Bobbing for Quesadillas

This was supposed to be last night’s dinner until the washing machine had another hissy fit and flooded the kitchen. Again.

But, dear readers, have no fear! I got the situation under control in just 24 easy steps:

1. Swore loudly and repeatedly;
2. Tried to turn off the valves behind the washer;
3. Didn’t work. Swore some more as I tried turning them the other way;
4. Still didn’t work;
5. Swore and wondered why the hell there are two valves there if they don’t do anything;
6. Went out to the back patio closet to find the water key;
7. Fought three spiders to get to it;
8. Ran out into the front yard with the water key only to find that I could not get the damned cover off;
9. Called DB in a panic but couldn’t get the speakerphone to work;
10. Realized that my phone was wet;
11. Dried it off and swore some more;
12. DB was finally able to hear me and vice-versa;
13. Started bailing with the plastic tea pitcher while waiting for him to arrive;
14. Stopped bailing and twirled every dial on the washer wildly in every direction;
15. Nearly broke my wrist banging on the washer in frustration;
16. Somehow got the washer to start draining, but still couldn’t get the water to stop filling;
17. Hurt myself trying to shove the 50 lb. antique trunk that belonged to my grandmother out of the kitchen before it floated into the living room on its own;
18. DB arrived and turned off the water;
19. When I asked him how I was supposed to get the lid off, he held up a pair of scissors and said, “Honey, all you had to do was slip these into the crack and lift it up;”
20. Swore loudly, this time because he was holding my good pair of fabric scissors;
21. Commenced synchronized hydro-sweeping trying to convince the water it wanted to run out the back door and not into the carpeted living room;
22. Kept sweeping;
23. Swept some more;
24. Ended by getting absolutely every towel I own sopping wet, thereby assuring myself of doing at least two, possibly three loads of laundry before I could go to bed. Assuming the washer had come to its senses.

At that point, I was starving, tired and pissed off. This is what I ended up having for dinner last night:

Yes, that's right! The dinner of exhausted champions: a hunk of French bread, a slab of salted French butter, and a beer. 

That feast was followed by tortilla chips and white queso dip, and a chocolate milkshake.

Tonight, I was determined to have a good meal. I had waited nearly too long to cook this, because my fresh cilantro was looking a little past its prime.

But the quesadilla, made with summer squash sauteed with garlic and a Mexican spice blend, and generously gooey amounts of shredded Monterey Jack, was very good. How could something with that much toasty, cheesy goodness not be wonderful?

But it was the “elote” that surprised me, as these meals so often do. Elote is corn on the cob dressed with Mexican crema infused with lime juice, then sprinkled with Cotija cheese, a dry cheese kind of like Parmesan, and more of the Mexican spice blend. Apparently, it’s a popular Mexican street food. That’s what the card said, and why would they lie? Damned tasty, is what it is. Who’d a thunk it?

The pea shoots were attractive, but taste-wise, a waste of time. I realize that these meals want to do all kinds of fru-fru new age healthy stuff, but I am beginning to wonder if at some point I’ll open a box and find they’ve sent me grass clippings.

To be dressed with olive oil and lemon zest, of course. At least it wasn’t arugula again.

The meal was still a solid win. I enjoyed it so much that I ate both quesadillas and all but half of one corn cob. I’m stuffed.
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Belch. Mmm, mmm, good.