EATING MY WORDS

Contrary to popular belief, I love being proved wrong. I admit I was overly adamant about my resistance to brunch as being a legitimately trendy/awesome thing. Although I still stand by that opinion, I also concede that sometimes I end up craving that particular meal with a strange ferocity. This was one of those days. I woke up thinking, migas!! My man calls them chilaquiles, although I guess we are both right.

I made tortilla chips from scratch, by frying triangles of blue corn tortillas in an inch of vegetable oil, and then dousing in salt and lime juice in honor of my favorite secret snack. I whipped up some guacamole — using avocado, diced red onion, hot sauce, lime juice, cilantro, and liberal amounts of salt and pepper — and learned that a pastry cutter gives guacamole the most perfect texture ever. I know plenty of San Diego people who insist the authentic way of preparing guacamole is using lemon juice, but I prefer lime’s tanginess.

We fried up some breakfast potatoes, using tiny cubes of potato coated in smoked paprika, cumin, Mexican oregano, and chili powder, slowly frying in butter until crispy and tender. (So good in tacos the next day). And finally, the migas themselves — butter, fried onions, garlic, black beans and corn folded into soft scrambled eggs, bits of tortilla chips mixed in, then finished in the oven. Our migas gets topped with crumbles of soft cotija cheese, cilantro confetti, and thick wedges of lime. All finished off with a bottle of Mexican coke, of course. Hello brunch, let’s be friends!