Holy Enchilada (11 page)

I ask you, how in the world would any nine-year-old in his right mind know a thing like that? Even more mysterious is, why would he care?

“In Japan, we call horseradish wasabi and put it on our sushi,” said Mr. Morimoto.

“Wasabi kicks butt,” Yoshi said. “It is very spicy. It clears your nose.”

“We know about that, don't we, Hank?” It was none other than Lizard Woman Emily, who had followed Robert into the room. “Hank was once personally attacked by a small pile of wasabi in a Japanese restaurant. He put up a good fight, though.”

That was a decent thing for Emily to say. She could have told everyone that my nose had almost left my face, permanently looking for a sink filled with cold water—which was closer to the truth.

Nick McKelty can't stand it when anyone else gets a compliment of any kind. He always has to hog the attention for himself.

“That's nothing,” he said, pulling himself up to his full humongous height. “Once, I ate the hottest chili pepper in the world. They say even a lick of it can kill you, but I chomped down ten of them, just like that.”

“Right,” Yoshi said. “And my name is Bernice.”

Frankie reached out and gave Yoshi a high five.

“Way to go, Yosh Man,” he said.

“Who is this Bernice?” asked Principal Love. “And why is everyone always talking about her?”

In case you hadn't noticed, Principal Love isn't too strong in the sense of humor department. Maybe he and Ms. Adolf are related.

“Many Japanese people enjoy spicy food,” said Mr. Morimoto. “Personally, I find the spicier, the better.”

I looked at Frankie and Ashley, and they looked back at me.

“Okay, Mr. M.,” Frankie said. “If you're such a spice fan, have we got something for you.”

The man said he liked spicy, and spicy was already on his plate.

“Dig right in to that enchilada,” I said. “We made it special for your taste buds.”

Mr. Morimoto popped the first bite of enchilada into his mouth. He was quiet for a minute. Then his eyes started to tear up. His nose began to run. He took a handkerchief out of his pocket and blew his nose.

“Hank, may I have some water, please?” he said in a raspy voice.

Mr. Morimoto took a sip of the water I brought him.

“This enchilada has a great deal of—I don't know how to say it in English,” he said. He turned to Yoshi and said something in Japanese. Yoshi nodded.

“My father says this enchilada has a great deal of zing,” Yoshi said.

“Is that good?” Principal Love asked.

“It's very good,” Yoshi said. “Zing kicks butt.”

I thought Principal Love was going to fall over on his face and crush the Statue of Liberty to bits. If one of us had said the words “kick butt” to him, he would have thrown us in detention for a week. But Yoshi could get away with it. What was Principal Love going to do? You don't put a guest from a faraway country into detention. That would be very rude, multi-culturally speaking.

Mr. Morimoto ate the whole enchilada. He drank a lot of water, too, and blew his nose after every bite. He ate two more enchiladas after that one. We had to get him an entire box of Kleenex.

“Thank you for an excellent meal,” he said when he was finished. “That was most delicious.”

“Ikeru,”
Frankie said. “We had fun making it.”

“Yeah, you can see it all on the video we made,” Ashley said.

“I promise that Yoshi and I will play it for the children in my school,” Mr. Morimoto said.

“They'll like the iguana part,” Ashley said. “The lizard's got talent.”

“Did you hear that, Robert?” Emily said. “Katherine's going to be an international TV star.”

“Let's tell her all about it after school,” Robert said.

I made a mental note to be sure to be really busy after school.

THAT NIGHT, EVERYONE CAME OVER to our apartment for a party. As a way to say thank you, Yoshi gave me his silver sneakers, the ones that looked like they flew in from another galaxy. They were about three sizes too big, but I didn't care. Even if they were a little on the floppy side, they were still the coolest shoes I've ever seen. I used the old stuff-a-pair-of-socks-in-the-toe trick, and they were as good as mine.

I gave Yoshi my Mets sweatshirt to take back to Japan, although Frankie tried to get him to take his stinking Yankees sweatshirt instead. Can you believe that? Yoshi gave Frankie his Japanese rap CD. Frankie taught Yoshi the magic trick where you pull a nickel out of someone's ear.

“But we don't have nickels in Japan,” Yoshi said.

“It will work with a yen, too, dude,” Frankie said. “It's a very multi-cultural trick.”

Ashley gave Yoshi a button she made that said
ikeru
in turquoise and yellow rhinestones. Yoshi gave her his chopsticks that had slivers of sparkly mother-of-pearl at the tips. He said it was okay if she wanted to add a few pink rhinestones of her own.

My mom cooked what she considered to be a typical American dinner, hamburgers and fries. Except that there was no meat, nothing fried—and, by the way, no taste either. Fortunately, we had all eaten so much at the Multi-Cultural Day Lunch that we weren't hungry. We offered Cheerio the leftovers, but he took one whiff, ran into the kitchen, and hid in the cupboard with the pasta pots. He must have learned that from Katherine. She was in Emily's room, going over her TV career plans with Robert and Emily. By the way, they asked Ashley if she wanted to be Katherine's manager, and she's considering it.

“Feel free to use the bathroom,” my mom said to Mr. Morimoto about a thousand times during the evening. She was really happy when he finally did feel free to use it to wash his hands. And when he told her he thought the pagodas on the wallpaper were beautiful, I thought she was going to kiss him. Luckily, she kissed my dad instead, which was a good move on her part.

Speaking of my dad, I hadn't seen him that happy since he came in third in the tri-state crossword puzzle tournament in Jersey City. He showed Mr. Morimoto his mechanical pencil collection, of course. My dad has gotten used to people throwing a quick eyeball on his m.p.'s and then changing the subject as fast as they can. Most people have a limited interest in mechanical pencils and the thickness of the lead. You can't blame them. That's just the way it is.

But it turns out that Mr. Morimoto has a collection of floatie pens—those ballpoint pens that have water inside and little objects like boats and palm trees that float up and down in the bluish liquid. When my dad heard that, the two of them became instant soul brothers. They blabbed about pens and pencils way longer than any two people ever have on the face of this planet.

The best part of the night was when Papa Pete came over, because he brought a fresh batch of his garlic dill pickles. That is our favorite snack in the whole world. Papa Pete and I always go out on our balcony and munch on pickles as we watch the moon come up and move across the New York City sky. Trust me, life in my city doesn't get any better than that.

“Would you gentlemen like to join us on the balcony for a pickle?” Papa Pete asked Yoshi and his dad, after my friends had left to go back to their apartments.

“It is my honor,” said Mr. Morimoto, bowing.

“Mine, too,
ojiisan,”
Yoshi said.

We climbed out onto the balcony. It was a perfect spring night, just cold enough to make your nose turn red. You could smell the city—a little bit of pizza, a little bit of city traffic, and a dash of roasted peanuts.

Papa Pete reached into the plastic bag, pulled out a nice crunchy pickle, and handed it to Mr. Morimoto, using a piece of waxed paper the way we do at our deli.

“Enjoy,” he said.

“My teacher said you wouldn't like these,” I told Mr. Morimoto.

“Your teacher doesn't like Mexican food, either,” Mr. Morimoto answered.

As he took his first bite of the pickle, it snapped off and crunched between his teeth. That's how you can tell when they're really fresh.

“And here's one for my new grandkid,” Papa Pete said, giving Yoshi a pickle and a pinch on the cheek at the same time.

Snap! The pickle crunched between his teeth, too, as he bit into it.

Papa Pete and I reached into the bag and each grabbed a pickle for ourselves.

“These are delicious,” Mr. Morimoto said. “I see where Hank gets his ability to cook.”

“So the enchiladas turned out good?” Papa Pete asked.

“Very, very good,” said Mr. Morimoto.

“Did they have enough zing?” Papa Pete asked.

“Oh, more than enough,” I answered.

Yoshi smiled at me. We both knew we were going to remember those enchiladas for a long time.

Then we were quiet. Just the four of us crunching away, watching the moon come up low and orange in the New York City sky.

I DON'T MIND TELLING YOU, it was hard to say good-bye. I had only known Yoshi and his dad for two days, but by the time they left, it felt like we were old friends.

Yoshi promised to write letters. I told him I wasn't so good at letter writing, but I would send videos.

The next day at school, Mr. Morimoto came up to me just before they got in the car to take them to the airport. He bowed, then reached out and shook my hand.

“I must congratulate you, Hank,” he said. “You are a fine host. And you are a real chef, too.”

“Not really, sir,” I answered. “I have to be honest with you about the enchiladas.” I couldn't hold it in any longer. “The recipe was too difficult for me to follow because I have trouble with reading. I have what they call dyslexia.”

It didn't feel so bad telling him the truth now. In fact, it felt good.

“A real chef cooks from his heart,” he said, “not from a recipe. In truth, the best things come from the heart, Hank.”

Then he bowed once more, waved good-bye to Frankie, Robert, Emily, Ashley—actually to the whole school—and they were on the way home.

All day long I thought about what Mr. Morimoto had said. I heard his words in my head. He thought I was a real chef. Wow. That felt good.

And you know what? I was glad I hadn't stuck to the recipe after all. I came up with my own recipe, my own way to do things. And look what happened. We made a killer batch of a little spicy, but really tasty, one-of-a-kind enchiladas.

Maybe it's not so bad having learning differences after all.

This recipe serves eight people. I make it for Frankie and Ashley all the time now. Make it for your friends. And remember: Great chefs cook with their hearts, so feel free to add your own creative touches. Let me know what you come up with.

2 cups of tomato sauce
1 tablespoon chili powder
(for zing)
¼ teaspoon oregano
¼ teaspoon garlic powder
¼ teaspoon cumin
(This stuff is really strong,
so be careful!)
¼ teaspoon salt
3 cups shredded cheddar cheese, or a blend of
Mexican cheeses
⅓ cup chopped onion
(Let your mom or dad
knock these out.)
16 small corn tortillas

 

In a saucepan, combine the tomato sauce, chili powder, oregano, garlic powder, cumin, and salt. Go get an adult to help you turn on the stove to medium heat. (Remember to get an adult to help you. Take it from me: You don't want to burn yourself, inside your mouth or out. That is no fun.)

Cook the sauce until it comes to a boil, then turn the heat down low and let it cook uncovered for 15 minutes. Stir it every once in a while.

Meanwhile, in a small bowl, mix 2 ½ cups of cheese with the onions.

Warm the tortillas in the microwave, then dip them into the tomato sauce mixture. Lay them in a greased 9-by-13-inch casserole dish.

Fill each tortilla with the cheese-and-onion stuff. Roll it up. Keep filling and rolling until the dish is full.

Sprinkle the leftover tomato sauce and cheese on top.

Go get a grown-up to turn the oven on to 350 degrees. Let it warm up for a few minutes. While it's warming up, you might want to bounce a ball or read this book again.

Put the whole pan in the oven. Bake it for about 25 minutes or until the cheese is melted and bubbly.

Eat your enchiladas and feel very proud of yourself. You just cooked a great meal.