QUARTER-LIFE CRISIS QUESO

GLM

My quarter-life crisis hit when I was twenty-seven. More specifically, it hit somewhere on I-10, on the way from Louisiana to Texas. I was driving with my best friend, Caitlin, who was moving from Nashville, where she had been living and practicing law for the past three years, to Sonoma, California, where she would be joining her father, also an attorney, at his practice.

As for what I’d been doing? Um… blogging? Working as an executive assistant? Going into debt?

I had no idea what I was doing with my life. Here was my beautiful, brilliant best friend—already an accomplished attorney, homeowner, and responsible caretaker of an adorable Boston terrier. I, on the other hand, couldn’t seem to keep the succulent I inherited from one of my three roommates alive. It was hard not to compare myself to her.

When she asked me to make the two-week drive with her, I figured what the hell. It would be a great bonding experience for us, and a fourteen-day vacation from worrying about what the hell I was going to do with my life. (I worried a little bit about missing my weekly quidditch match, but I figured the team would be okay drinking butterbeer without me for a couple of weeks.)

We sampled a lot of Southern cuisine along our drive, the cheaper the better. When we reached Austin, Texas (a mecca of cheap, delicious food), we found queso and chips on nearly every menu. I have to admit, at first I was a little freaked out. I loved the idea of queso dip (essentially melted cheese), but it’s typically made with uberprocessed cheese (think Velveeta), which gives it its plastic-like, easy meltability… and is, in my opinion, utterly disgusting. Seriously, it tastes like a melted-down Mattel factory. (Does that make me a snob? Probably a little. Sorry.)

At every restaurant we visited, I asked if the queso was made with processed cheese. If they told me yes, I refused to try it. I may have been clueless, but I was not unprincipled.

Finally we stopped at a little taco shack where the hostess informed me that their queso was made from real cheddar cheese, not the fake stuff. “We add a little evaporated milk and cornstarch to stabilize it, but other than that, it’s all cheese and chilies.” I was sold.

And of course, it was delicious. Spicy, creamy, and most important, authentic. If ever there was life guidance in the form of a cheese dip, this was it.

Try my take on their version on tortilla chips for ballpark-style nachos, drizzled over grilled beef and corn tortillas for Southwestified tacos, or even atop a bowl of hot chili. And the best part? It reheats like a dream.

SERVES 4 TO 6

INGREDIENTS

2 tablespoons butter

2 tablespoons cornstarch

1 (12-ounce) can evaporated milk

¼ cup cream cheese

8 ounces sharp cheddar cheese, shredded

1 (4-ounce) can chopped green chilies, or 1 fresh jalapeño, chopped

1 (15-ounce) can diced tomatoes, drained

½ teaspoon salt

Tortilla chips, for serving

DIRECTIONS

• Melt the butter in a medium saucepan over medium-high heat.

• Whisk in the cornstarch until combined and cook for 1 minute, stirring constantly.

• Add the evaporated milk and whisk until combined and smooth.

• Add the cream cheese and whisk until melted.

• Add half of the cheddar and stir until melted. Repeat with the rest of the cheddar.

• Stir in the green chilies and tomatoes until combined.

• Stir in the salt.

• Serve immediately with chips.