cheese is completely melted and gooey over the tortillas, approximately 10 - 12 minutes and everything has been heated through thoroughly.

Remove, allow to cool, serve, and enjoy!

            Narrative

Ever since I was young I can recall my mom trying her best to be diverse in her cooking. We have never had a ton of money or even a surplus really, but one place my family has tried not to skimp on is food. As a result for a long time my mom used to try her best to make a new dish each week to see if our family enjoyed it. If it was a winner and easy to make she would make it again, and if it was not so good it would probably not show up on the table again. This dish, Spicy Ranchero Chicken Enchiladas, was a winner years ago and still winds up on my plate every month or so ever since. Originally I remember the dish being a little different, and after talking to my mom, I know why. She said she has changed things about it like the sauces or salsas and even has experimented with the use of pork or turkey instead of chicken to bring it to it’s evolution of the dish depicted above.

I chose this dish to write about because it is my favorite thing my mom makes. I love foods that have a little kick and might be a little messy like these. There is something about scooping that enchilada out of the pan, dripping with salsa verde, and plopping it onto my plate that just makes my heart content. I’m not usually the type to turn to food for comfort or relief, but if I’m in a slump I can count on this good meal to make me feel a bit better. For my birthday my mom always makes them for me extra spicy, as I love spicy foods, and it just melts any stress or anxiety I feel away while I eat them. I can remember for my birthday one year, jokingly my mom put candles in the pan of enchiladas and I had to blow them out before I could dig in. After that this dish has felt even more fond, rich in flavor and memories for me. Certainly this dish feels like comfort food for me personally, I’m not sure that it will be for others, but I hope it brings a happy belly.

Some recommendations I have for eating this dish: grab a drink that is nice and cool. I personally like to drink cold icetea while eating my enchiladas, not only because I make them extra spicy, but because ice tea is so refreshing in between bites of warm tortilla and chicken. I would also recommend before eating, cut up your enchiladas, then take some of the extra sauce and verde and pour it over the cut up pieces. By doing this you get extra moisture in with your chicken each bite and a softer tortilla. I also just really enjoy verde, so the more the merrier in my opinion. These also go over really well at parties and it is fairly easy to make large amounts of them in doing so. Last summer my grandparents hosted a family reunion and my mom brought a bunch of enchiladas that went over incredibly well. Except for some of the older folks complaining that they were too spicy, even though we used the mildest ingredients in this batch. My words for the wise if you serve them at a party, warn people they may be spicy. I do not find them too spicy, but I love things spicy so my bias may blind me. I hope that however you serve them they are made with ease and enjoyed all the way around, maybe even your family will adopt them too!