I’m going to be real honest with you for a moment: I did not know that rhubarb came in stalks until a few years ago. I feel plenty of shame for this, so please: judge my ignorance in silence. I don’t think I ever thought about what it actually was shaped like (A berry? A melon? A big amorphous blob of yum?), nor could I actually pin point its distinct flavor. Rarely does rhubarb get a solo performance: it’s usually second fiddle to its frenemy the strawberry. Don’t get me wrong, this magical combination has driven me to many a pie-eating contest (against myself), but it’s time to give rhubarb it’s due.
So the Super Bowl was yesterday and blah blah blah. I may offend many of my fellow Americans when I say this, but what the hell is with everyone and football? Grown men darting around in Spanx, fighting to the death over a charmingly-named “pig skin”, bashing heads like they’re auditioning for Braveheart? Um, hello?
I shouldn’t even consider a re-made of my most successful post, especially since it involves a recipe from my amazing mother, but I can’t help myself. Enchiladas are so beautifully versatile, it would be like sticking with one kind of pizza for the rest of your life (home made pizza recipe coming up soon– stay tuned..). And no one is that foolish, right?