Zucchini Chicken Enchiladas

The Monday after Thanksgiving and I am still finding turkey containers in my refrigerator. This is the rhythm of Thanksgiving — you cook for two days, you eat for one, and you eat leftovers for the rest of the week, transforming turkey into soups and sandwiches and, in my case, turkey empanadas because leftover turkey was put on this earth to be stuffed into pastry dough with sofrito and olives and fried until golden.

I made the empanadas on Saturday and brought them to church on Sunday and they were gone in seven minutes. Seven minutes, mi amor. Dona Mirta tasted one and said, Carmen, these are very good. I said, Thank you, Mirta. She said, The dough is perfect. How do you get it so thin? I said, Practice. She nodded. We are becoming friends, Mirta and I. Not best friends — the pasteles incident created a scar that will take time to fade — but friends. Two Puerto Rican women in their fifties and seventies, in a church in Hartford, bonding over dough technique. This is how peace is made, mi amor. Not in conference rooms. In kitchens.

Sofia came home from school this week talking about college applications. She is applying to community college for next fall, planning to do her prerequisite courses before transferring to a nursing program. She sat at the kitchen table with her laptop and her forms and she looked so young and so determined and I wanted to wrap her in a blanket and keep her at this table forever but I did not because that is not what mothers do. Mothers let go. Mothers make the food and set the table and watch their children walk out the door and then they stand in the kitchen and cry into the sofrito and that is the deal. That has always been the deal.

Eduardo asked me if I am okay. I said I am fine. He looked at me with his Eduardo eyes — the eyes that see everything and say nothing — and he said, You are not fine. You are worried about Sofia. I said, I am not worried. I am preparing. He said, For what? I said, For the quiet. He nodded. He understands. Eduardo always understands, even when he does not say so, which is most of the time, which is fine, which is more than fine. His understanding is like his love — silent, structural, load-bearing. It holds everything up without making a sound.

Made arroz con gandules tonight. Not because it is Sunday or a holiday. Because I needed the smell of sofrito cooking in oil. Because I needed the sound of rice bubbling under the lid. Because some nights the only therapy is a pot of rice and beans and the knowledge that tomorrow I will wake up and do it all again. And I will. I always will. Until I cannot. And then someone else will. That is the chain. That is the promise.

The empanadas were already gone, the arroz con gandules was eaten down to the last grain, and still I needed to cook — because that is what I do when the quiet starts to settle in and Sofia’s college forms are still sitting on the table. Enchiladas ask the same thing of me that empanadas do: take something good, wrap it tight, give it to the people you love. This recipe is what I make when I need my hands busy and my kitchen warm, when the filling matters less than the act of filling, and when I need something bubbling in the oven to remind me that tomorrow we will all sit down together again, at least for now.

Prep Time: 20 minutes | Cook Time: 35 minutes | Total Time: 55 minutes | Servings: 6

Ingredients

2 cups cooked chicken, shredded
2 medium zucchini, diced small
1 small yellow onion, finely diced
3 cloves garlic, minced
1 can (15 oz) black beans, drained and rinsed
1 cup frozen or fresh corn kernels
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 teaspoon ground cumin
1/2 teaspoon chili powder
1/2 teaspoon smoked paprika
Salt and black pepper to taste
2 cups red enchilada sauce, divided
8 flour or corn tortillas (8-inch)
1 cup shredded Monterey Jack cheese
1 cup shredded sharp cheddar cheese
Optional garnish: sour cream, fresh cilantro, sliced avocado, lime wedges

Instructions

Preheat and prep. Heat oven to 375°F. Lightly grease a 9x13-inch baking dish and spread 1/2 cup of enchilada sauce across the bottom in an even layer.
Cook the filling. Heat olive oil in a large skillet over medium heat. Add the onion and cook 3–4 minutes until softened. Add the garlic and zucchini and cook another 5 minutes, stirring occasionally, until the zucchini is just tender. Stir in the shredded chicken, black beans, corn, cumin, chili powder, smoked paprika, salt, and pepper. Cook 2 minutes to bring everything together. Remove from heat.
Assemble the enchiladas. Lay a tortilla flat. Spoon about 1/3 cup of the filling down the center. Add a small pinch of the combined cheeses. Roll the tortilla snugly and place it seam-side down in the prepared baking dish. Repeat with remaining tortillas and filling, fitting them in a single tight row.
Top and bake. Pour the remaining enchilada sauce evenly over the assembled enchiladas. Sprinkle the rest of the shredded cheeses across the top in an even layer. Cover loosely with foil and bake for 20 minutes. Remove the foil and bake an additional 12–15 minutes until the cheese is melted, bubbling, and beginning to brown at the edges.
Rest and serve. Let the pan rest for 5 minutes before serving — this helps the enchiladas hold together when you lift them. Serve topped with sour cream, fresh cilantro, avocado slices, and a squeeze of lime if you like.

Nutrition (per serving)

Zucchini Chicken Enchiladas — Something to Wrap Tight When You’re Learning to Let Go