Ok, so three words for Taco Night - A.Maz.Ing.

The whole evening was just wonderful. James and I work really well together in the kitchen. We slice and dice together, grate and mix, and he is so good at being the voice of calm when I'm on the verge of a panic attack. For example, we had a whole chicken already in the fridge, and just decided we would cook that and shred some for the tacos. Well, we stuck it in the the Aga (a really cool oven that is on all the time and makes the kitchen warm and cozy), but misjudged the length of time that was needed. Of course, in my obsessive compulsive mindset, I had timed everything down to the minute, so I had planned to be frying up corn tortillas while he was shredding, but said chicken was still pink and the rice was near finished, the table was set, and his parents were patiently waiting in the sitting room. His mom is an amazing cook, so my edginess was heightened by the desire for approval. So, while I'm getting a bit frantic that the whole thing might not work out, and that I lugged two tins of refried beans, a stack of corn tortillas, a jar of salsa, and a box of Spanish rice in my luggage for nothing, James gives me a kiss, pulls on his shoes, and promptly drives to the store to get tortilla chips/salsa to tide us all over until the chicken is done. That gesture alone was enough to give me a reality check. And a few extra minutes for the chicken. But mostly, a reality check.

In the end, we sliced off a bit of the chicken and fried it just to get everything on the table. After that, it was smooth sailing. James poured some cold beers into pint glasses and rimmed the edges with lime and salt. We placed bowls of chicken, beans, rice, cheese, lettuce, tomatoes, salsa, sour cream, guacamole, cilantro, and limes on the table and everyone just went at it. It was a hit! I had to get up and make more taco shells! I was so pleased that it worked out in the end.

And we still have a fully-cooked, leftover chicken. Too soon for enchiladas you think?