Denise had lovingly prepared us a meal while I laid on the couch reading or watching tv or something. I don't remember what was on the menu that night. I do recall the post dinner conversation. It went something like this:
ME: "That was really good."
DENISE: "Thanks."
ME: "You know what would make it better?" (I imagine an absurd grin filling my face as I lay my napkin on the table, preparing to educate my bride.)
DENISE: PLANET MELTING GLARE THROUGH THE CENTER OF MY FOREHEADME: "I'll do the dishes."
Over the years Denise has refined her cooking to the point that going out to dinner or ordering delivery is only a matter of convenience. I no longer tender suggestions for improvement. I do on occasion solicit requests from her lengthy repertoire of dishes. Some dance around my tastebuds like Baryshnikov on crack. Others wrap themselves around me like a homecoming hug on a rainy day.
Recently, inspired by the absence of gluten free options in the Strip District, Denise began experimenting with homemade tortillas. The first few efforts went well enough and we cut the tortillas into strips for dipping in her tortilla soup. Her confidence growing, she progressed to trying to use them for burritos and enchiladas. They tasted great, but, she thought they were still a little thick. The tortillas didn't want to cooperate when she stuffed them with spicy yum.
Burritos go beyond food in our household. They've been the excuse for memorable family gatherings. They've been the "thank you" to our dear friend Mark Rivera for helping keep Emily's car on the road her senior year of high school. They've expressed our sympathy when friends have lost loved ones. It matters to me that they taste good. It matters to Denise that they look as good as they taste.
Which is why it was a big day when she participated in a cooking class offered at Phipps and led by the chef from Cafe Chocolade. Among other things, Chef James demonstrated his method of making crackers. This was the game changer. The tortillas Denise cranks out now not only taste just right, she knows how to roll them out to better than store bought perfection. They're thin. They're flexible. They're perfectly shaped. I'd frame one, but, I know I'd end up breaking the frame and eating the tortilla anyway.
A pleasant paradox of peregrinating life with someone for thirty plus years is that person passing on presumably polar opposite propositions. At the dinner table, Denise has taught me to treasure contentment, taking a day as it comes, appreciating each moment for the gift it is. Today's tortillas are truly tasty. Denise has shown me the importance of constantly striving to improve oneself and being a lifelong learner. The next batch will also be a balance of beauty and bend-ability.
Last night Denise cranked out her best burritos yet. Packed with chicken, beans, onions and cheese they wrapped up nicely in jackets of top notch tortilla. Paired with a "why do you eat so much?" side of rice, it was a perfect meal for our first truly autumn feeling Saturday evening.
This morning I suggested to Denise it was time to try quesadillas. Quesadillas may appear easy, but the tortillas require precise size and shape. Not a problem if you pick up a bag at the Giant Eagle. A sign you're killing it if making your tortillas at home.
The conversation went something like this:
ME: "Those burritos last night were so good!"
DENISE: "Thanks."
ME: "I think you're ready to step up your game to quesadillas." (I imagine an absurd grin as I climb back in bed with my second cup of coffee.)
DENISE: "YES! Let's do it!"
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