Southwest Roll-ups

The first hard frost. The garden gone. A quiet shift Saturday — appendicitis, a fishhook in a thumb, a college student's alcohol. The quiet was the gift.

Lourdes is 74. She is in the kitchen. She is luminous.

I made lumpia Saturday. Sixty rolls. I delivered some to Lourdes. The rest went into the freezer for the week.

I drafted a blog post on Tuesday and almost did not publish it. I published it Friday. The publishing was the practice.

I went to bed Sunday at nine. I slept for ten hours. The sleeping was the inheritance.

I drove the Glenn Highway out to Eklutna on Saturday. The mountains were the mountains. The lake was the lake. The body needed the open road. The open road did its work.

I cleaned the kitchen Sunday afternoon. I wiped the stove. I scrubbed the sink. I reorganized the spice cabinet. The cleaning was the small reset. The reset was the marker. The marker said: the week is over, the next week begins, the kitchen is ready.

The light was good Saturday morning. I sat on the porch with a cup of coffee and watched the inlet for forty minutes. The watching was the small therapy. The therapy was free.

I read a chapter of a novel before bed each night this week. The novel was about a Filipina nurse in California. The novel was good. The novel was, in some way, my own life adjacent.

I took a walk on the coastal trail Saturday. The light was good. The body was tired but moving.

I made coffee at six AM. The coffee was the start. The start was always the same.

The Filipino Community newsletter announced a fundraiser for typhoon relief in Samar. I committed to making three hundred lumpia. The number is the number. The number has always been the number. Three hundred is what I make. The math has stopped surprising me.

I had a long phone call with Dr. Reeves on Wednesday. We talked about pacing and rest and the way the body keeps a log of what it has carried. Dr. Reeves said, "Grace. The body remembers. The mind forgets. The cooking is the bridge." I wrote the line down. The line is now on a sticky note above the kitchen sink.

I taught a Saturday morning Kain Na class on basic adobo proportions for new cooks. Eleven people in the kitchen. Half of them had never cooked Filipino food before. By eleven AM the kitchen smelled the way it should smell. By noon they were all eating. The eating was the lesson landing.

The Anchorage sky was the Anchorage sky. The mountains were the mountains. The inlet was the inlet. The geography was the geography.

I took inventory of the freezer Sunday. The freezer had: twelve quarts of broth, eight pounds of adobo in vacuum bags, six pounds of sinigang base, fourteen lumpia trays at fifty rolls each, three pounds of marinated beef for caldereta, and a small bag of pandan leaves Tita Nening had sent me. The inventory was the proof of preparation. The preparation was the proof of love.

I checked email at the kitchen table while the rice cooked. There were one hundred and twenty unread messages. I closed the laptop. The unread can wait.

I made tea late at night. The tea was the small comfort. The comfort was the marker.

Lourdes called me twice this week. The first call was about a church event. The second was about a recipe variation she had remembered from her childhood. The remembering was the gift.

I made lumpia because the community needed them and because my hands needed the work — sixty rolls that Saturday, and already committed to three hundred more for the typhoon relief fundraiser. When Lourdes called the second time, about a recipe variation she remembered from childhood, I thought about how rolling anything — lumpia, these Southwest roll-ups, anything you fold and tuck and hand to someone — is an act of care that the body understands before the mind catches up. These roll-ups are not lumpia, but they live in the same spirit: make a batch, share them, freeze the rest, let the kitchen do its work.

Prep Time: 20 minutes | Cook Time: 0 minutes | Total Time: 20 minutes (plus 1 hour chilling) | Servings: 12

Ingredients

4 large flour tortillas (10-inch)
8 oz cream cheese, softened
1/2 cup sour cream
1 cup shredded cheddar cheese
1 can (4 oz) diced green chiles, drained
1/2 cup canned black beans, rinsed and drained
1/2 cup frozen corn, thawed
1/4 cup diced red bell pepper
1/4 cup sliced green onions
1 tsp cumin
1/2 tsp chili powder
1/2 tsp garlic powder
Salt and black pepper to taste

Instructions

Make the filling. In a large bowl, beat the softened cream cheese and sour cream together until smooth. Stir in the cheddar cheese, green chiles, black beans, corn, red bell pepper, and green onions.
Season. Add the cumin, chili powder, and garlic powder. Season with salt and pepper to taste. Mix until evenly combined.
Spread and roll. Lay a tortilla flat on a clean surface. Spread a generous, even layer of filling across the entire surface, leaving a 1/2-inch border at one edge. Roll tightly from the opposite edge, pressing as you go to keep the roll firm.
Wrap and chill. Wrap each roll tightly in plastic wrap. Refrigerate for at least one hour, or overnight. The chilling firms the filling and makes slicing clean.
Slice and serve. Remove plastic wrap and slice each roll into 1-inch rounds using a sharp knife. Arrange on a platter and serve with salsa or guacamole on the side.

Nutrition (per serving)

Southwest Roll-ups — The Rolls That Carry the Weight of Three Hundred