Creamy Seafood Enchiladas -- What the Lake Week Asked For

The lake was doing what the lake does this week: changing color hourly, sometimes by the minute, the way grief does. Iron gray at dawn. Steel blue by ten. Almost green by noon when the sun broke through. Pewter again by four. Black by six. I walked the lakefront with Sven on Tuesday and Wednesday and Thursday and Saturday, and the lake was different every time, and the lake was the same every time, and both things are how it works. Jakob (Anna's middle, recently graduated) has a job. He hates the job. He is figuring it out. He called me Tuesday for advice. I told him: that is what your twenties are for. The first job is supposed to be unsatisfying. The first job teaches you what you do not want. He said, "Grandma, that is not super helpful." I said, "It is the truth. Helpful is not always the same as comforting." He laughed. He hung up. He kept the job for now. He will figure it out. Lena (Anna's youngest, college freshman) is in college now. She calls me sometimes. The calls are about boys, mostly. I listen. I do not give advice. I am eighteen-year-old's grandmother. My credibility on boys is suspect at best. I tell her the kinds of things a grandmother is supposed to tell her: be careful, be brave, trust your gut, do not date the one who reminds you of someone you do not like. She thinks I am wise. I am, in fact, just old. The two get confused sometimes in the right direction. Thanksgiving is approaching. The brining starts on Tuesday. The pies start on Wednesday. The kitchen begins its annual reorganization for the bird — turkey out of the freezer to the cooler in the garage, fridge cleared for the brine cooler, the big roasting pan brought up from the basement, the carving knife sharpened, the gravy boat located (last seen on the top shelf of the pantry, where it lives all year except this one week). The kids are all coming. The house is going to be full. I am ready. I cooked Whitefish chowder (Fitzgerald week) this week. The chowder I make on November 10. Whitefish from Russ Kendall's. Potatoes, leeks, cream, dill. Eaten while the wind hits the windows. Thursday at Damiano. I brought a tray of pepparkakor — the second batch from the Christmas freezer, brought back to crispness in a low oven. They were eaten in fifteen minutes. The cookies are not the soup. The cookies are the extra. The extra is the message: you are worth the effort of cookies. Most of the world does not give the people who come to Damiano the message that they are worth the effort of cookies. The cookies are doing political work. I dreamed about Paul last night. The dream was specific: we were at the lake, in the canoe, fishing for trout. He was teaching me the right way to cast (he was always trying to teach me; I never quite got the rhythm; I caught fish anyway, by accident, with embarrassing regularity). In the dream he was patient and present and entirely himself. I woke up at 4 AM. I made coffee. I sat in the kitchen. The dream was a visit. I have learned to receive the visits without reaching for them. They come when they come. It is enough. It has to be. And on a morning like this, with the lake doing what the lake does and the dog at my feet and the bread on the counter and the kitchen warm enough to live in, it is. It is enough.

The chowder is the November 10 meal — that one belongs to the date, to the window, to Russ Kendall’s whitefish and the wind coming off the lake. But there are other nights in a week like this one, nights after the dog walks and the 4 AM coffee and the dreams that leave you sitting in the kitchen not quite ready to go back to bed, and for those nights I want something that takes a little more doing. These enchiladas are that. Seafood, cream, green chile, cheese — the kind of supper that fills the kitchen with smell and warmth and gives your hands something useful to be doing. Paul would have eaten two of them without comment, which was his highest form of praise.

Creamy Seafood Enchiladas

Prep Time: 20 minutes | Cook Time: 30 minutes | Total Time: 50 minutes | Servings: 6

Ingredients

1 lb mixed cooked seafood (shrimp, crab meat, or flaked white fish — or a combination), roughly chopped
8 flour tortillas (8-inch)
2 cups shredded Monterey Jack cheese, divided
1 can (10.5 oz) condensed cream of shrimp soup (or cream of mushroom)
1 cup sour cream
1/2 cup chicken broth
1 can (4 oz) diced green chiles, drained
1/2 cup yellow onion, finely diced
2 cloves garlic, minced
2 tablespoons unsalted butter
1 tablespoon olive oil
1/2 teaspoon cumin
Salt and black pepper to taste
Fresh cilantro or flat-leaf parsley, for garnish

Instructions

Heat the oven. Preheat oven to 350°F. Lightly grease a 9x13-inch baking dish and set aside.
Make the sauce. In a medium bowl, whisk together the condensed soup, sour cream, chicken broth, and diced green chiles until smooth. Set aside.
Cook the filling. In a large skillet over medium heat, melt the butter with the olive oil. Add the onion and cook until softened, about 3–4 minutes. Add the garlic and cumin and cook 1 minute more. Add the seafood, season with salt and pepper, and stir gently to combine. Cook just until heated through, 2–3 minutes. Remove from heat.
Combine filling and sauce. Stir half of the sauce mixture into the seafood filling along with 1 cup of the shredded cheese. Taste and adjust seasoning.
Fill and roll. Spoon a generous 1/3 cup of filling down the center of each tortilla. Roll up tightly and place seam-side down in the prepared baking dish.
Top and bake. Pour the remaining sauce evenly over the rolled enchiladas. Sprinkle with the remaining 1 cup of cheese. Bake uncovered for 25–30 minutes, until the sauce is bubbling at the edges and the cheese is lightly golden.
Rest and serve. Let the dish rest 5 minutes before serving. Garnish with fresh cilantro or parsley. Serve with a simple green salad or nothing at all.

Nutrition (per serving)

Creamy Seafood Enchiladas -- What the Lake Week Asked For