Editors Note: Aaron Starmer writes books. His latest is the middle-grade novel DWEEB. It contains lots of action, tween angst, and all-around silliness. No enchiladas appear in the story, but they certainly fueled some of the writing.
By Aaron Starmer
My father grew up in southern Arizona, very close to Mexico. So close, he claims, that kids from his high school would hop over the border at lunchtime to get drunk and chow down. My father’s stories are to be taken more as fables than facts, but there’s no doubt he experienced some sort of cultural exchange during his formative years. Because the man knows how to cook an enchilada and he taught me his secrets.
Purists constantly remind us that Mexican food in most of America is a bastardization of Mexican border food, which itself a bastardization of true Mexican cuisine. Let them be bitter and curse the bastards. My problem with Mexican food in America isn’t authenticity. It has more to do with love and dedication. They say you always remember your first great enchilada (no they don’t, but indulge me). And you compare every subsequent enchilada to it. Well, I had my first great enchilada surprisingly early in life, and no one has been able to woo me since with an enchilada that outshines my childhood sweetheart. It’s okay if you’ve taken a little longer to settle down with a delicious and decadent enchilada. We all find our “one” at our own pace.
The Recipe: Read more
