Chicken & Avocado Enchiladas

The second week of September and the air has changed — the humidity retreating, the temperature dropping by increments, the trees beginning the slow spectacle that is a Hartford autumn, the spectacle that almost — almost — justifies living in a place where the winter will try to kill you. I have lived here thirty-two years and the fall still surprises me with its beauty, the way a person you have been married to for decades can still surprise you with a gesture, a word, a way of looking at you across the kitchen that says I know you and I choose you and the choosing is not old, the choosing is happening right now.

Lucas is two and a half and has entered the phase of language explosion — every day a new word, every word a small revolution, every sentence an attempt to organize the world into categories that make sense to a mind that is still new. He said abuela correctly this week — not buela, not bela, but abuela, all three syllables, and the pronunciation was so precise that I looked at Jenny and said, You taught him that. Jenny said, He taught himself. He has been listening. I said, Of course he has. He is a Delgado. We listen even when we are loud. Especially when we are loud.

I went to Mami's apartment on Sunday. I have been visiting more now — masked, careful, but inside the apartment, sitting in a chair across the room while she sits in hers, eating what I brought, talking or not talking depending on the fog. This Sunday she was clear. She looked at me and said, Carmen, you look tired. I said, I am tired, Mami. She said, You work too hard. I said, You worked harder. She said, I had seven children and no choice. You have four children and you choose this. I did not argue because she was right and because when your eighty-three-year-old mother with dementia is lucid enough to tell you you're overworking yourself, you listen, because the lucidity is a gift and the criticism is a gift wrapped inside it.

When Mami is clear — really clear — I want her to taste something that feels like home, something that does not require explanation or history because the flavor is the explanation, the flavor is the history. I brought these enchiladas that Sunday, wrapped in foil in a bag on the passenger seat the whole drive over, and when she said, You work too hard, I thought: yes, but I also made you dinner, and making you dinner is not work, it is the opposite of work, it is the thing that reminds me why any of the rest of it matters. Chicken and avocado, green sauce, cheese melted until it pulls — it is the kind of recipe that feels extravagant and is actually simple, which is something my mother taught me a long time ago and which I am still learning.

Prep Time: 20 min | Cook Time: 25 min | Total Time: 45 min | Servings: 6

Ingredients

2 cups cooked chicken breast, shredded
2 ripe avocados, diced
1 cup sour cream
1/2 cup finely diced white onion
1 teaspoon ground cumin
1/2 teaspoon garlic powder
1/2 teaspoon salt, plus more to taste
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
2 cups green enchilada sauce (store-bought or homemade), divided
8 medium flour tortillas (8-inch)
2 cups shredded Monterey Jack cheese, divided
1/4 cup fresh cilantro, chopped, for garnish
1 lime, cut into wedges, for serving

Instructions

Preheat oven. Heat oven to 375°F. Lightly grease a 9x13-inch baking dish with cooking spray and spread 1/2 cup of the green enchilada sauce across the bottom.
Make the filling. In a large bowl, combine the shredded chicken, diced avocado, sour cream, onion, cumin, garlic powder, salt, and black pepper. Stir gently until combined, being careful not to mash the avocado completely.
Assemble the enchiladas. Warm tortillas briefly in a dry skillet or microwave so they roll without cracking. Spoon about 1/3 cup of filling down the center of each tortilla, sprinkle with a small amount of cheese, then roll tightly and place seam-side down in the prepared baking dish.
Top and bake. Pour the remaining 1 1/2 cups of enchilada sauce evenly over the rolled enchiladas. Sprinkle the remaining shredded cheese over the top. Cover loosely with foil and bake for 20 minutes.
Finish uncovered. Remove foil and bake an additional 5 minutes, until the cheese is melted, lightly golden, and bubbling at the edges.
Garnish and serve. Let the enchiladas rest for 5 minutes before serving. Scatter fresh cilantro over the top and serve with lime wedges alongside.

Nutrition (per serving)

Chicken & Avocado Enchiladas — What I Bring When I Visit My Mother