I could tell you that the plate of enchiladas in today's "Guess where I'm eating?" snap were wolfed down by someone -- anyone -- other than me. I could tell you that Sheehan threatened to make me lick the title page of his book, Cooking Dirty, if I refused to lick my plate clean.
But those would be big, fat lies, and since I've only got nine lies (and I'm down to just one left), I'll cop to a confession, right here and now, in front of all you persnickety foodies: I love low-class, white-trash enchiladas, the kind that drip with grease and spurt Velveeta in between the gap in your teeth. I especially love these enchiladas -- a love I'm not remotely proud of, but since it's Friday and all and I'm in a good mood, I don't really care if you think I've lost my mind.
If you like this story, consider signing up for our email newsletters.
SHOW ME HOW
You have successfully signed up for your selected newsletter(s) - please keep an eye on your mailbox, we're movin' in!
But I do care if you can pinpoint the exact location of where I'm eating.