Nacho Chimichanga: a lesson in “method parenting”

The links in this post may be affiliate links.  That means that if you click them and make a purchase, this site makes a commission.  It will have no impact on the price you pay or the experience of your purchase.

nachosYou know those moments.

You can almost see it happening like it's playing out on a TV screen in front of you, like you aren't actually experiencing a thing in that exact space in time. It's like it happens in slow mo, and then before you know it, it's over and you aren't entirely sure it ever happened at all.

The scene: A local Mexican restaurant, not our usual place, a new one that we hadn't tried before. Seemed promising, we were hungry, I love Mexican food. It's my most favorite thing.

We place our orders.

Max, a carnitas quesadilla. Jamie, carne asada nachos with all the fixings. Me, a chicken chimichanga, no guac, extra sour cream. Our usual orders regardless of the place.

Interlude: We eat chips and salsa, chat about our days.

The food arrives. The server is smart, puts Max's food down first, then mine, then Jamie's. Without a thought or a hesitation, I reach across the table and steal a nacho off Jamie's plate. One of those perfect ones, with a little bit of everything on it. I bite into it, because it's a huge chip and I can't pop the whole thing into my mouth.

Before I even realize what's happening, Jamie has also reached across the table, but he picks up my entire chimichanga and takes a giant bite out of one end.

And drops it back onto my plate.

I look at him.
I look at my dinner.
I look at him.
I look at my dinner.

And I swear to you, I almost started to cry.

Blame hormones, blame Mercury, blame it on the rain. Whatever. It was the most tragic thing, in that moment, that I had ever experienced. He grabbed my dinner and took a huge bite, and he took the best part, the crispy ends of the deep fried goodness.

I choked back my tears and got pissed instead. I put the half-eaten chip on the edge of plate, defiant, that I would not eat the rest of it. (I don't know, it made sense at the time) and proceeded to eat my dinner in silence. (Jamie did apologize, but, in his retelling, it “fell on deaf ears”)

Fast-forward several hours, and Jamie and I are getting ready for bed, and he mentions what a dick move it was to pick my dinner up and take a bite. Within moments, we're collapsed on the bed, laughing until tears roll down our cheeks. (This is the good stuff of marriage, kids)

And that's when I realized what had transpired that evening.

Method acting: a dramatic technique in which actors identify as closely as possible with the character played by correlating experiences from their personal lives to the character.

Fast-forward 9 or 10 years, or even more, and Max is on a date. He and his date go to a Mexican restaurant, or a burger place, and they each order their entrees. His date will dart a hand across the table and steal a french fry, or a nacho, and I can almost see the playback in Max's head, that one time his parents stole food off each other's plates and it made the whole dinner awkward. And he'll let the french fry be stolen with nary a glance, and we'll all live happily ever after.

And until then, the “Nacho Chimichanga Story” will remain as a reminder that you can always look back on it and laugh.

Photo: Taco salad via photopin (license)


Similar Posts

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.