Fat Round Things

Yes, I am a little tired. Why do you ask?

Boy howdy, I do believe this child is going to sleep well tonight, that's what. It's been a really busy day, including a hike up to the market so I could pick up some more butter and replenish my cheddar cheese supply. It wasn't until I got back that I realized I'd forgotten the treat I'd promised myself. After a week of overcast and occasional drizzle, today turned out so gorgeous I was going to sit at the little picnic table beside the market and indulge myself in a decadent ice cream cone -- a waffle cone, to be specific. Dayum.

Ah well. Something to look forward to on another sunny day, I guess. Besides, my culinary project for the day turned out rather well so I can't really complain. Okay, I can really complain but my heart isn't in it.

See those fat round things just below this paragraph? Those are sorta kinda mini-foccacias. Or should that be "focaccia?" Because I keep finding it spelled both ways. [Pause for Google search.] Okay, according to Merriam-Webster, it's focaccia. Fo-caw-che-ah. Of course. I knew that. I just forgot I knew it.

Anyhoo, what I did was whomp up a batch of pizza dough and seasoned it with good stuff like cumin and oregano and lemon dill. Then, after it did its rise gig, I divided it up into 8 balls and patted them out into more or less round shapes. Some of them were of the free-form persuasion but I didn't see any reason to discourage their individuality so I let 'em hang it all out. Not owning a dandy gadget like a dough docker, I forked the daylights out of them so they wouldn't rise up too terribly much in the middle. That's because they're slated to serve as fatso pizzas when I'm in the mood for a fatso pizza. I could have rolled them out really thin. Some folks like a thin, crispy crust. I happen to like a fat, chewy crust that lends itself to dipping in whatever looks tasty.

I cooked them at 375 degrees fairyheight for 10 minutes, then brushed them with olive oil when they came out of the oven. When they have completely cooled, I'll slip them in Ziploc bags and toss them in the freezer. Then, when I'm in the mood for a quick and tasty meal, I'll pull one out, top it with whatever happens to be handy and slide it into a 400 degree oven for another 10 or 15 minutes. Shazaam!

For those of you who counted the mini-focaccias on the platter and came up short a deuce, I can assure you there really were 8 of them a little while ago. The thing is, by the time they were all baked, I was so outrageously hungry I could have eaten a horse and chased the rider with a fork. I had planned to make a nice little batch of garlicky white sauce for a pizza base but my tummy didn't even want to wait for that. I just minced up some ham, slapped on a couple of slices of mozzerella and cooked those bad boys before I fainted. The one you see below is now residing in my pacified tummy. The other one is waiting for my midnight snack urge, should it happen to rear its head tonight. If I end up impersonating my feline friend above, then I can count on having a tasty breakfast. Sounds like a win-win to me.

Chili Killers

For something like 25 flippin' years, I have believed that Jack and Georgia invited me over that Sunday for Chili Killers. Jack was the chef and, oh my stars and garters, that was a wonderful brunch. I can no longer tell you exactly what was in it but Jack filled everyone's plate from a huge skillet full of chopped tomatoes and melted cheese and scrambled eggs and I don't know what all. Nor can I call up and ask, darn it. Both Jack and Georgia have gone on to dimensions that have neither phone service nor e-mail addresses.

I got to thinking about Chili Killers the other day, wistfully wishing I had written down Jack's recipe instead of foolishly believing I couldn't possibly forget the details of such fantastic food. Ah well. I have learned my mighty friend Google can alleviate much of the pain of dubious memory so I went online to sleuth my way to authentic Chili Killers. That's when I began to realize the term was either Jack's and Georgia's nickname for the dish or I had misheard the phrase. That would make the term a mondegreen on par with Gladly, the Cross-eyed Bear.

I got my first clue with a Google link to Spryte's Place, where the title of the blog entry was "Chilaquiles (aka Chili Killers)". "Ahhhhh," I said to Self. "Self, I think we need to Google another term."

And we did. And we discovered chilaquiles is pronounced chee-lah-KEE-lays and there has to be at least twenty-seven squajillion variations. That is not surprising when you consider that the concept of chilaquiles was invented to use up leftover food -- especially leftover tortillas. Inevitably, it becomes a dish that lends itself to the artful blending of pretty much all those interesting bits and pieces you don't want to waste. I must have skimmed dozens and dozens of versions and I don't believe I have yet found any two alike.

You can check out how Spryte did it if you click the link above. Lots of good photos there. I took a different tack entirely. There's no recipe to give you. It was just a matter of using all the "bits and pieces" that I thought would (a) live in harmony with each other and (b) fit in my wok-style skillet.

First I drizzled in some of that nummy olive oil. Then I sauteed about half a chopped Vidalia sweet onion and a couple of cloves of fresh garlic, minced, and about half of a big jalapeno, also minced. Inspection warned me the green Bell pepper wasn't going to hold up much longer so I stripped and chopped that, too, and added half to the mix. (The other half -- also chopped -- went into the freezer.) Then I took half a dozen stale corn tortillas and sliced them into skinny matchstick strips and tossed 'em in with the veggies. Stirred everything around until all the strips were coated with oil. Dropped in a small can of stewed tomatoes and snipped the tomatoes into small chunks with the kitchen shears. Stirred everything together and let it simmer while I whisked a couple of eggs nice and frothy. Poured the eggs over the contents of the pan and let the liquid begin to set while I rinsed off the bowl and whisk. Then I gradually worked the egg into the rest of the mixture, continuing until all the egg was cooked. Plopped a huge pile of chilaquiles into a soup bowl, sprinkled everything with a generous helping of crumbled feta cheese and sat down to enjoy.

Oh my. Yes indeedy. Some chilaquiles recipes have you fry the tortilla pieces until they're crispy but I had a different goal. My matchstick pieces absorbed the tomato juices and sort of reverse engineered themselves into what I think of as reconstituted polenta. The end result was something very like a fluffy, moist cornbread stuffing.

Got three meals out of that batch, the last one being my brunch this morning. Every bite was nummy. I may find myself keeping a supply of stale corn tortillas just to see how many different "chili killer" combos I can invent. Every time I score a new version, I can put a notch in the handle of the fry pan. You GO, Killer. Heh!