Dear Mission Tortilla Makers,
Today was another fabulous day. I woke refreshed and rejuvenated. I attended bible study and conversed with seven women who wondered if they, were in fact, having too much fun for such a study. I stole a cat-nap while my wee-ones were napping. I was relieved of subluxation in my upper-back when my chiropractor returned five ribs to their appropriate position. I met with a friend, made a quick stop at the library, and planned ahead to treat my husband to a chicken enchilada dinner.
Feeling invincible, as I was on track to have dinner completed before Husband returned from a hard day's work, you could imagine what sort of dilemma I met head-on as I opened my brand new bag of tortillas (purchased today) and found that each. one. was. stuck. together.
With my enchilada filling warming brilliantly on the stove, and without another bag of tortillas, (since one would never think to purchase a back-up bag of tortillas, in case the first set are duds) I began to attempt the impossible.
I attempted to pull. each. said. tortilla. away. from. its. counterparts. Unfortunately, and much to my dismay, not one tortilla came away unscathed. Each one, had suffered major damage. Take a look for yourself:
one.
two.
three. But believe me, that wasn't all.
Seriously? What sort of enchiladas can one possibly assemble with such tortillas? If I were into casseroles, or "everything plus the kitchen sink" sort of meals, damaged tortillas would have hardly phased me. Maybe I would have just crumbled the remains and thrown them on top of my filling? Maybe I would have grabbed the heels of bread that I threw away in the garbage earlier and thrown that in too?
But the true issue lies in the standard of presentation one is forced to lower when faced with a bad batch of tortillas. Had I had a guest on the verge of arrival, I surely would have panicked. Were it the main course being presented for my mother in-law's birthday dinner, I may have cried. But since the meal was only intended for my family of four, including a messy four and two year old, I decided to put presentation aside. And since I'm the type of gal who tries to make lemonade when she's handed lemons, I used those holey tortillas in their
ravaged state and filled them with goodness anyway.
Not my best looking batch to date.
Making lemonade.
Just as I am sure you suspect, even in their holiness, and in their broken folds, the contents flavors remained the same--equisitely creamy and flavorful and with just the right kick of chilies. Topped off with a layer of sauce, cheddar cheese and green onions, they cooked in the oven until their edges verged on the brink of crispy, and the aroma could have brought even a stranger in for dinner.
The mess in disguise.
And also, just as you probably suspect, they were delicious. Husband and I devoured each bite, and I actually thought twice about going for seconds, but opted to stay ahead of the game and not over-indulge, if you know what I mean?
I don't send you this letter because I plan to boycott Mission tortillas from here on out, nor do I have a flavor complaint, because you see, your tortillas maintained perfect combination with my said filling, to produce a heavenly dish of enchiladas--holey, yet still, enchiladas. I would however, like to let you know, that you've got some bunk bags of tortillas floating around in and around at least the town of Camas, Washington. And whoever else purchases them, may just send you over a letter. So don't say I never warned you.
Thank you for your listening ears and empathy concerning this dinner dilemma, and in some strange way, the opportunity to jot down my thoughts on this otherwise, ordinary evening.
Sincerely,
Cassie McCully
