Buenos Días

 

Here’s a little-known fact about me: I make the best breakfast burrito in Georgia. I know that I don’t know everyone in Georgia, so I can’t really say with certainty, but—I MAKE THE BEST BREAKFAST BURRITO IN GEORGIA. Maybe even in the southeast. Also, Chicago.

Most people don’t know this about me because I only make breakfast burritos for certain people and at certain times. Like when I want to impress men’s family members with my cooking skills. Or when I want to spoil loved ones on their birthdays with unforgettable, perfectly seasoned deliciousness. Or on Sundays when I invite people over for brunch and want to appear to be a fully functioning adult.

As a teenager, I had a friend, Valerie, who was of Mexican ethnicity. When I would sleep over at her house, I always helped her make breakfast in the morning, and she taught me how to make what is the best breakfast burrito you’ve ever put in your mouth. Seriously, it’s the best. The only reason I don’t say that I make the best breakfast burrito in the United States is because Valerie makes the best ones. And her mom. And her sisters. Even her brother. But then me. They taught me everything I know. Aside from her family, I also make the best Mexican hot chocolate and huevos rancheros.

Guys… I hope all of this bragging didn’t mistakenly lead you to believe that I was going to share Valerie’s recipe with you. Because…no. It’s mine. I can’t give up the “best breakfast burrito in certain parts of the U.S.” throne. I can’t and I shan’t. If you did think that, though, thank you so much for believing that I’m capable of such selflessness. It’s been a while since someone has had that level of faith in me. Anyway, you guys have your fancy lasagnas and family mac and cheese recipes. LET ME HAVE THIS!

It ain’t Valerie’s, but this recipe from Chowhound will get you very close. Enjoy! And only make it for those who deserve it!

Sweaty Sunday

For the past two and a half weeks, I’ve worked an absurd amount of hours and have slept a fraction of the time a normal, functioning person is supposed to sleep. This weekend I was finally able to catch up on sweet, sweet sleep. Also on Chicago P.D. and Law & Order SVU. And maayybeee The Kardashians.

The entire time I was working, I kept thinking to myself how much easier would this be if I had been eating spinach instead of chips or continued running three miles a day like I used to? I mean, four hours of sleep is not enough no matter how you slice it, but I probably wouldn’t have wanted to kill myself as often if I had gone into the last two weeks in tip-top shape.

Sooooo…

In between (beautiful) sleep and moments of consciousness yesterday, I reaffirmed my commitment to fitness and health and looking good in my leather leggings. Then this morning came and I wanted to cry when my alarm went off. How is it that I can be so motivated and firm one moment, then eight hours later I have to be dragged out of bed by my ankles? Le sigh.

I did manage to keep my promise to myself, though, and I went to a Pilates class this morning and played tennis afterward. It wasn’t as satisfying as lying in bed and watching YouTube videos, but…what is?