Green Chile Chicken Enchilada Stack

Diego Miguel Rivera was born on Tuesday, August 15, 2017, at 4:47 PM at Banner Desert Medical Center in Mesa, Arizona. Eight pounds, two ounces. Twenty-one inches long. Screaming from the moment he entered the world, as if he had things to say and had been waiting thirty-nine weeks to say them.

Here is how it happened. Jessica woke me at 3 AM on Tuesday — not with words but with a grip on my arm that said everything words couldn't. "It's time," she said. Her voice was calm. Her eyes were not. I was out of bed in four seconds, dressed in six, had the hospital bag in the car in eight. I called my mom. Elena answered on the first ring because she'd been sleeping with her phone next to her head for two weeks. "Viene el bebé," I said. She said "I'm coming" and hung up. Fifteen minutes later she was at our door, in her robe, with a bag of snacks for Sofia, who was still asleep and would wake up to find Abuela instead of Mama and Dada.

The drive to Banner was twelve minutes. I know because I timed it. Jessica had a contraction in the car and grabbed the door handle and made a sound I'd never heard from her — low, guttural, animal. I drove faster. Not recklessly — I'm a firefighter, I've seen what reckless driving does — but with purpose. Every red light felt like an injustice.

We got to the hospital at 3:45. Jessica was already six centimeters. The doctor said "you're fast" and Jessica said "I know" and then couldn't talk because the contractions were coming every three minutes. I held her hand. I looked at her face, not at the monitors, not at the doctor, not at anything except the woman who was doing the hardest work a human body can do. Roberto's advice played in my head on loop: look at your wife, hold her hand, don't faint.

I didn't faint. I held her hand through six hours of labor. I held it when the epidural went in. I held it when the pushing started. I held it when the doctor said "one more" and Jessica pushed with everything she had and Diego came out screaming — red-faced, furious, alive. The doctor put him on Jessica's chest and she looked at me and said "Marcus, look at him" and I looked at my son for the first time.

He had my eyes. Dark brown, wide open, already taking in the world. He had Jessica's chin — the stubborn one, the one that means he'll never back down from anything. His fingers were impossibly small, curled into fists, like he was ready to fight. I cut the cord. My hands were shaking. The nurse said "good job, Dad" and I thought: Dad. I'm a dad again. I have a son.

I called Roberto from the hallway while Jessica rested and Diego was being cleaned. My dad answered and I said "he's here" and my voice broke on the second word. Roberto said "how is he?" I said "perfect." Roberto said "how is Jessica?" I said "perfect." Roberto said "how are you?" I said "I don't know" and he laughed — the full, deep Roberto laugh that I hear maybe twice a year — and he said "that's how it's supposed to feel, mijo. That's exactly how it's supposed to feel."

Elena brought Sofia to the hospital that evening. Sofia walked into the room and saw Jessica in the bed and the baby in the bassinet and stopped. She stood in the doorway and looked at Diego with the seriousness of a child encountering something she can't fully comprehend. Then she walked to the bassinet and looked in and said, very quietly, "he's small." I picked her up so she could see better and she reached in and touched his hand — one tiny finger on his tiny fist — and he gripped it. He gripped her finger and held on. Sofia looked at me with wide eyes and said "Daddy, he's holding me" and I said "yeah, baby. He's holding you."

I didn't cook anything this week. For the first time in as long as I can remember, I didn't cook. I didn't need to. The freezer meals were there. My mom brought food. Orozco's wife, Maria, dropped off a casserole. The neighborhood sent meals. When you have a baby, the world feeds you, and you let it, because for once, you're too full of something else to be hungry.

I didn’t make this recipe the week Diego was born — Maria Orozco did, or something close to it, and I ate it standing at the kitchen counter at midnight while Jessica slept and the baby made small, impossible sounds from the bassinet. It was the kind of food that doesn’t ask anything of you, that just holds you up while you’re too overwhelmed to do anything but accept it. When I finally came back to the kitchen a few weeks later, this Green Chile Chicken Enchilada Stack was the first thing I put together for the freezer, because now I understood: you make it for other people, for the next family in the neighborhood whose world just cracked open with something beautiful and terrifying, so they have something waiting when they can’t imagine standing over a stove.

Prep Time: 20 minutes | Cook Time: 40 minutes | Total Time: 1 hour | Servings: 8

Ingredients

3 cups shredded cooked chicken (rotisserie works perfectly)
2 cans (10 oz each) green enchilada sauce, divided
2 cans (4 oz each) diced green chiles, drained
1 can (15 oz) black beans, drained and rinsed
1 cup frozen corn, thawed
1 cup sour cream
1 teaspoon ground cumin
1/2 teaspoon garlic powder
1/2 teaspoon onion powder
1/4 teaspoon smoked paprika
Salt and black pepper to taste
12 corn tortillas (6-inch)
3 cups shredded Monterey Jack cheese, divided
1/2 cup shredded sharp cheddar cheese
Fresh cilantro, sliced green onions, and sour cream for serving

Instructions

Preheat and prep. Preheat your oven to 375°F. Lightly grease a 9x13-inch baking dish. Pour 1/2 cup of the green enchilada sauce into the bottom of the dish and spread it evenly to coat.
Mix the filling. In a large bowl, combine the shredded chicken, diced green chiles, black beans, corn, sour cream, cumin, garlic powder, onion powder, and smoked paprika. Season with salt and pepper. Stir until everything is well combined.
Layer the first tortilla round. Arrange 4 corn tortillas in an even layer over the sauce in the baking dish, overlapping as needed to cover the bottom. Spread half of the chicken filling over the tortillas, then pour 1/2 cup enchilada sauce over the filling, and sprinkle with 1 cup of Monterey Jack cheese.
Add the second layer. Lay another 4 tortillas over the cheese layer. Spread the remaining chicken filling evenly, pour another 1/2 cup enchilada sauce over it, and sprinkle with another 1 cup of Monterey Jack cheese.
Finish with the top layer. Place the final 4 tortillas over the top. Pour the remaining enchilada sauce evenly over everything. Sprinkle the remaining 1 cup of Monterey Jack and the 1/2 cup of sharp cheddar across the top.
Bake covered. Cover the dish tightly with aluminum foil and bake for 25 minutes, until the filling is heated through and bubbling at the edges.
Bake uncovered. Remove the foil and bake for an additional 12–15 minutes, until the cheese is melted, golden, and slightly blistered in spots.
Rest and serve. Let the stack rest for 10 minutes before cutting — this helps it hold together when you slice it. Serve topped with fresh cilantro, sliced green onions, and a dollop of sour cream.
To freeze. Assemble the full stack, cover tightly with a layer of plastic wrap and then foil, and freeze for up to 3 months. Thaw overnight in the refrigerator, then bake covered at 375°F for 35 minutes, uncover, and bake 15 more minutes until bubbly and golden.

Nutrition (per serving)

Green Chile Chicken Enchilada Stack — The Casserole That Fed Us When We Couldn't Feed Ourselves