Southwestern Salad

Late October. Week eight. We won twenty-four to seventeen against a team that played us tough for three quarters and ran out of gas in the fourth. Diego had two catches and a TD. Marcus had one TD pass and a long run. Daquan had a fumble recovery. The defense, despite giving up a long touchdown in the third quarter, held the line through the fourth and stopped a drive at our six-yard line on a fourth-and-two. The win clinched the conference title for us. We are the conference champions for the first time in this program's history under my tenure. The kids did not get to celebrate it on the field, because the conference title is a paper thing — a banner that goes up in the gym, a sentence in the program for the playoff games — but the AD met us at the locker room and said, "Boys, you just won the conference. Wear it. Carry it. Use it." The boys whooped. They earned the whooping. They have not earned the bigger whoop yet. That is in November.

Saturday I made red chile enchiladas. The full production. I made my own red chile sauce from dried New Mexico red chiles I had brought back from Las Cruces in September. I steeped the chiles in hot water, blended them with garlic and oregano and salt, simmered the puree for thirty minutes with a little chicken broth, strained it through a fine mesh sieve, and ended up with a sauce that looked like blood and tasted like home. The enchiladas were stacked, of course, with shredded chicken, white onion, sharp cheddar, and a fried egg on top. We had the family over plus Lisa's sister Carrie and her husband Tom and their two kids. Twelve at the table. Diego in particular was hungry — he ate three plates of stacked enchiladas — and the rest of us did our part with the meal.

The conversation around the table was about Lisa's dad. Carrie and Lisa had been talking on the phone all week. The plan for November 2 is becoming clearer. We are going to drive down — me, Lisa, Carrie, Tom — and we are going to sit with Lisa's dad in his living room and we are going to walk him through the options. The lead option is a continuing-care facility about ten minutes from his current house — they have an independent-living apartment available, transportation, meals if he wants them, social activities, on-site medical. He does not want to leave his house. He has not wanted to leave his house since 2003 when Lisa's mother first got sick. We are going to ask him to leave his house. He is going to push back. We have a plan for the pushback. The plan is patience and repetition and the truth. He has fallen. He is going to fall again. The fall is going to be worse if he is alone. The conversation is the conversation we have to have.

Tom asked me at the table whether I was nervous about the playoffs. I said, "Nervous is the wrong word." He said, "What is the right word." I said, "Awake. I am awake. The next four weeks are going to either be a championship run or a thing I will spend the rest of my career trying to do better. I am awake to both possibilities." Tom is a software guy. He nodded. He said, "I get it. We have launches like that. The night before, you are not nervous. You are awake. Same difference."

Lisa's sister Carrie is one of the people in my life who I have come to deeply respect over the twenty years I have known her. She is six years younger than Lisa. She is a high school guidance counselor in Highlands Ranch. She has two kids — a college sophomore and a high school junior. She and Lisa talk on the phone every other day, every day if it is a hard day. Their bond got deeper after their mother died ten years ago, when their father started to lean harder on Lisa, and Carrie picked up the slack on the local stuff while Lisa absorbed the medical and emotional logistics. Carrie has been a quiet, steady, reliable presence in our marriage and in our extended family. I do not say it to her enough. I told her Saturday night, when she and Tom were leaving, "Carrie, I am grateful for you." She said, "Carlos, you have said weirder things. I will take that one." She hugged me. They drove home.

Sunday morning I woke up at five and went to the field. I cannot help it. I tried to take Sunday off. I made it five hours into the morning before the urge to go to the office overcame me. I sat in the office and watched film for four hours. I watched our next opponent — week nine, a 5A team that was 6-2 and had a senior QB who was on the radar of two SEC programs. I watched their last four games. I started seeing things. The cornerbacks were over-aggressive on out routes. The safety was deep on the third-and-medium. The line was vulnerable to a pull and lead. I started writing on the whiteboard. By noon I had a plan that Mike Reyes and I would refine over the next two days. I came home at two. Lisa was on the patio reading. She said, "You went to the office." I said, "I went to the office." She said, "I knew you would." I said, "I knew you knew." She laughed. She handed me a sandwich she had made me. The road bends. Feed your people. The game is won at the table. Even when I am supposed to be resting.

The enchiladas were the centerpiece, but a table of twelve needs more than a centerpiece — it needs something bright and crisp to cut through all that rich red chile and melted cheddar. The Southwestern Salad was exactly that: the cool, colorful counter-punch to everything warm and heavy on the table. On a Saturday that was about carrying something — a conference title, a family conversation we’d been building toward, a season still in progress — it felt right to put something on the table that reminded everyone to keep their eyes open and their plates full.

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 0 min | Total Time: 15 min | Servings: 6

Ingredients

1 large head romaine lettuce, chopped
1 can (15 oz) black beans, drained and rinsed
1 cup frozen corn, thawed (or fresh roasted corn)
1 cup cherry tomatoes, halved
1 red bell pepper, diced
1/2 red onion, thinly sliced
1 avocado, diced
1/2 cup shredded sharp cheddar cheese
1/4 cup fresh cilantro, roughly chopped
1 lime, cut into wedges
3 tablespoons olive oil
2 tablespoons fresh lime juice
1 teaspoon ground cumin
1/2 teaspoon chili powder
1/2 teaspoon garlic powder
Salt and black pepper to taste

Instructions

Make the dressing. In a small bowl, whisk together olive oil, lime juice, cumin, chili powder, garlic powder, salt, and black pepper until well combined. Taste and adjust seasoning as needed.
Build the base. Add chopped romaine to a large serving bowl. Layer the black beans, corn, cherry tomatoes, red bell pepper, and red onion evenly over the lettuce.
Add the finishing ingredients. Scatter the diced avocado, shredded cheddar, and fresh cilantro over the top.
Dress and toss. Drizzle the dressing over the salad just before serving. Toss gently to coat, keeping the avocado pieces intact as much as possible.
Serve. Plate immediately with lime wedges on the side for anyone who wants an extra squeeze of brightness.

Nutrition (per serving)

Southwestern Salad — The Bright Side of a Championship Table