Chicken Enchilada Cups

Memorial Day. The day that is now personal — not abstract patriotism but personal patriotism, the patriotism of a woman whose son served nine months in a desert and is coming home in fourteen days. Fourteen. The number is so small I can hold it in my hand like a marble, smooth and round and mine. Fourteen days until the marble becomes a man walking through my door.

We went to the park — not Ascarate this year, because the parks are restricted, but our backyard, which Luis has transformed during the pandemic into a passable outdoor space: a grill, a folding table, lawn chairs, the Christmas lights that Diego wired (still 4.5 inches apart — Diego's interval is the one pandemic-proof constant). We ate tortas and elotes in the backyard and pretended the backyard was the park, and the pretending was good enough, because good enough is the pandemic's currency, and we are wealthy in good enough.

Sofia launched a new pandemic innovation: concha delivery subscriptions. Customers sign up for weekly concha delivery — six conchas every Saturday, delivered by Luis in the van, twelve dollars per week. She sold thirty-two subscriptions in the first week. Thirty-two households receiving our conchas every Saturday. Thirty-two front porches with a bag of Rosa's recipe waiting when the family wakes up. Sofia said: "Recurring revenue stabilizes cash flow." She is fourteen. She said "recurring revenue stabilizes cash flow." I made her conchas for breakfast and didn't charge her because she has earned a lifetime of free conchas.

I made the homecoming tamales — the first batch. Chile colorado pork, Rosa's recipe, two hundred planned, starting with fifty this week. The tamale production is meditative: soak the husks, whip the masa, spread, fill, fold, steam. Each tamale is a minute. Two hundred tamales is three hours and twenty minutes. Three hours and twenty minutes of repetitive, rhythmic, healing work. The tamales don't know about the pandemic. The tamales don't know about the deployment. The tamales know only what they have always known: spread, fill, fold, steam. The simplicity is the salvation.

The tamales are meditative — I know that now, fifty in and counting. But the tamale is a slow gift, a thing you build over days. While I wait, while I fold and steam and count down, I needed something I could put on the table now, something that carries the same chile-and-cheese comfort in a fraction of the time. These Chicken Enchilada Cups are exactly that: all the flavor of a full enchilada pan, portioned into individual little cups that each person at the folding table can hold in their own hands. Sofia counted thirty-two concha subscribers; I’m counting fourteen days. We are a family that finds meaning in numbers — and eight of these cups, hot from the oven, makes the counting feel a little sweeter.

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 20 min | Total Time: 35 min | Servings: 12 cups

Ingredients

12 small flour or corn tortillas (about 4–5 inches)
2 cups cooked chicken, shredded
1 cup red enchilada sauce, divided
1 cup shredded Mexican blend cheese, divided
1/2 cup canned black beans, rinsed and drained
1/2 cup frozen corn, thawed
1/4 cup diced yellow onion
1 teaspoon ground cumin
1/2 teaspoon garlic powder
1/2 teaspoon chili powder
Salt and black pepper to taste
Sour cream, sliced green onions, and fresh cilantro for topping

Instructions

Preheat oven. Heat your oven to 375°F (190°C). Lightly grease a standard 12-cup muffin tin.
Press tortilla cups. Warm the tortillas briefly in the microwave (about 20 seconds) so they are pliable. Press one tortilla into each muffin cup, forming a cup shape. The edges will ruffle slightly — that’s perfect.
Make the filling. In a medium bowl, combine shredded chicken, black beans, corn, diced onion, cumin, garlic powder, chili powder, and 1/2 cup of the enchilada sauce. Season with salt and pepper and stir until evenly mixed.
Fill the cups. Spoon a generous tablespoon of enchilada sauce into the bottom of each tortilla cup, then divide the chicken filling evenly among the 12 cups.
Top with cheese. Spoon the remaining enchilada sauce lightly over each filled cup, then sprinkle shredded cheese evenly over the tops.
Bake. Bake for 18–20 minutes, until the cheese is melted and bubbling and the tortilla edges are lightly golden and crisp.
Cool briefly and serve. Let the cups rest in the tin for 5 minutes before carefully lifting them out. Top with a small dollop of sour cream, sliced green onions, and fresh cilantro. Serve warm.

Nutrition (per serving)

Chicken Enchilada Cups — The Homecoming Table Starts Now