When my sister went to college, Mom got a part time job at our local library. She worked the same shifts each week so we settled into a family routine of what days and nights she would be home, gone, etc. I was in Jr. High at the time. Dad was the pastor at our church and would be gone 8-5 every day. Then every Tuesday he taught Greek in the evenings to people from our church.
Mom closed the library on Tuesdays so once a week Dad and I were on our own for dinner. And because he needed to go back to church and teach in the evening, dinner needed to be something quick. I wasn't much of a cook; I could do rice, noodles, salad, pretty simple stuff. Dad is the master of mixing things and trying just about anything so one Tuesday he suggested quesadillas but not just cheese on a tortilla popped in a skillet for a minute. This is where the recipe comes into the memory.
Dad heated some oil in a skillet and added the tortilla. He let one side brown before flipping it. He put a layer of refried beans then olives, green chilis, ground beef (leftover from tacos), and cheese. When everything was heated he put it on a plate and wha-la! Quesadilla Pizza! It's surprisingly yummy for something whipped up from whatever was in the fridge. Over the following weeks we stuck with the same basics (beans on bottom, cheese on top) and varied everything in the middle. Mom bought pepperoni slices, we layered on salsa, Dad put jalapenos on his...it became our tradition. We made one for Mom but she never enjoyed them as much as we did.
After we moved to South Carolina a year or so later, Dad and I made these just a few more times. But schedules changed, we all were home every night for dinner, the need for our tradition left. Now, 14 some years later, I was standing in my kitchen looking at the leftovers in the fridge and thought, "Hey, quesadilla pizza!" And I made one for my lunch. It was just as yummy as I remembered. Thanks, Dad!
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