When these recipes are posted, I can have my first granddaughter. I do now not feel antique enough to be everybody’s grandmother. However, I am thrilled to welcome a new child into our lives. Another mouth to feed. I can’t wait. Melty cheese of any kind always makes me think of my children as young ones. Our solid iron griddle spent a dozen years on the stove waiting for the day’s quesadilla orders. My son preferred easy renditions of white cheese and flour tortillas and a greater complex of tangy goat cheese and tender veggies.
No matter their age, the kids in our house were never uninterested in the nice, cozy, handheld goodness. As they grew up, we delivered mild guacamole and salsas for dunking. Later, roasted vegetables and shrimp were tucked into the quesadillas. As my prowess in Mexican cooking increased, so did our quesadilla concoctions. These days, we press clean corn masa into rounds to welcome boutique cheeses and the garden’s squash blossoms. Flour tortillas, quickly defrosted, change into nighttime snacks with leftover roasted vegetables and lengthy shreds of smoked tough cheese.
We found two secrets that raise our quesadillas beyond youngsters’ food: First, use the freshest tortillas you can locate, including those added daily to a Mexican market. Or, follow the commands in the package of masa harina to make fresh masa dough, then press out sparkling corn tortillas to bake on a heated grill. Second, skip pre-shredded cheese; the cellulose introduced to save you caking also prevents a terrific melt. It only takes a few seconds to shred more than one ounce of firm cheese, and the rewards are tremendous.
Other heat cheese offerings likewise seize our interest. Saganaki that Greek kasseri cheese flamed with alcohol, tastes like a salty, carb-free quesadilla. Queso fundido, the Mexican cheese casserole, satisfies our penchant for hot cheese; we thankfully scoop it up into warm tortillas or over thick corn chips. We experience a comparable fondness for chunks of French bread dunked in cheese fondue.
It was a little surprise then that we ordered the provolone appetizer everywhere in Argentina. La Tablita in El Calafate served our favorite model: a round disk of crusty cheese, soft on the interior, seasoned with sparkling oregano, and topped with tomato, garlic, and lettuce salad. We scooped the warm, tangy cheese onto crusty bread and wished the children had been with us. Really.
In Argentina, provoleta is generally served as the starter at an Asado, a conventional, celebratory meal of grilled meats. The sturdy provolone-like cheese regularly cooks without delay at the parrilla or grill before being served on a plate. We also had the uniqueness served in a provoletera, a solid iron pan devoted to the cheesy dish. Sometimes, small bowls of chimichurri and olives followed the cheese.
I played around with the cheese for a fast version of provolone at home using unsmoked domestic and imported provolone. The domestic cheese melted beautifully but rendered out a piece of fat (which I mopped up with a paper towel). The imported sharp provolone had a saltier facet that welcomed the salad topping. Other alternatives I like for the provolone consist of tangy Greek kasseri and moderate-tasting Mexican queso fresco, queso blanco, and panel, all of which melt properly when heated.
The price ticket to fulfillment: the thickness of the cheese. Look for chunks between ¾- and 1-inch thick so they brown and melt simultaneously. Like any true melty cheese providing, I should, without problems, enjoy these undying recipes as a prime route with a hearty green salad and bloodless Mexican beer or an Argentine Malbec. Perhaps a pitcher of bloodless milk for the granddaughter while she’s equipped for my cooking.
