A Cooking Lesson

On Wednesday night, Steve and I were supposed to cook a quiet, relaxing dinner at home. He was going to pick me up from work, we would go to my place, and I would create some sort of homey, comforting culinary masterpiece that would satisfy both of us, body and soul.

What I didn't expect was that the heat, humidity, and general grossness that comes with living in DC would take such a toll on me. And when I say "take a toll", I mean "have a crankypants effect." I was hot. I was sweaty. And I was definitely NOT hungry.

So we got home and I draped myself in front of the air conditioning and rolled around saying things like, "it's HOT" and "I'm HOT" and "Aren't you HOT?", while poor Steve looked at me like a starving waif a la Charles Dickens. And then I got a little nutsy. I suggested that Steve cook his own dinner. This sentence struck fear into his heart. There was begging. There was pleading. There was tickling. And then I dragged my heat-struck self into the kitchen to instruct my boyfriend on how to make shrimp quesadillas, bemoaning my fate of living in the sweltering abyss of Washington DC in late May.

(It is at this point that I feel obliged to tell you that it had not even reached 90 degrees and the humidity index had not gone above 70%. I am an extremely sensitive individual.)

The playas: Leftover frozen shrimp. Corn tortillas. Half a can of black beans. One ear of corn. Shredded Mexican cheese.

The game: Defrost, peel, and coarsely chop shrimp. Using your chef's knife, scrape the corn off the cob into a large bowl. Heat oil in a nonstick pan and cook shrimp until just barely cooked through. Mix shrimp with beans and corn and seasonings (we used chili powder and cumin); set aside. Using the same pan, heat the tortillas, two at a time, until warmed through. Spoon shrimp/bean/corn mixture into tortillas; sprinkle cheese and fold. Flip. Eat.

The verdict: In Steve's words, "I thought I was going to have a really terrible dinner. But these are delicious!"

Sidenote: I even managed to overcome my sever heat exhaustion to eat some. They were in fact delicious. And then my roommate gave me a popsicle so I would stop talking about how hot it was. Did I mention I'm 4 years old?