Chicken Quesadillas

January 2023. The program is in a different place than it was when I arrived. It's self-sustaining now — players recruit for us by their example, coaches stay because the culture is good, the school administration trusts us because we've earned it. I used to have to fight for things. Now I have to be careful not to become comfortable with having them. Comfort is where ambition goes to retire.

Diego's recruitment is moving fast. Colorado offered a scholarship last week — a full ride, which we expected. Colorado State called on Monday. A program from the Pac-12 called on Wednesday. I have been through recruitment from the other side dozens of times; I've never been through it from this side. The experience of being a coach's father during a top recruitment is specific and requires specific discipline. I recuse myself from conversations where my professional assessment of my son might shade the process. I let him and Lisa have those conversations. I am available for the ones where they need me. I am trying not to need to be needed.

Six years sober this month. The marker lands differently each year depending on what year I've had. This year it lands with a specific weight: Diego is going to college. Sofia is running in state-qualifying competitions. The twins are nine years old and Marco reads chapter books and Elena writes poems that make teachers cry. All of this happened in the years after the drinking stopped. The correlation is not a coincidence. It is the whole story.

Tamales in January — a special batch, not Christmas, just because. The twins wanted to help. We made a short afternoon of it, just the three of us. It was not nineteen dozen. It was four dozen, folded imperfectly, full of intention. Every batch I make builds on the one before. The technique is cumulative. So is everything else.

The tamales were the twins’ idea, and the quesadillas came next — a follow-up afternoon, same energy, lower stakes. When Marco and Elena are in the kitchen with me, I think about cumulative things: how many times I’ve stood at this counter, how different those hours feel now than they did seven years ago, how much of what I’m passing down isn’t in any recipe but in the fact of showing up. Quesadillas are honest food — fast, warm, something the kids can actually help assemble — and on a January afternoon when six years felt both enormous and quiet, honest was exactly right.

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 20 min | Total Time: 35 min | Servings: 4

Ingredients

2 large boneless, skinless chicken breasts (about 1 lb)
1 teaspoon chili powder
1/2 teaspoon cumin
1/2 teaspoon garlic powder
1/4 teaspoon smoked paprika
Salt and black pepper to taste
1 tablespoon olive oil
4 large flour tortillas (10-inch)
1 1/2 cups shredded Mexican blend cheese
1/2 cup canned black beans, drained and rinsed
1/4 cup diced red onion
1/4 cup diced green bell pepper
Sour cream, salsa, and guacamole for serving

Instructions

Season the chicken. Pat chicken breasts dry and coat evenly with chili powder, cumin, garlic powder, smoked paprika, salt, and pepper.
Cook the chicken. Heat olive oil in a skillet over medium-high heat. Add chicken and cook 6—7 minutes per side until cooked through (internal temperature 165°F). Transfer to a cutting board and let rest 5 minutes, then slice or shred into bite-size pieces.
Assemble the quesadillas. Lay a tortilla flat. Spread a thin layer of cheese over one half, then add a portion of chicken, black beans, red onion, and bell pepper. Top with a little more cheese and fold the tortilla over to close.
Cook the quesadillas. Wipe out the skillet and return it to medium heat. Cook each folded quesadilla 2—3 minutes per side, pressing gently with a spatula, until golden and crisp and the cheese is fully melted.
Rest and slice. Let each quesadilla sit for 1 minute before cutting into wedges with a sharp knife or pizza cutter. This helps the filling set so it doesn’t slide.
Serve. Arrange wedges on a plate alongside sour cream, salsa, and guacamole. Serve warm.

Nutrition (per serving)

Chicken Quesadillas — The Batch We Made Just Because