Chilaquiles with Bacon

I made the roast chicken from Helen's 1987 notebook and then I wrote about it. That's how the post came to be. The chicken first: roasted at a higher temperature than I usually do, the simple herb butter she'd written "under the skin — don't forget this part," the pan with just a little white wine and the herbs and nothing else. It was excellent. More direct than my usual version. Less baroque. The version of someone who hadn't yet had thirty years to complicate things.

And then I wrote a post for the blog about cooking a roast chicken for one person. About how you learn to cook in portions that used to be made for two, or four, or however many your table used to hold. About the specific experience of a bird that serves six being roasted for one, and what that means and what you do with the leftovers and whether it's sad or whether it's just dinner. About Helen's notebook. About finding her early cooking self in the marginal notes. About the roast chicken as the thing I make when I want to feel like I know what I'm doing in a kitchen that's still partly hers.

The post spread. More than anything I've written: shared fourteen thousand times in a week, which I know because the blog platform tells me. Messages from widows and widowers in their hundreds, messages from people who cook alone by choice or by circumstance, messages from people who still cook for six and were moved by the ones who don't. I've been reading them all week. I've been writing back. There is a community here that I didn't know existed and it found me through a roast chicken.

The roast chicken post asked a question I didn’t answer directly: what do you do with the leftovers? The honest answer, the morning after I’d roasted Helen’s bird and before the messages started arriving, was that I made this — a skillet of chilaquiles with bacon, the kind of breakfast that uses what’s already in the kitchen and asks nothing of you except that you show up and eat it. There is something steadying about a hot pan and a simple set of ingredients when the week has become unexpectedly large. This is what I made. This is what I’d make again.

Prep Time: 10 minutes | Cook Time: 20 minutes | Total Time: 30 minutes | Servings: 2

Ingredients

6 strips thick-cut bacon
4 corn tortillas, cut into rough quarters (or 2 cups sturdy tortilla chips)
1 cup red salsa (store-bought or homemade)
1/4 cup low-sodium chicken broth
4 large eggs
1/2 cup shredded Monterey Jack or Mexican cheese blend
1/4 small red onion, thinly sliced
1/4 cup sour cream
Small handful fresh cilantro leaves
1 tablespoon vegetable oil (if frying tortillas)
Salt and black pepper to taste

Instructions

Cook the bacon. Lay the bacon strips in a large skillet over medium heat. Cook, turning once, until crisp, about 8 minutes. Transfer to a paper-towel-lined plate and pour off all but 1 tablespoon of the drippings. When cool enough to handle, break the bacon into rough pieces.
Crisp the tortillas. If using raw tortillas, add the vegetable oil to the skillet with the reserved drippings over medium-high heat. Add the tortilla pieces in a single layer and fry, turning once, until lightly golden and just beginning to crisp, 3 to 4 minutes. (If using chips, skip this step and add them directly in the next step.)
Build the base. Reduce heat to medium. Pour the salsa and broth into the skillet over the tortillas. Stir gently to coat. Let the mixture simmer for 2 to 3 minutes, until the tortillas have softened slightly but still hold their shape. Taste and season with salt and pepper.
Add the eggs. Use a spoon to make 4 small wells in the tortilla mixture. Crack one egg into each well. Cover the skillet with a lid and cook until the whites are set but the yolks are still runny, about 4 to 5 minutes. Cook 1 to 2 minutes longer if you prefer firm yolks.
Finish and serve. Scatter the shredded cheese over the top and replace the lid for 30 seconds to melt. Remove from heat. Distribute the bacon pieces and sliced red onion across the skillet. Dollop the sour cream in small spoonfuls and scatter the cilantro over everything. Serve directly from the pan.

Nutrition (per serving)

Chilaquiles with Bacon — What You Do With What’s Left