My Burning Eyes, A Lot Like Home

I wouldn't say that I know everything about Mexican cooking because #1 - I was born in America and #2 - I haven't tried all the wonderful varieties of Mexican food. Each state is different; there's the eclectic avant-garde cuisine in Mexico City, the islandic inspired food from Veracruz and the rich mole from Oaxaca. The Mexican food I know ranges from the very loved burrito to (the stink up your house while preparing but turns out delicious) menudo. I decided when we moved from home that I would learn how to prepare Mexican food more often and more from scratch.

My little dream came to a crushing halt. The "authentic" part would have to wait because my ingredients in my town are lacking but no matter, I look to what I have available and go from there. I recently decided to cook a vegetarian gem of Mexican cuisine - the chile relleno. I cannot remember the last time I had one. But as I started to make it, I kicked myself for not trying to make it earlier, or at least learning to make it when I had an abundance of knowledge (my moms, aunts and Gramma) at my fingertips. Luckily, my aunt was able to help me over the phone.

The beauty of this dish is that it looks really fancy when done right and it's so simple to make. The spice factor varies from pepper to pepper but these were making my nose run.

Ingredients

• 4 Poblano peppers
• 3 eggs separated
• Flour (for dredging)
• Mozzarella or Oaxacan cheese
• Oil
• Homemade Red Chile Sauce

The first thing you do is make the red chile sauce. It just makes everything easier. Now, char or blacken the poblano peppers. Do not remove the stem! You can do this by heating up your griddle or put them under the broiler. Both ways require babysitting. I put mine under the broiler and turned them every 3 minutes until all the sides were black and the peppers were soft. As I was doing this, the heat and steam would escape from the oven every time I opened the door. The spicy smell would go up my nose and sting my eyes. These peppers were hot, I just knew it. Once they are blackened on all sides, throw them in a ziploc bag or put them in a bowl covered with plastic wrap. The steam will loosen the blackened skin making the clean up process very easy.

While waiting for the peppers, whip your egg whites in a bowl until stiff peaks form. In a separate dish, whip your egg yolks. Then, fold the egg yolks into the whites. Heat your oil in a pan. I used a good amount of oil because you'll be frying the peppers. Whenever I fry anything, I let the oil heat up slowly, so I would set the stove to medium hi. The peppers should be ready to clean. Under a steady stream of cold water, rinse the skin off of the very soft peppers. Be careful not to tear the pepper, if you do it's not a big deal. All of mine were torn. If you are perfect and have no tears in your peppers, make a small slit at the top of the pepper and add your cheese. Gently push cheese down into your pepper with a spoon. This would have been my plan if I didn't tear my peppers up. What I did was mad scientist work. I stuffed the cheese into the peppers, using the larger tear and secured it shut with toothpicks. Repeat for remaining peppers.

In a shallow dish, add 1/2 cup of flour. Dredge each pepper, and carefully shake off the excess; then dip the pepper into the egg mixture, and add to the oil. Preheat the oven to its lowest setting so you can keep your peppers warm and toasty. I had a little station set up: Stuffed peppers, flour, egg, hot oil. These babies brown up fast so have your tongs ready. Brown both sides.

The plating is key. Spoon your homemade red chile sauce onto a shallow dish. It should cover the bottom like a gravy. Lay your chile relleno on top. It is so beautiful. I'm so upset that I didn't take a picture of this beautiful dish. It's so tender, creamy and spicy all at the same time. Don't forget about the toothpicks if you used them, pull them out! I used a dab of sour cream to tone down the spice, it was delicious. The smell that filled my house was reminiscent of home. I know, I get homesick a lot. Try this dish, it's wonderful.

Happy Eating.

Work In Progress III

CLASSIFIED

Name: Lorza
Location: Sonoran Desert, Arizona
Birthdate: Approx. 1995

Specs: Hispanic. Eyes Brown. Hair Brown. Birthmark behind ear erased. Scar on left knee erased. Deformed pinky toe on right foot normalized. Teeth are cracked and uneven, fillers set in place. FP removed 3/14/97. Gene scan 3/15/97. Tracker: 3/16/97. Update 4-06-97: Congenital insensibility to pain.

Abilities: Human biology, household weapons, marine corp training, jujitsu, krav maga.

Notes:

3-12-97: We found Lorza in the Sonoran desert. Her parents, both shot execution style beside her. Typical in these parts, greedy coyotes. From the looks of it, her parents have been dead for a week. Lorza is amazingly, doing fine, she must of had water to drink from that freak monsoon 3 days ago. She took to me quite easily, which is a nice change.

3-16-97: Tracker reading low desire levels which is a good sign. This girl is emotionless. Must have seen the violent death of her parents. She likes to jump off the table, look at books and scream. No talking just screaming for everything. Training starts tomorrow.

4-02-97: Lorza broke her arm. No crying. Break was noticed by night guardian. This child is special, I always knew it. Set the bones that night.

4-05-97: Testing for CIP. Broke two metacarpals in the right hand, no crying. Bones have been set. I'm certain she has this disease, will do more evasive testing to confirm diagnosis. In the interim we will start giving her doses of Naxolene.

4-06-97: After 12 hours of testing, it has been confirmed. Lorza has CIP which explains the cracked teeth, as those suffering keep grinding their teeth until they are gone. I'm surprised she doesn't have more injuries. The sleep pod and mouth guard will keep her safe through the night.

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Lorza drew in a short breath as the thin cable of the Hooksin shot through her inner ear, then skull then to its destination, the tracker. She fell over like an old rag doll.

Aiden hit the retracter key. Gurgling, slurping sounds echoed in the abandoned house. Hot blood spewed from Lorza's left ear and into Aiden's hands as the tracker's light slowly dimmed to nothing. The Hooksin's tiny hooks buried themselves deep into the tracker and into some of Lorza's insula. Aiden quickly thought of a small chewed pieces of bubble gum to keep himself from vomiting. He quickly snipped the Hooksin wire, grabbed the boulder he found in the backyard and crushed the tracker. He reached for Lorza's gun, pulled it from her holster, and aimed it at the imaginary X she drew. After 5 seconds of doubt, fear of failure, and remorse, Aiden angled the gun and shot Lorza in the head.

He played the story in his head over and over as he rushed to the site. Aiden thought, "The tracker disappeared from the radar suddenly. I wasn't far from the kill point and I didn't hear a gun. I figured who ever did it would get the hell out of there as fast as they could. I found her on the ground, unconscious. Someone tipped them off, they knew exactly where she was."

"Stop being so shaky. You can be scared but not like you care too much. Be leveled man, Aiolena will sniff you out so fast. Who cares if she does? You're doing the right thing, Lorza too. Let them do what they want, I don't care anymore I won't be apart of this anymore," Aiden's thoughts were building too fast, he almost missed the site base.

Punching the keys quickly, the gates slid open and the driveway opened up to the tunnel underground. The check engine light on the old Civic was telling Aiden it was tired and he whispered to it, "We're almost there baby, then I'll let you rest." As soon as he reached the double doors to the infirmary, Aiden kept his promise.

Busting through the doors with a bloody Lorza with 12 minutes left on the clock, a gurney is waiting for them; complete with type B+ blood bags on it's sides and a mess of wires to keep Lorza's ticker ticking. Doctors and nurses strap Lorza in and sweep her away without a word. Running to catch up with them Aiden is cut off by the guardians.

"Report to Aiolena. Don't mince words Tech," says Carson, one of the nicer guardians. His furrowed brow tells Aiden there isn't a chance that he'll be allowed inside, so he makes his way down to his mother's office.

Work In Progress II

2 MONTHS LATER

"Are you listening to me Aiden?" asks Lorza in frustration.

"Yes, I'm hanging on your every word. Just repeat what you said to make sure I have this absolutely clear," Aiden replies.

"Here is a diagram of the brain. Here is the left temporal lobe, and inside there in the center is the insula. That is where the tracker is. Once I blast the Hooksin device, it's pretty much going to send a tiny grappling hook into the side of my head and latch onto the tracker. I need you to be strong and hit the retraction key on the Hooksin. It's going to be messy and I can only use this once. Of course once I shoot it, I'll go unconscious. After you retract it, unlatch it and destroy it. Once I shoot I have 35 minutes to get to Aiolena. She's the only one who can fix me. Did you get all that?" Lorza asks.

"What's to keep Mommy Dearest from inserting a new tracker? Won't they know it's been removed by their own Hooksin? Even though you'll be bleeding, the cut is too clean. What if she finds out that you took it out yourself and lets you die?" asks an unnerved Aiden.

"Well, I thought you would ask that. I need you to be very brave and very trusting about this. You're going to have to grab my gun and shoot me at an angle. Right here," says Lorza drawing an X next to her left ear.

"No, no way, I can't do that. I'm a tech! I didn't get the same kind of training you guys did. I can't just point and shoot, especially not you. There has to be another way. We can just leave -" Aiden says.

"They will find me no mater where I go. I will have to keep killing for the rest of my life if I don't do this now. Either you help me with this or I die and either way I'll be satisfied. If you want me to live, don't disappoint yourself, " Lorza says with a hardened tone.

Before Aiden has a chance to retort Lorza brings the Hooksin to ear and pulls the trigger.

Friday Was Pizza Day, The Best Day of the Week

Okay, I know I've been doing a lot of videos but this one has a purpose. Beware, this song is by the Aquabats, a super silly ska band. It ends abruptly because the original has a monologue about Michael Jackson and how he LOVES pizza day; but I thought it would be better suited if we do not speak ill of the dead.

I thought that this was a perfect Back to School song. I love that even though this song is extremely silly, when I first heard it a lot of memories came flooding back about elementary school.

We were always the new kids in school because we moved around a lot growing up. I don't know why we moved around so much, maybe Mom needed some new scenery. I think I remember all my teacher's names but I won't bore you with that. When I was in first grade, we were given pen pals from Russia or back then when it was called the Soviet Union. I turned in my paper and with the Soviet flag drawn in the corner. My teacher asked, "Where did you see that?" I think she thought my parents were Commies. I remember using the monkey bars way too much and getting my badge of honor on the playground - my first blister and even though it stung, you just kept on swinging.

At lunch when we received our milk cartons, we would get our sporks and scratch the carton at the top and puncture our straw into it. We were too cool to just open the carton up. The menu that the band sings in the song Pizza Day is eerily close to what we would have everyday. Wednesday was my second favorite day of the school week because we would have chocolate milk.

I don't long to return to elementary school, the hierarchy of the playground, the secret assigned seats of the cafeteria, being friends with someone one day and not being friends the next day, the big hair of the late eighties or the neon fad of the nineties. I'm grateful for being able to reflect on how I was able to survive those awkward years; being able to see that my huge issues growing up were not so big after all.

Even after all of this overflow of elementary school memories, I still despise Back to School commercials.

Mom's Purse

Whenever we would ask my mom for a pen, a piece of paper or gum; my mom usually didn't have it. Or she would say, "What do you need it for?" I'd answer with shrugged shoulders and that was the end of that conversation. Over the years the mom's purse changed in size and color. She never switched purses until it had been beaten and used to death. Growing up I quickly realized the importance of mom's purse. There were a few times when we'd leave the house only to go back because Mom forgot her purse.

We were never allowed to look inside the purse. I used to guess what could be in there; semi-precious stones, candy, toys - all the stuff I think would be important. We were only allowed to carry it or bring it to her but never, ever look into it. I remember riding in the Datsun with Mom and her purse was unzipped in the center console. As I peered into it I remember being disappointed. I saw papers, the money holder, Mom's "wip-stic" and napkins. I quickly looked away so Mom wouldn't get suspicious.

I got yelled at once because I set Mom's purse on the floor. I was 15. Being the snotty teenager that I was I said, "Who cares? What's the big deal?" Mom explained to me that "If you put your purse on the floor, Satan will reach into your purse and steal your money." I rolled my eyes (which I'm really good at, my eyelids flutter and everything). This was no doubt one of those Mexican myths passed on from Gramma to Mom. When I pictured it, I tried my best not to laugh because Mom was already so mad at me. When I think about it now, the myth was a scapegoat. Maybe it was Satan taking all the money she worked so hard for with two jobs; just enough to make ends meet sometimes. Her purse was usually heavy; heavy with worry and stress. Those disappointing papers were bills to pay and bank statements. I think I might of seen a bottle of Advil in there too. The purse was an unforgiving weight over her shoulder reminding her of all the she has to do.

Mom doesn't carry a purse now. She's gone from working all hours of the day to being a homemaker. The big purse is non-existent. She has a tiny zip up tote, there's just enough room for her I.D., a credit card or two, a pocket for money and maybe a pen. Way to go Mom.

Heartless Bastards

If you've never heard of Heartless Bastards, I suggest you check them out. Don't let the name scare you, this no nonsense band from Ohio just plays music. No complicated guitar solos or auto-tune remixes, just a great singer and a great band. When she sings, it's sad and redeeming at the same time. I don't know how they got inside my head and wrote this song but they did. Set your speakers to 11, because she's got a strong quiet voice and it's awesome.

A Book, A Piece of my Heart

I hate it when people say that books are a dying media. I won't ever want an electronic reading device, now matter how stylish, how convenient or how futuristic it might be. It's not the same as far as I'm concerned.

I have loved reading books as long as I can remember. The rectangular shape, with those perfectly cut pages inside. They have tiny letters that form a fantasy, a dream, memories, instructions, adventure, love or history sometimes all in one book. In third grade my favorite part of the day was the fifteen minutes of "sustained silent reading" which was required but I saw it as a gift. I'm pretty sure my teacher Mrs. Dunkle loved it too. I cherish books as apart of my anatomy. I don't like to see them ripped, hurt, on the floor or still looking like new, as if it has never been read. I like the flexibility of the cover, the perfect spine and the smell of the pages. I like to see my bookmark travel through the pages bearing the weight of what I've read, like a friend encouraging me to test his strength but then allow him to rest.

Being at home all day, with very few mental stimuli, reading helps keep my mind thinking. Although I love singing songs with hand motions, reading picture books and teaching the alphabet, I often wonder if my brain will turn to mush. The only problem solving I have during the day is thinking what to make for lunch (something they'll actually finish), teaching how to share and figuring out how to stop a crying kid. When I read it's usually past ten o'clock. I curl up on the couch, take off my glasses, open up the book and nothing else matters.

My favorite kinds of books have a great hero, some combat, blood, gore, maybe a love interest but it's not necessary. I despise books with super fluffy happy go lucky ending (Breaking Dawn). Fiction writers should not be afraid of death. It's okay to mourn the loss of a character, even if it is the hero. The readers will mourn too. In writing my own piece, I have to keep in mind who I'm writing this for - ME. I can't please everybody and I don't want to. A lot of people will hate it, others who say they love it because they're friends/family and maybe one rare person who will honestly tell me what they think; red pen and all. My English teacher, Mrs. Lewis was such a gem. She would make my book reports bleed and I was sure she was out to get me. Every week we would turn in our "reflection journals" and she would grade them. How do you grade a reflection - using the rubric system. Lame. Seeing that she would give me her honest opinion about my work, I turned in my poetry journal instead. When I got it back I saw the note that said,"See me after class." The next two years, I went to creative writing workshops at the Scottsdale Center for the Arts, during school hours, under her direction. I would trust her opinion about anything I write. I wish I stayed in contact with her.

Books are such a huge part of my life, they have helped make me who I am, libraries are sanctuaries, and the right side of the couch at 10:45 pm is my best friend. The title is true, "A Book, A Piece of my Heart."

Work In Progress

"I'm getting too old for this," Lorza says to herself. This wasn't exactly how she wanted to celebrate her fifteenth birthday. While other girls have cake and ice cream or low-fat frozen yogurt because of their body image issues; Lorza is mopping the bathroom floor. The floor that was covered with entrails, flecks of skull and brain. And blood, lots of blood. She could have just burned the house down but someone would call it in. She decided to keep it simple. The entrails and brain belonged to Ryanne Klein.

Ryanne Klein wasn't popular, but neither was Lorza. Ryanne had a way about her. She was bookish but pretty. Smart and randomly mean; well, not entirely random. Lorza was usually on the receiving end of the remarks. It didn't matter, Ryanne doesn't exist. Not on paper anyway. She and Lorza have been off the grid for 13 years. No one would miss her.

She stood outside. It looked so out of place, her hair pulled back into a tight ponytail, black turtleneck, black flex-skin pants and shapeshift leather shoes in this ruddy little neighborhood. The face mask she wore only covered up to her nose. The cool air flowing from it into her suit didn't stop the beads of sweat from forming on her upper lip. They dripped slowly around to her mouth and she hated the salty taste. It was almost time to run. Lorza couldn't stand the anticipation but if she took off now she would be noticed, if she was late then she'd miss the train. She was slightly sore from the night before. It was nice when team would clean up and get rid of the kills for you but when you go AWOL, you do your own dirty work. This wasn't a contract kill, this was a good ol' murder. It could have been cleaner but the tracker had to be removed. Of course it's lodged where everyone else's was, in the center of the brain.

She looks at her timepiece, reading 5:36, looks to the rising sun, starts up the karmann ghia, listens to it purr, and pushes the accelerator as far as it will go. She has 14 minutes to ditch the car and board the train but this is enough time to reflect on her evening's events.

The Mixed Tape

This is one of the songs that was on a mixed tape Mechanic Hubby made me so long ago. Yes, it says "Leather and Lace," it's a cover of the popular song originally sung by Don Henley and Stevie Nicks or Dolly Parton and Kenny Rogers.

So I met my Mechanic Hubby in high school. He was a sophomore in my chemistry class. I first noticed him when he was fighting over pennies with the weird kid who was his lab partner. It was a lab about copper vs magnesium. Apparently it took Mechanic Hubby a very long time to find 6 copper pennies and he wasn't about to give them away. All the while I was thinking, "Dude (yes I say dude, a lot.) it's just pennies. Jeez that kid's got some wild hair." Mechanic Hubby liked the messy look back in the day.

A few months later, while waiting for the bus after school, one of Mechanic Hubby's friends (who is a very good friend of mine now too), Mr. Awesome (the name he came up with himself along with an elaborate story as to why it's perfect for him), came up to me. He says, "Hey, we live on the same street right?" We got to talking and apparently none of his friends showed up for school that day. I was introduced to Mechanic Hubby and I would sometimes hang out with him and his friends after school. We'd go grab a slice, go to the local record store, comic book store and walk the streets of central Phoenix. It was pretty weird being the only girl in this group but they were easy to talk to and pretty funny.

It was the last day of school and by then Mechanic Hubby and I would talk about stupid stuff all the time. I gave him my phone number and told him to keep in touch over the summer break. He called me soon after to see if the number I gave him was real. We sent each other letters, talked on the phone but we never hung out. My mother was really strict and there was no reason for me to be out with some boy. On my birthday I got a mixed tape in the mail. It was full of ska/punk bands, most of which I've never heard of. The Drags, The Magoos, Smoking Popes, Plinko, Voodoo Glow Skulls, the Specials, Madness, Horace Pinker and even a recording of Mechanic Hubby playing a short version of Swan Lake on the piano. As I listened to the tape, my sister said, "That boy likes you." I thought she was crazy. I guess a lot of the songs had a similar message of boy likes girl but I found it pretty darn impossible.

I started dating an older guy, well 2 years older; during the summer. It wasn't working out and Mechanic Hubby knew all about it. I would call him and tell him what a jerk this guy was and Mechanic Hubby said I deserved better and that I should break it off which of course was all apart of his plan. Looking back though, I always liked Mechanic Hubby. We would "bump" into each other a lot when we got back to school. He would also always play songs over the phone, or his "concerts for one." I was racking my brain. I broke it off with the other guy because I knew who I was supposed to be with. He makes me laugh, sings my praises and I knew that when he looked at me nothing else mattered. My plans for New Years Eve fell through and he invited me to his sister's house. His whole family was going to be there so I didn't think it was a date, plus I had to be home by 1 am. I had a great time and the family was really nice. When he dropped me off at my doorstep, I hugged him. He hugged back, like he didn't want to let me go.

I had to tell him.

When we got back from winter break, I wrote him a note pretty much saying, "Hey, I like you. Like, like you, like you." I handed it to him before our first class of the day. I "bumped" into him before third period and he gave me a regular "What's up?" I was certain he was playing it cool and trying to be very subtle about not having the same feelings. He was so hard to read! I kind of stuttered and ran to class. He thought I was acting really weird so he decided to read the note I gave him, maybe it had a clue for my behavior.

Bombshell.

Hurt and wishing I could go home, I tried to make myself scarce during lunch. Of course he would notice that I wasn't at my usual hang out but I didn't want to see him. He REALLY wanted to see me and he found me alright. He gave me his own "Guess Who Likes You" note. A week later, he gave me another note. It was a love letter complete with postage that was never sent. I opened it up and it was dated a month prior to my "I like you" note to him.

It's been 11 years 7 months and 3 days since we decided that it would be pretty cool to be together. Sorry about how dark this picture is, it's old.

The Hate In Art

I wouldn't call myself an artist. I would call myself a kid who likes to paint and stuff. I'm not a master of anything, I always know enough when talking to the real deals out there but I don't front like I'm one of them.

When I write, paint, play guitar or cook I stand back and think there is always room for improvement. I'm usually never happy with what I do and long for artistic super powers. I write like a teenager, paint like a child, I NEVER want to learn bar chords, and constantly think my cooked food could have been made better and faster.

Hands have been on the brain lately. The saying, "The greatest tools God gave us," is swirling in my mind. When I look at them, they're slightly chubby, long fingers, non-manicured with hang nails, tiny cuts and light brown spots from oil splatter burns. I have two birthmarks on the left and one on the right. I was told once by an Indian guy who was in my line at the Japanese take out place where I worked; that birthmarks on the hands suggest that I must love to write, or paint or some other art form. As if I was born with the ink flowing from my hands. I was dumbfounded. I think I said, "Uh yeah. I like to write." Satisfied with his observation, he smiled, took his teriyaki bowl and wished me a good day.

I started painting a skeleton hand yesterday against a black background. My idea was to convey a Hispanic's struggle; having died for an unattainable dream. I painted the words "faith," "help," "gospel," in Spanish into various bones but then I hated it. I stared at it for a long time. Who was I to try and paint such events when I myself haven't experienced them? My grandmother has, so had my mother but I couldn't even begin to channel that into this painting. Mechanic hubby said, "Who cares, it looks cool." But I couldn't bring myself to finish it.

This is how I'm feeling today.

Refried Beans Fake-Out (Fresh beans from "de la olla" or from the pot are best but if you don't have time....)

1 can of refried beans

1/2 cup of shredded cheese

1/4 cup of milk

1/4 cup homemade salsa

Heat the beans in a skillet. Add milk and stir. Add cheese and salsa, stir to combine. Serve hot.

Papas Con Chile Verde Y Queso....lots of Queso

I've had this dinner on my menu list for weeks. I don't know why I didn't make it until tonight. It's a dish I learned from my mother in law, Maestra (teacher in Spanish). It only takes fifteen minutes and it's very delicious. As I was making it, I started to think about the times I've eaten this meal. This simple, almost too simple meal. Maybe I didn't make it because of the simplicity of it. I like meals that take time and tons of energy and work. Sometimes I gage how much I'll enjoy the meal by the time it took to make it. What's my least appetizing meal? Cereal and sandwiches.

But this was different. The smell of perfectly cooked potatoes, the slightly spicy smell of the green chiles and the melting cheese was just what I needed today, wrapped in a burrito. It reminded me of Maestra's kitchen with the big table and the mismatched chairs. Everyone sitting around it with a paper plate of green chile potatoes, scooping with pieces of flour tortillas, laughing about something random, drinking their third glass of soda; these images filled my mind. We'd always eat too much, laugh too much and talk too much. We love each other so much, our tortillas are community property and just sit, eat, rip a piece of tortilla and be happy. I don't make this meal because it means too much to me.

When I make this meal in my house now, a thousand miles away from everybody, a pain starts. No, it's not heartburn, not that kind anyway. We each got our plate. A burrito for Mechanic hubby, one for me and a small serving for Baby Sagittarius. We sit around our table and eat; quietly. As I chew and swallow this delicious reminder of home and set my burrito down, I see a little hand take my burrito, move it next to her little mouth and take a tiny bite.

Green Chile Potatoes

4 large potatoes peeled and chopped

2 cans of green chiles

Lots of shredded cheese

Flour tortillas

Heat a skillet over medium heat, add vegetable or canola oil, enough to coat the pan. Add your chopped potatoes. Season with salt and pepper, stir. Add two handfuls of water and cover. Let this cook for about 9 minutes. Remove the lid and stir. Pierce a piece of potato to see if it's soft. If not, cover with the lid and let it continue to cook for an additional 2 minutes. If it is soft, lower the heat to medium low and add the green chiles, stir to combine. After about 3 minutes, remove the skillet from the heat and add the cheese. Stir to melt the cheese. Heat tortillas on warm burner or comal. Serve hot, use tortillas as utensil or add potatoes and make burritos. I've added cooked bacon to this, ham cubes, even leftover shredded KFC chicken but it's best without all the extras.

Happy eating.