For me, Cinco de Mayo lasts a lot longer than one day. In fact, by the end of the week, Mr. B will be so sick of my interpretation of fresh California Mexican food that I predict a few Corona bottles will be smashed in protest. Ah well, good food is always worth a good argument.
Mr. B is a good sport and like any wise husband, he pretends not to notice—and certainly doesn’t comment—whenever I become obsessed. My obsessions run the gamut from shoes to roses, cookbooks to tomatoes, but usually, my real obsessions are born in the confines of my little kitchen where I try to keep them hidden in cabinets and drawers, or at least, behind the milk in the refrigerator.
Unfortunately, my obsessions don’t stay hidden for long and before I can control myself, Mr. B is being bombarded with my creations. At some point, the Frenchman in Mr. B pokes his stubborn and sarcastic head out and with the stomp of his foot and a few curt sentences, my obsessive streaks are brought to a stop. I could protest, but really, who wants to duke it out with a Cajun-French man whose palate has been inundated by far too much salsa?
I concocted this dish years ago after being served something similar by an amazing chef who refused to part with his recipe. It took a lot of experimenting and I went through cases of chips in my trials, but eventually, I cracked the recipe. Mr. B loves this refreshing mix, so I thought I’d start our weeklong celebration off by releasing all those endorphins in Mr. B’s brain.