Seven Years in the Making

In 2004 I burnt a quesadilla. Burnt to inedible sadness. In the years since, I feared trying it again. I ordered the fried wonder all of the time, usually with wilted spinach mingling with the melted cheese. If I couldn’t cook it myself, I could at least enjoy it elsewhere.

That was until last night.

Bennett and I have been on a grilled cheese adventure, well, not really an adventure as most of the sandwiches resemble normal grilled cheeses. Except, though, for this character with Brussels sprouts, which was inspired by #2 on America’s Top 10 New Sandwiches.

But with our block of cheese still going strong, I decided to face my fear of the quesadilla.

In the seven years since my first attempt, I’ve changed boyfriends and kitchens. I learned that not everything can cook on high heat. And I learned that one failure shouldn’t keep me from enjoying another way to love cheese.

Plus, I adore frying tortillas. How hard could it be with less oil?

I found it wasn’t hard at all. I don’t know what happened back then.

But drizzling oil in a hot pan, laying a corn tortilla down, flickering shredded Monterey Jack  cheese on top with just-wilted spinach and cilantro (and an extra sprinkle of cayenne), and covering it with a second tortilla couldn’t have been easier. I slid a lid on top to ensure the cheese melted in sync with the tortilla crisping. After a few minutes, I painted a slick of oil on the top tortilla and flipped it over.

If some cheese oozes out, think of it as a victory. Burnt cheese is a blessing. And conquering a fear tastes delicious.