Chicken Enchiladas with Red Chile Sauce

I made these enchiladas to go with the Salsa Verde from the previous post. Really I wanted to try some homemade tortillas from the farmer's market so I needed a new recipe that I could use them in! They were blue corn tortillas, hence the color in the photos. This was a good one- a little time intensive, but the results were worth it!

Chicken Enchiladas with Red Chile Sauce from Cooks' Illustrated

- 1 medium onion, chopped fine
- 2 jalepenos, seeded and chopped fine
- 1 tsp canola oil
- 3 medium cloves garlic
- 3 Tbs chili powder
- 2 tsp ground cumin
- 3 tsp sugar
- 1 (15 oz) can tomato sauce
- 1 C water
- 1 large beefsteak tomato, seeded and chopped
- 1 lb boneless, skinless chicken breasts
- 1 C extra sharp white cheddar, shredded
- 1 C Monterey Jack cheese, shredded
- 1/2 C minced fresh cilantro
- 12 (6-inch) soft corn tortillas

1. Combine the onion, jalapeno, 1/2 tsp salt, and oil in large saucepan. Cover and cook over medium-low heat, stirring often, until the onions and peppers have softened (8-10 minutes).

2. Stir in chili powder, cumin, and sugar; cook until fragrant, less than 30 seconds. Stir in the tomato sauce, water, and chopped tomato. Bring to a simmer, and cook until slightly thickened (5 minutes).

3. Nestle the chicken into the sauce. Reduce heat to low, cover, and cook until chicken is cooked through (12-20 minutes depending on thickness of chicken). Transfer the chicken to a plate and set aside to cool.

4. Strain the sauce through a strainer into a medium bowl, pressing the onion mixture to extract as much liquid as possible. Transfer the strained onion mixture to a large bowl and set aside.

5. Shred the chicken into bite-sized pieces. Add to the onion mixture, and add 1/4 C of the enchilada sauce, 1 C of cheese (1/2 of each kind), and the cilantro. Toss to combine.

6. Warm the tortillas in the microwave until soft and pliable (40-60 seconds). Spread the tortillas on a clean work surface, and spoon 1/3 C of the chicken mixture evenly down the center of each. Tightly roll each tortilla and lay seam-side down in greased 9x13 inch baking dish.

7. Lightly spray the tops of the enchiladas with cooking spray. Bake at 425*, uncovered, for about 7 minutes.

8. Reduce heat to 400*. Remove enchiladas and pour sauce evenly on top. (I would use 2/3 of the sauce next time). Top with the remaining cheese. Cover dish with foil, and bake an additional 20 minutes, or until heated through. Remove foil and bake another 5 minutes, until cheese browns. Remove from oven and let stand 10 minutes before serving.

Nothing but good times to show, I'm on my way

I wanted to used the lyric New friends and new places to see as the title of this post. Though there is truth in that statement, I write this blog post from my couch in Charlottesville, Virginia. A place that I had come to call home before leaving for Mercy Ships a year ago.

This summer was filled with traveling to visit friends I hadn't seen since leaving last August, hanging out with the family, reunions with ship friends, "working" as the camp nurse at high school youth camp, and figuring out what would follow this past year of change.

          
         
  
Through a series of fortunate events, my friend I met on the ship, Karyn, and I applied for a travel nurse assignment at UVA, in the Pediatric ICU where I had started this journey 3 years ago. Each assignment lasts 13 weeks, so we will be here until just before Thanksgiving.

This transition back to life and work here has been interesting. I'm excited to be back in a familiar place and to catch up with friends who I have missed. There are moments where I slide back into old routines and friendships so easily. And then there are moments where nothing feels the same. My drive to work is the same, but my heart is in a different place. It's with the patients who became friends on the ship. It's with the friends on the ship, waiting to learn where they will go next, as Ebola ravages West Africa.

And all I can do is be here. In Charlottesville. Be here for the easy, fun moments. Be here for the surprisingly difficult moments. Be here to share the stories and the experiences. Be here to listen and to learn. Be here, now.



Did I mention that I am excited to be cooking again? Because I definitely am. A life update would not be complete without sharing a couple of the new recipes I have tried since being back. Another of my favorite parts about Charlottesville is the farmer's markets. Wednesday I picked up some homemade tortillas that I had been wanting to try and a few tomatillos. Enchiladas and homemade salsa verde were on the menu :)

Roasted Tomatilla Salsa Verde

- 1 pound tomatillos
- 2 jalepeno peppers
- 1/2 medium onion, quartered, plus 1/4 cup finely chopped onion
- 2 cloves garlic, peeled
- 1 C chopped cilantro
- 1/3 - 1/2 C water
- salt, pepper, and cumin- to taste


1. Remove tomatillos from husks. Rinse fruit well to remove sap.

2. Cut the stemmed tops off the jalapeños then split them in half. Scrape away the seeds. (For a hotter salsa, leave peppers whole.)

3. Roast tomatillos (whole), jalapenos, onions, and garlic at 450* until slightly charred and tomatillo juices are seeping out. The peppers, onions, and garlic will soften and char the fastest (5-8 minutes). Remove to bowl. Continue roasting the tomatillos for another 5-8

minutes.

 

4. Allow to cool a few minutes then add ⅓ cup of water. Use a blender (or immersion blender) to puree until desired consistency. Add more water if a thinner consistency is desired.

5. Pour into a bowl, add salt, pepper, and cumin to taste. (Cayenne pepper can be added for heat, if wanted)

6. Stir in the cilantro and the chopped onions. Puree if you don't like chunky salsa. I left mine finely chopped in the salsa for texture. 

7. Chill or serve at room temperature.

 

Best eaten while preparing chicken enchiladas :) Recipe coming soon.





"On My Way" - Phil Collins 

It was nothing like I'd planned

Three weeks ago, I sat in a small café across from the airport with two of my favorites from the ship, waiting until the last possible moment to walk out of the African sun for the last time. On this trip at least. The good-byes were harder than expected, people I had come to love as family over these past 10 months. People who, whether they knew it or not, were the reason I stayed.

"How was Africa?" 
I apologize if you have asked me this question in the past 3 weeks and I have looked at you, seemingly blankly and a little confused. In my head, my thoughts are going a million miles a minute. What do you want to hear? How much do you really want to know? What can I say to make you reach the deepest level of understanding possible, this side of the ocean? How much time do you have to listen? How do I put these thoughts into words?

Africa was difficult.
I was challenged in ways that I never anticipated. Personally, living and working with the same people, all day, every day is difficult. I know- these people all made incredible sacrifices to be here, they love Jesus with their life, not just their words. They are good people. The best people actually. In the midst of all these people, there were lonely days. Days I longed for someone to understand how I felt. 

Africa was full of learning.
Some days the work was challenging. In the beginning, it wasn't what I wanted to do. I wasn't using the specialized skills I had, and no one cared! Because that is not what they needed. And that's not what I was called there to do. I was challenged to find confidence when I doubted myself. To feel valued. To find perspective when politics and differing opinions on what was the best treatment for the patient caused frustration. To find grace when I had a small and selfish mindset. To find deeper compassion for those who have suffered.

Africa was wearisome.
There were disappointments. For every life we changed, there was one we couldn't help. There were short-cuts we had to take. There were cases we didn't win. We left with patients still in the midst of difficult healing processes. Patients will need more surgeries and more follow-up that we will not be there to do.

Africa was home. 
Our friend Josh explains it beautifully on his blog- how leaving these friends creates an ache deep within. They get it, they understand what it's like to leave the place we called home for the last 9 months. A place unlike anywhere else.

Africa was where I found joy.
How do I describe the depth of the joy I felt when Mahamadou, usually reserved and somewhat aloof, joins in friendly competition with the other patients? Or how hard it is to hide the sadness in my eyes when I see Flo's wound not healing, knowing what this means, but not wanting to steal any of the hope she has? Or how I can't help but break into a smile when a Deborah's mama gladly hands her over to me and gives me permission to take Debo with me wherever I go, even to America? What about how funny it was to watch Jonah joke with Habiba about how hungry she always was? And how I knew she, Flo, and Bijou would envelope Karyn in hugs after I left the ship?

These are the things weighing on my heart as I come back. And even these words do not suffice, they don't explain how I left a piece of my heart in that country with each of those patients, who loved us as their own.

"How was Africa?" It was more than I could have hoped for.

Part of the great team we worked with

Vincent

Habiba! 

Flo

Sanate

Josue

"That's Where It Is" - Carrie Underwood

Pieces of my heart, pieces of my soul

Pieces, the good and the bad
Pieces, the happy and sad
Pieces, the wrong and the right
Pieces, that's my life
 
Last weekend, I got an invitation to go with a friend from the ship to visit Rovel. I've written about him before- of watching him turn from a shy boy who covers his face to one who hides behind corners and jumps out to scare you.

 

He had noma. It is a bacteria that eats a hole in your face. So we took some skin from his shoulder and attached it to his face (while still attached to his shoulder). Put your left ear on your left shoulder. That's how he walked around for 3 weeks. He was not pleased. That was over Christmas break.

 

Each day for 3 weeks I went to the hospital for an hour to change his dressing. We watched Elf, I introduced him to Timber and Pitbull, we watched Never Back Down, and Iron Man. Lots of movies and music. Some days he was really discouraged about how his wound looked. The best days were when he looked in the mirror and said "Yeah!" gave me a high five, and said "Thank you" in English. He was a fan of running ahead of you, hiding behind a corner, and scaring you. He thought he was 23. He was probably only 13-14. He closes his eyes during kissing scenes, I mean how old can you be?

 

He stayed with us for a long time because his wound didn't heal. He was finally able to go home in February. I saw him at outpatients appointments a couple times, but hadn't seen him since he had been discharged from the ship's care .

 

Saturday after yhe orphanage, Ryan, Charissa, and I went to visit his village. Rovel didn't know I was coming. It was one of those hugs where I really thought I was going to be knocked over. We got to meet his mom (who hadn't been on the ship with him), see where he lives, take some pictures, meet some  of his friends, have a dance party, let him walk us through his village. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Then, in true African fashion, I sat in a taxi for the next 2 hours with the most passive taxi driver in all of Congo trying to get back to the ship. But it was there that I realized that these days were what it is about. It is what makes this place special.

 

I am able to walk down to the ward on my way to my room to check in on patients and no one gives you a second glance. It's about more than just our patients receiving physical healing. It's about showing them that they are loved, regardless of their physical condition. I wonder what it is like for the mommas to bring in their babies all wrapped up because their lips are gaping instead of perfect baby lips and for the nurses to scoop up that baby in their arms and smother them with kisses? Or for a man who had his nose shot off years ago to be greeted with smiles, hand shakes, and laughter from patients in various physical conditions around him?

 

I have two weeks left on the ship. What does that mean? Where do I go from here? Great questions. My life seems to be segmented into small pieces where I am having to ask these questions over and over again. And I don't know the answers yet.

 

For the next two weeks I get to love each of these patients, care for these patients; patients that, probably without knowing it, take a little piece of my heart as they make their way into mine. And that is enough for today.

 

"Pieces" - Gary Allan