When we were up in Pennsylvania last week, Sister-in-Law Kate made us an enchilada feast. Three giant pans of ‘ladas equals a feast any time, any place, anywhere, don’t you agree?

Actually, I’ve never really been an enchilada fan. Sure, I liked them, but I didn’t need them. I preferred to serve my beans straight up, tortillas on the side for scooping. The wrapping, saucing, baking, and cheesing required for enchilada-ing just seemed like extra steps I didn’t want in my life.

That’s all changed, now that Kate fed me her enchiladas. It’s not like her enchiladas were fancy or anything—just ground beef and beans wrapped up in tortillas and smothered in a sauce—but the sauce! Oh my word! I couldn’t get enough of the sauce—sweet, spicy, rich, creamy. Deeply and profoundly comforting, that sauce was.

So yesterday, after a volley of emails with Kate, I made the enchiladas for my houseful of hooligans, I mean kids.

Or maybe I do mean hooligans. Just look at them.

The night before yesterday afternoon (when I made the enchiladas I’m telling you about), all the kids were outside running around when it suddenly got really quiet. Mr. Handsome peered out the window to see what was up and reported that all the kids were ON THE ROOF OF THE BARN picking mulberries. Out he went to order them down to the ground, and a little later they appeared in my back yard waving foam swords and looking like messes on legs.

(Which reminds me of a nugget I gleaned from pinterest: the definition of boy: “Boy, n. 1. noise with dirt on it.”)

So anyway, I fed these stinky, tired (’cause they were up till midnight, picking-sour cherries-to-help-them-stay-awake, the sillies), mulberry stained boys (plus my younger kids, too) these enchiladas for lunch. They were mighty happy about their lunch. And so was I. I had thirds.

This is not a complicated recipe. Unlike other recipes I’ve tried, there is no frying of tortillas and then dipping them in the sauce prior to rolling, thank goodness. Simply put a layer of sauce in the pan, top with the filled tortillas, and then smother them in another layer of sauce.

And just a word about this incredible sauce: I’m pretty sure it’s the butter that makes it sing. Or maybe it’s the beef broth? Perhaps the chili powder? Really, I’m not sure what it is, but the combination of a rich roux thinned with broth and flavored with tomato sauce and chili powder is enough to leave such a taste sensation that enchiladas will be your new favorite comfort food for years to come, hallelujah.

Kate’s Enchiladas
Adapted from my sister-in-law’s recipe

Make these with store-bought ingredients or all from scratch—you can’t go wrong either way. (Though I am partial to the toothsomeness that comes from homemade flour tortillas.)

Also, this recipe, aside from the sauce which yields enough sauce for one 9 x 13 pan of enchiladas, has no real measurements.

For the sauce:
5 tablespoons butter
½ cup flour
1 ½ cups beef broth
2 cups tomato sauce
1 tablespoons chili powder
½ teaspoon salt

Melt the butter in a saucepan and add the flour. Whisking steadily, add the broth. When the mixture is thick and bubbly (keep whisking!), add the remaining ingredients and heat through.

For the enchiladas:
*some ground beef that’s been fried up with some chopped onion and green pepper and a sprinkle of salt
*a couple cups of cooked, drained beans, black, red, or pinto—add these to the meat mixture
*a stack of flour tortillas (I made a double batch and had some left over)
*3-4 cups grated, good melting cheese (Monterey Jack, cheddar, provolone, Colby, whatever)
*optional garnishes: fresh cilantro, sour cream, green onions, chives, fresh tomatillo salsa, black olives, etc.

Spread half the sauce in the bottom of a 9 x 13 pan.

Fill the tortillas with some meat-and-bean mixture and some of the cheese. Roll them up and place seam-side-down in the pan on top of the sauce. Repeat until the pan is full. Spread the remaining sauce over the enchiladas.

Cover the pan with foil and bake at 350 degrees for 20-30 minutes or until the sauce is bubbly and the enchiladas are heated through. Remove the foil and sprinkle with the remaining cup or two of cheese. Bake, uncovered, for another 10 minutes.

Serve with the optional garnishes.

Note: these can be assembled ahead of time and frozen. Simply thaw at room temperature and then bake. Leftovers keep well, too.

This same time, years previous: my boy children, old-fashioned vanilla ice cream

Sometimes I think my life is boring. I mean, it must be so because The Masses aren’t flocking to film my every move and leaving me hundreds of adoring comments on this blog. The general public isn’t booking me for speaking engagements, asking for my autograph, and picking through my brain for nuggets of wisdom. I am not fawned over.

Sometimes I can get in a rut when I fixate on My General Boringness. It’s an unattractive and yucky place to be, so I don’t write about it much.

But it still happens.

And then I read something like The Hiding Place and realize that I’m really glad I have a boring life. I wouldn’t want it any other way—(pregnant pause while I double check that thought)—yes, I do believe that is indeed The Beautiful Truth.

I like waking up in my soft bed with the mismatched sheets and the falling-apart pillowcase that my children made for me, the songbirds chortling to high heaven right outside my open window, the rooster crowing his testosterone-laden crow.

My days move forward slowly, evenly. I teach my son to scrub the kitchen floor and watch like a hawk while he perfects his piano pieces. I listen to my daughter read (!). I dish out instructions, stories, and bowls of beans and rice. I make my eyes get big and incredulous when my youngest informs me that his bruises are the result of eating too much candy. While the sun goes down we replant the green beans. We fold laundry and vacuum and tuck in the kids.

Sometimes I marvel at the pointlessness of it all, as in, We are all going to die so why do we keep trying so hard?

And sometimes I revel in it all, as in, This is my family and I get to live with them and grow my food and read books, oh my word WOW.

When I sat down to write this afternoon, I had nothing to say. My hands lay limp beside me, the laptop balanced on my knees. And then I started typing.

And now I am done.

This same time, years previous: how to freeze strawberries and make strawberry jam, buttered peas and brown buttered noodles with ham

Back when we had our family reunion and Cousin Zoe supplied the fixings for an art table, among the mountains of crafty happiness she brought was a little thing called a microwave flower press. Immediately, my oldest daughter was hooked. Every time I turned around, there she was on a stool in front of the microwave smack dab in the middle of my work space, drying flowers to her heart’s content.

After the weekend was over and the flower press had gone home to PA, my daughter announced she wanted to buy one for herself. Unlike her money-burns-a-hole-in-his-pocket brother, this girl rarely hatches any consumeristic schemes, so I let her. I had no doubt it would be a good purchase—it’s a solid piece of equipment so I expect it to last for a good long time. My only regret was that I had already decided to get it for her birthday. (So much for fast and easy birthday shopping. Now I gotta actually think of something brilliant.)

She’s thrilled with her new tool. So far she’s spent most of her time drying flowers just for the heck of it; she hasn’t started to actually make anything with them. She will eventually, though, I’m pretty sure. Zapping flowers just because has got to lose its charm sometime soon, right?

In the meantime, her birthday is coming up and I’m scrounging about for good gift ideas. Suggestions are most welcome!