Turkey & Sweet Potato Enchiladas

Gluten-free turkey and sweet potato enchiladas.

This Friday is just like any other out here in the New Mexico hinterland. There were big-eared rabbits eating breakfast (nibbling spare tufts of grass). A chickadee or two in the junipers. Pink light on the distant mesas. And as far as I know, no scary crush of shoppers at the Espanola Walmart. At least I haven't heard any sirens off in the distance. Truth be told I haven't budged from my casita (and I have no plans to). Nope. It's just another day here, call it what you want. Black Friday is quiet as an empty nest. So I thought I'd share a recipe for leftover turkey and sweet potatoes- a surprisingly tasty combo.

As always, make it as mild or as spicy as your little heart desires.

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Karina's Enchiladas Win the Whole Foods Budget Recipe Challenge

Enchiladas photo courtesy Whole Foods Market © 2008

I am very excited to announce that my recipe for Sweet Potato Black Bean Enchiladas has won the Whole Foods Market Budget Recipe Challenge. Thank you all who voted for the recipe- and highlighted this gluten-free vegetarian entry. I am overwhelmed by the support. Over 1,300 of you took the time to vote! And I appreciate it with all my heart.

Congrats to the other talented finalists who participated with their mouthwatering array of unique dishes- Jaden of Steamy Kitchen, Rachel of Coconut & Lime, Hannah of Bittersweet, Michael of Cooking for Engineers and of Katy of Sugar Laws. Your recipes rocked.

To celebrate I am going to give away:

Five $25 Whole Foods Market Gift Cards!

To participate in this random drawing leave a comment below.


Five lucky winners will be picked out of hat
by my favorite little burro, Sparky
on Friday October 31st.


Good luck!

Contest is closed- Sparky picked the winners-

see the winners here.

Here is the winning recipe on Gluten-Free Goddess:

Sweet Potato Black Bean Enchiladas

Visit the Whole Foods Market Blog

Green Chile Tortilla Bake Recipe

A gluten-free tortilla casserole with cream cheese and green chiles. Si.

Planted on the coast of Cape Cod for many years (forever, it seemed on gloomy January days) I daydreamed about fire roasted chiles. The smoky pepper sweetness that flirted with your senses as you walked in Santa Fe. The luxury of buying bags of freshly roasted chiles by the roadside- still warm,  soft as butter, and charred. In fact, I may have moved here for the chiles alone.

That's entirely possible.

I may have been so drop dead in love with chiles when we bought this casita that I didn't notice I'd be stuck out in the desert with so few neighbors. No bookstore, no cafe- no movie theater. What was I thinking? Only my analyst knows for sure (if she remembers me; it's been years since Jungian analysis).

Along with dreaming of Val Kilmer (not the rock scrambling Thunderheart Val, the expanding, voluptuous new Mega Val- and why he showed up in my dream, I've no clue- better ask my analyst) I've been craving green chile this month like mad as we approach our second anniversary of moving to New Mexico. And wouldn't you know it! I'm out of last year's roadside bags of chiles. They're long gone (my freezer is annoyingly, shall we say, petite). Until roasting season starts I have to settle with buying frozen Bueno chiles. And they're not bad, exactly. They are pretty dang good.

Yet, as I sit and crave and daydream, the big question becomes: Do I really still want to be here in August when chile roasting begins? Is my chile love a devoted, true love, or simply an infatuation? A passing fancy? Will your intrepid dusty goddess remain here in the coyote hills of O'Keeffe country or soon be walking Venice Beach in her Rocket Dogs?

I tell myself, just breathe. There are Bueno chiles to defrost.

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Vegetarian Enchiladas Griegos with Spinach + Feta

Rain clouds above the mesa, toward Abiquiu.

Today is our anniversary. It is raining here in the high desert. Cloud cover blankets the mesa in a soft dove gray that is flirting with lavender. We married in this weather twelve years ago, sprinting through Cape Cod wind and mist to reach the antique door of our local Justice of the Peace without getting wet, the four of us stepping over the threshold to become a family.

Me and my three men- my love and my two sons.

I look at the photographs taken by the Justice's husband, our single witness. We are so young, all of us. Arms linking. There is palpable tenderness.

The boys are now men. They stand taller than my five-foot-eight. My husband and I, well. We are wiser. And weathered. And we remain expectant. This has been a year of enormous change.

We have sold most of our belongings (except books and paintings) and moved west. From the eastern shore to the high desert. From what was predictable and safe to what is unknown. What is possible. What might be.

After thirteen years together we are still exploring, still traveling, still on our way to somewhere. We are painting less and writing more. We are listening to each other with deeper affection, having shed many old expectations. We have come through a lot this year, on many levels. And so have our sons. Their own lives have not stood still. They too have faced changes and embraced risk.

I look out the window of my studio and exhale. I say a silent prayer for twelve more years. And twelve more years.

And twelve more years.

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