Beef Enchiladas (Casserole)

I love enchiladas. I actually love pretty much anything that fits into the Spanish/Mexican food category – authentic or otherwise. For me, more than any other type of food, strikes that perfect balance between seasonings, comfort food qualities, and lightness. (I’m sorry, but shredded lettuce, fresh tomatoes, and avocados will always taste better piled on top of a little meat and cheese and wrapped in a tortilla. Always.)

Anyway, this is one of those dishes that embodies all of those things all in one. I can have a decent sized piece and it will have all the ooey-gooey qualities of a good comfort food dish, but at the same time I don’t find myself feeling like I’ve gained ten pounds after I’ve eaten it.

And that, my friends, is always a good thing.

 

Beef Enchiladas (the Meat)

• 1/2 lb ground beef
• 1 (15 oz) can black beans, drained and rinsed
• 1/2 medium onion, diced
• 2 cloves garlic, minced
• 1 small (totally forgot to check how many ounces) can of diced green chiles
• 1 tsp chili powder
• 1 tsp cumin
• 1/2 tsp salt
• black pepper (however much your heart desires)
• about 2 ounces of tomato sauce

Brown beef in a hot skillet with onions and garlic. When beef is mostly cooked through add in the chili powder, cumin, salt, and pepper. Cook for a few more minutes and then toss in the chiles, the tomato sauce, and the black beans. Cook for another 5-10 minutes or until all the liquid-y flavor has been absorbed into the meat and beans.

Beef Enchiladas (the Sauce)

I use this homemade enchilada sauce recipe from In a Shoe. I just cut it in half and don’t worry about the extra 2 ounces of tomato sauce that get thrown in. I actually kind of prefer the deeper tomato-y flavor.

Beef Enchiladas (putting it all together)

• the sauce
• meat and beans
• a cup or two of shredded cheddar cheese
• corn tortillas (very important! I’m usually very meh about using corn vs flour … but this is the one time that it truly does matter. Use the corn tortillas. USE THEM!!!!!)

Heat the oven to 350 and lightly grease a 13×9 baking dish.

Now, if you are not as lazy as I am, you can go ahead and make the traditional enchilada – dip a warmed tortilla in the sauce, fill it with a little meat and cheese, roll and put in pan… etc. Top with any leftover sauce and sprinkle with cheese, bake for 30 minutes and yum.

However…. I seem to have the same problem with enchiladas that I do with lasagna. Even though it only takes me about five minutes longer (tops) to do it the traditional way for some reason making the actual enchiladas seems like such a long and daunting task.

So I layer it like lasagna.

Yes, I know that in my lasagna post I said that I thought making actual lasagna to be time consuming and daunting.

But that was lasagna. This is enchiladas.

And yes, I know that I make absolutely no sense.

Anyway…

To layer it simply spread a small amount of sauce on the bottom of the pan. Lay down a layer of tortillas (I have found that 6 pretty much covers everything perfectly with little overlap). Spread more sauce on top of the tortillas. Then spread a layer of half the meat/bean mixture. Sprinkle with some cheese. Top with another six more tortillas, then sauce, the rest of the meat, some cheese, and then finally six more tortillas, the rest of the sauce, and a generous handful of cheese. Cook for 30 minutes or so. Remove from oven and let it sit for a few minutes and then cut it into pieces. This stuff makes delicious leftovers and I imagine that it would make a fabulous freezer meal as well.

Not the greatest picture… this is a quick shot of a reheated piece that I was having for lunch.

 

And this is why there are no great shots of the food (ignoring the fact that I forgot to take a picture of it fresh out of the oven and had to make do with leftovers instead). Someone was unhappy that I was taking pictures of the enchiladas instead of letting him eat them.

 

The adorable Floor Shark that kept trying to sit on my feet did not make it any easier either…

 

So what was I talking about?

Oh yes, enchiladas.

Make them. Love them.

 

 

 

 

 

Best. Picture. EVER.

I had intended to post a recipe today but after going through the pictures I had snapped this afternoon those intentions got shoved to the side.

See, I use a “rapid fire style” of photography that is designed to net me dozens of pictures of the boys in the hopes that I’ll end up with one or two that are decent. The whole key to the success of this process is to take as many pictures as I can in as short an amount of time as I can manage. Why? Because about .5 seconds after they realize I’ve got the camera out they are both racing towards me and trying to grab it.

David wants to take pictures.

Daniel wants to eat it.

Today’s photography session landed me an absolute gem of a photo.

This is the picture I’m saving for graduation announcements, to show girlfriends, to frame and set up on a table at his wedding reception… everything.

Seriously.

It is just that good.

Ready for it? Well, here it is….

 

 

 

Living with Fear

Our normal Friday plans (lunch with friends and then grocery shopping for the week) were thrown out the window when David threw up this morning. Being the creature of habit that I am, I volunteered to take Daniel and try and get some of the shopping done while Lawrence stayed home with David. David would be sad that he didn’t get to “in car go” but he would get a chance to rest without Daniel enticing him to play and Lawrence could get some work done or play an online game without Daniel making cute, begging “up” motions.

It was a little stormy when we left, but not bad. Cloudy with an erratic breeze. I wasn’t too worried. I figured it might start raining at some point, but the last couple of “big” storms the weather man had promised had begun like today – a lot of promising bluster only to fizzle out into a gentle drizzle or a half dozen spits of rain before it was blue skies and sunshine.

About half way to Walmart I really started to dislike my creature of habit tendencies. The wind picked up and it started raining. The best comparison I could think of while I drove v.e.r.y c.a.r.e.f.u.l.l.y  through the pounding rain and gusting wind was of the time that my mom had taken us out in a Tropical Storm. (In her defense we hadjust moved to the South from the Pacific Northwest… that was the day that we discovered that “Tropical Storm” really meant “small hurricane” and not “big, warm thunder storm”).

I have never been so happy to get to Walmart in my life…. except for the fact that I couldn’t actually get to the Walmart. See, with Utah’s whole obsession with road construction they’ve been busy putting in an under-the-street walkway from the area of the Walmart parking lot to the campus across the street. Well today they actually had the road to Walmart blocked off … but between the blinding rain and the itty-bitty sign there was no way you could realize that until you were right at the light.

Given the lane I was in, the layout of the road + construction there was really only one option at that point: get on the highway. Now, driving on the highway kind of tops my list of “things I don’t like doing” even when I’m having a good day. It tends to drag up all of my borderline claustrophobic tendencies that I keep tucked away. So driving on it, in a storm, in a city that is completely incompetent when it comes to driving in the rain was sooooo not something I wanted to do today.

Sure enough, with several inches of standing water on the highway (why do highways always collect water – why?!?!) I came very close to hydroplaning several times. The idiot in front of me did hydroplane and did a complete 360 across multiple (thankfully) empty lanes. Another idiot slid across two lanes when he decided that all of us going 50 mph were going to. darn. slow and tried to go faster. (Seriously, in what universe would anyone think it smart to try and go 60, 70 mph + in inches of standing water?).

And that was just in the couple of miles between me and the next exit.

Being the stubborn person that I am, I swung by a different store on my way home to get the few things I wanted from there. As I was getting Daniel out of the car I was so grateful that we had made it there safely; I was so grateful that I hadn’t had David with me (who has come to expect a running conversation whenever he’s in the car with me); I was so grateful that I had – apparently – learned more about driving in the rain during the years I spent half-observing my parents drive in the PNW than most of the people here ever learn.

Unsurprisingly I was shaking by the time we got in the store, and though my list was short (5 items) we took our time. Afterwards, sitting in the car sipping at a Dr. Pepper and munching on a Kit Kat (so that my hands would stop shaking and so that I would stop feeling like I needed to stick my head between my knees and slowly count to ten) it dawned on me that a normal person would have probably pulled off the road until the rain stopped (it lasted about 30 minutes) or turned around and gone back home.  After a certain point on my outing neither was really a viable option anymore, but up to a certain point it would have been extremely easy to pull into a different parking lot or to even turn back and return to the safety of home.

Neither option even occurred to me as options until well after the fact.

I have spent most of the day puzzling over this and have come to the conclusion that it is simply because I am so used to living with fear.

Just like I have struggled with depression, I have struggled with anxiety. When I was little I remember getting hysterically afraid of having my picture taken at school (kindergarten). In my early elementary years I often faked being sick (which I’m sure my mom saw through often enough but believed me anyway) to get out of potential outings that terrified me. By the time I hit middle school my anxiety had branched out to include attending new classes, meeting knew people, talking on the phone (even with those I knew well), and attending parties and events.

I tried explaining it to my mom once, but I’m pretty sure she dismissed it as shyness or something. Or didn’t really understand what I was saying. So I just learned to push through it. Now, I hardly notice it.

Sure, it will take me a good day to work up to making a phone call to anyone but Lawrence or my parents. It still means that I almost throw up anytime someone other than Lawrence, my parents, or my best friend call me. It means living with that level of fear – that throat closing, chest pressure, sweat inducing fear several times a day over things that don’t ruffle normal people’s feathers.

But I’ve learned to work around it, to ignore it, and to just push through. Mentally I know I am experience anxiety or fear.  I can feel what it physically does to me, but I refuse to let it cripple me. Sure, it hinders me. I’d be lying through my teeth if I said otherwise. But I refuse to let it take my life away from me.

I am aware that there are dozens, if not hundreds of medications to help with this sort of thing, but I’ll be honest: I really, really do not want to take medications unless it cannot be avoided. Partially because I just don’t like the idea of being on meds, but mostly because my family (and myself) has a long history of not reacting to medications like you are supposed to. We’re those people that ruin trials and ensure that all sorts of unpleasant warnings get slapped on the labels of various medications. Either that or they simply flat out don’t work.

There is a point to this novel, I promise.

It has only been in the last couple of years that I’ve been able to acknowledge that I have (and do) struggle with depression and anxiety. Prior to that I beat myself up, a lot, for simply “not trying hard enough” or “not being good enough”. I know that a lot of people I know and love still do view depression and anxiety in that way. In addition to debating why I didn’t take a logical course earlier today, I’ve also debated about blogging about it.

In the end I decided that I needed to write it out – even if it is rambling and somewhat disjointed – because one of the reasons I started blogging was that I wanted a place to share these sorts of experiences. Both depression and anxiety are things that I think we hear a lot about but that most people don’t understand simply because those that do suffer from one or both are very private about their struggles.

A lot of my struggles probably don’t need to be aired all over the internet, but some of them do. Not because I’m seeking advice or help but because I want to promote understanding, and because writing it is a healing balm in and of itself.

Garden Envy

The sun is shining. The earth is green. It is warm outside. Every fiber of my being is screaming “Go play in the dirt, damn darn it! Plant something! Grow something! Pull a stinkin’ weed or three!”

Yeah. My “yard” is a patio.  Things don’t grow very well on cement.

Oh, sure you can grow stuff in containers. I’ve had limited success with that. Because of how our apartments and patios are designed the plants never get direct overhead sunlight so they end up all weak and spindly. The grounds crews around here are very good at stamping out any bee population – nice for when your kid is running around barefoot on the playground, not so nice when you have to take the time and effort to pollinate plants by hand.

Newly planted pepper plants, Spring 2010.

 

And, while it is satisfying to pick stuff from your little patio garden… the fact that said harvest is only a tomato or two, or a very small handful of beans or peas (barely enough for one person) kind of ruins the fun of it. Especially because I’m not a “one or two raised beds with a few tomatoes and a zucchini type” of gardener; I’m a “Oh look at this shelf of Salsa/Spaghetti Sauce made with homegrown tomatoes, peppers, onions, garlic, and herbs and would you care to take home some extra pickles, jellies, and a basket of extra produce because I’ve put up more than we could possibly eat” type of gardener.

This year I didn’t even bother to plant anything. Mostly because we’ll be moving this summer, but partly because it is just so depressing.  I’m mildly, practically-secretly, optimistic that next year I’ll get to have a garden. Maybe. If God is nice to me.

In the meantime I’m spending a lot of time sighing wistfully over the pictures of vegetable gardens posted on Homesteading Today, browsing through seed catalogs, and noting varieties that I want to try. Eventually. Someday. When I get to play in the dirt.

Oh, and because everyone needs a dose of cute in their life:

David at approximately 11 months, helping me plant said peppers in 2010. I can’t believe this kid is going to be 3 next month.

A Painful Reminder

A lovely woman in our ward passed away yesterday. She leaves behind a grieving husband and three small children, including a sweet baby girl born just last week. My heart aches for them. I hurt for her husband because I can only imagine how Lawrence would react if this had happened to me. I hurt for her children who will grow up not knowing her. I hurt for the life that they are going to have to hammer out together, to form a new normal – a normal that shouldn’t have to exist.

Mostly, I hurt for Alice.

And, selfishly, I hurt for myself. I did not know her well, but I knew her well enough to like her. She had two boys that David enjoyed playing with. She was a pianist and I often enjoyed the sounds of her playing drifting out into the quad – amid all the hustle, bustle, and never ending noise of humanity it was a peaceful lifeline to my overwhelmed brain.

I hurt because I am in such a position to not only see this as a tragedy, but to take this move in God’s eternal plan as a gentle, if stinging, rebuke and reminder that I need to do better. (I feel obligated to take a moment to state that I in no way believe that she died to teach me a lesson, but rather I am in a place and time in my life that I can see a lesson for myself in her death.)

I grew up with a strong faith in God and in Christ. My parents taught me well. I loved the scriptures. And then my paternal grandmother died. I love my parents, but until I met Lawrence I loved no one as much as I loved my grandmother. We were truly kindred spirits – that one soul in two bodies sort of relationship. She was my best friend and I adored her beyond measure, and she died. Awfully. Of gangrene and failing organs, chained to a bed because the meds they were giving her made her hallucinate all the abuses she endured as a child.

In that moment, I learned to hate God. I despised him. Loathed him with every ounce of my being. I found, in my heart of hearts, that I could not deny him. For me, knowledge of his existence is a sure thing, and no matter how much I wished I could not ignore it. However, I wanted nothing to do with him; nothing to do with the God that I had grown up knowing.

For a year I strongly contemplated converting to Wicca. I will admit freely that it is still a religious path for which I hold great respect, and for which I (still) sometimes wish I could follow. At that time, though, I held off more for fear that my parents would kick me out than anything else.

Over the next several years I slowly rebuilt my relationship with God. My faith found its strength again. There was peace in my heart.

And then I came to Utah.

I have always found it horribly ironic that this Promised Land, this Mecca, of the LDS faith has proven to be such a horrible place for me spiritually.  Part of this is my fault, and there are a few things I wish I would have done differently (hindsight is 20/20 after all). Part of it is the fault of the atmosphere. There are good people here. I know some. I’ve met them. There are awful people here too. Between those things and my problems with depression and anxiety made worse by the constant press of people and their noise my spiritual life has once more gone downhill.

I tried hating God for the circumstances that landed me in this situation, but the truth is this: as a mere mortal it is exhausting to try and hold that level of dislike against such a vast and eternal presence. In the end I have run into the same wall as before: I believe in God’s existence and I love the gospel, it was/is the church (and let me be clear, by church I mean the physical meetings in buildings, with people and all their flaws – mine included) that I dislike.

In the past three or more years my response to this has been indifference. I pray. I read my scriptures (not as much as I should, because I found that they often made me more angry). I teach my children. I go to church (not nearly as much as I should) as a token of the obedience that I try to model. But I have been indifferent. I have reacted to God like I reacted to Algebra. I put forth just enough effort to get me by. No more. No less.

It may have worked for Algebra, but I don’t really think it is going to work for God. I’ll be honest, if I died today I don’t know if I’d make the cut. I think it would be close, one way or the other. And, also being honest, that scares me.

I need to do better. Even if it is is painful (and I’m sure it will be. Sigh.). Even if it is hard. My family deserves better from me in the spirituality department. God deserves better. I deserve better.

 

 

Running to the Temple

Today was gorgeous. Sunny, blue sky with just a sprinkling of clouds. Temperatures in the low seventies with a light breeze. It was (is, technically) a beautiful late spring/early summer day so we decided to take the boys on a walk up to the temple after they got up from their nap/quiet time. David was a trooper on the way up, walking along with us even though he clearly thought we’d lost our marbles just a little bit.

Which is true, but that is beside the point.

He’d ask where we were going and then, upon being told, repeat “Temple?” in a slightly puzzled voice, to which we would reaffirm. “Yup, we’re going to go see the Temple.”

However, once we rounded the front gate and looked up at it, the memory of walking to the temple on a regular basis last spring/summer/fall surfaced.

Provo Temple

 

“Temple!” He cried excitedly, and then after a slight pause “WATER!”.

Ah yes, because the fountains are the most important part of the temple. Of course, I feel I should mention that pretty flowers and fountains are my favorite part as well.

It was quite entertaining watching David book it up the sidewalk in his hurry to get to his beloved fountains.

If you look very closely you can see the little aqua blur there in the middle of the picture. That’s David.

As I watched him race towards the temple I had one of those cheesy “Ah-hah!” moments. It was one of those moments when what happens in the physical world parallels what happens, or should be happening, in our spiritual lives. Just as my little boy was so excited to partake of what the temple offers him in his limited understanding, so should we be excited about all the good, holy things in our lives.

That’s my serious, contemplative insight for the day.

Ah, beloved fountain…

While there, I took the opportunity to try and snap some cute pictures:

 

Daniel is definitely my child. He doesn’t like having his picture taken… not unless he is free to make a mad dash for the camera.

He was, however, suitably impressed with the water.

David was beside himself with happiness, and kept darting from one fountain to the other.

Up…

 

…and back down again.

 

I love this next picture – it captures so perfectly David’s happy, joyful spirit…

My cute little thumb-sucker…

A moment between father and son…

And, finally, one last dip in the water before we head on home…

I love my family.

 

 

Lasagna Casserole

This is one of our all time favorite dinners. I love lasagna, but let’s face it – for some reason I become really lazy when it comes to making it. I’m not sure why, I’m certainly fine with putting in a lot of work for various other things (and dishes)… but for some reason my brain finds making real lasagna a lot of work.

Enter this dish.

Mmmm... bubbly. Cheesy. Yum.

Lasagna Casserole

• 1/2 lb ground beef

• 1 smallish zucchini, chopped

• 1/2 medium onion, diced
• 2 cloves garlic, minced
• 1 can/jar of your favorite spaghetti sauce
• 1 container cottage cheese
• 1/2 cup shredded parmesan

• 1  to 2 cups shredded mozzerella (pending personal preference, budget, or the amount of cheese you have on hand!)

• 1 pound pasta, cooked al dente (I usually use penne or ziti but I have also made it with bow ties, jumbo shells, and macaroni… or a mix of several of those.)

Saute onion, garlic, and zucchini in a little olive oil until onion is almost translucent. Add in ground beef and cook until meat is done. Add in spaghetti sauce and stir to evenly distribute the meat and vegetables. Lightly grease a 13×9 baking dish and add the sauce and the pasta. Toss to combine the two evenly. Add in the cottage cheese and the Parmesan and stir so that everything is well combined. Sprinkle the top with the mozzerella cheese and bake at 350 degrees for 30 to 40 minutes. (Hint: if you are in a hurry you really only need to cook this for about 15 minutes to finish cooking the pasta and melt the cheese – it will still taste just fine if you take it out then. I find the extra 15 minutes gives it a nice crunchy top and makes the inside more ooey-gooey.)

See? Yummy, browned, gooey - crisp top.

Gooey, cheesy, meaty inside.

It really doesn’t get much better than that folks.

Eat it all by itself (and I will confess that this happens often) or for a more refined, complete dinner serve it up with a nice helping of fresh salad and (if you are really ambitious) some garlic bread.