Tortilla Jones

That this photo exists at all is a testimony to the power of the urge when I decide, by damn, I want some tortillas!

This was yesterday, a day that dawned sunny and by only 8:00 in the morning was already in the high seventies. Late afternoon had me flopping around and panting in eighty-plus degree heat and unwilling to expend any more energy than was required to wipe off the freshest layer of sweat. Unfortunately, if was during that latter part of the "heat wave" that my tortilla jones raised its insistent head ... and I was fresh out of the tortillas I usually buy at the store.

See, one of my favorite snacks is to throw a tortilla on the pizza pan, sprinkle it with shredded cheese and spicy seasoning, then put it in the oven until the cheese is bubbly and the tortilla starts to get crispy. Then I take it out and cut it in wedges with a pizza cutter and go "Nom, nom, nom," until I've finished the whole thing.

You can't do that if you don't have tortillas.

So I had to make some tortillas, never mind that just the effort of rolling them out made me drip like I was standing in the shower. I figured if I survived the whole silly production, I would have sweated off any calories in advance. Now that it's over, I'm sure that's true.

I shared the recipe back in July last year, the entry titled "Tortilla Sunset," but to save you the bother of looking it up, here's the quick version:

Mix together 2 cups flour, 1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder and 1 teaspoon salt. Add 3/4 cup warm milk and 2 teaspoons vegetable oil. Mix well, turn out onto floured surface and knead a couple of minutes. Cover dough and let rest 20 minutes. Divide into 8 portions, shaping into balls. Cover and let rest 10 minutes. Pat each ball out with fingers, then roll thin. Slap into dry skillet at medium heat and cook 1 to 2 minutes on each side. The torts will puff up. That's okay. Stack cooked torts on plate covered with folded kitchen towel. When cool, can be slipped in plastic bag and kept in refrigerator or frozen.

So I did all that -- with the fan turned on and aimed directly at my wilting miserable self. It was all worth it. The spicy cheese tort/pizza was sublime and my jones gland was satisfied. Not only that, later, while in the middle of a book, I slathered some butter and peanut butter on another tort, rolled it up, and snacked and read to my heart's content. Okay. My tummy's content.

Sometimes, you know, that's the same thing.