I have read too much true crime to follow this recipe properly

Last night I tackled a cookbook in which everything is so ambitious and authentic that I felt really ashamed to be using store-bought tortillas in one of its recipes. I'm sorry, Essential Cuisines of Mexico. I know I let you down with my lack of a tortilla press and motivation to remove corn hulls.

I tried to cover them up, but there they are, mocking me.

At any rate, Enchiladas de Fresnillo were more or less achieved. (That's real chorizo on top, just so you know.) There were a lot of steps in the process, and a lot of dirtied kitchen equipment, and I think I confused "toasted ancho peppers" with "dried ancho peppers," which made the sauce so bitter that I had to add some sugar to it. But despite these roadblocks, and the crippling humiliation of being too lazy/scared to make tortillas (I know you're supposed to use lime, and I'm pretty sure people fill up bathtubs with that stuff to dissolve bodies, so I actually mean "scared" in a different sense than when I say I'm "scared" to make my own pie crust), it ended up being pretty good. I have high hopes for it in leftover form. I also like that the recipe just says that it makes 12 enchiladas, instead of putting some judgmental number of servings on it.

Mandoline and tequila in the same picture. Safety first, everyone.

I'm starting to wonder how much of my weekly budget is devoted to avocados.

Kitchen clean-up time was increased due to Anna reaching a very exciting milestone yesterday: discovery of the Tupperware cabinet.

I like how I capitalized "Tupperware" even though it's mostly used yogurt containers.

Don't worry, she didn't just sit around destroying the kitchen all day.

I let her destroy the garden a little bit too.

I've been reading a book called The Happiest Toddler on the Block, which I hate to admit because now you know that I sometimes make non-sarcastic attempts at effective parenting. Oh well. The gist is that toddlers are basically cavepeople and you need to be an ambassador of the modern world to your little Neanderthal, but the author never specifies whether you are supposed to be the Sean Astin character or the Pauly Shore character.



I guess there are some aspects of parenthood that you just have to figure out on your own.