"Quesadillas in Quarantine" by Alice Lowe

Quesadillas in Quarantine 

Apple pancake. I counted on Richard Walker’s for this puffy, custardy, sugary-cinnamony delight. Now I create my own. Apples? Check. Eggs? Check. Flour, milk, vanilla, sugar, cinnamon. It’s not RW’s, but it’ll do. 
Baron’s is bigger than a convenience store, smaller than a supermarket, with local organic produce and an ample selection of cheeses and wines. After a nerve-wracking visit to Von’s and lines going out the parking lot at Trader Joe’s, Baron’s became one-stop-shopping — it’s there or we do without. 
Cans of tuna, sardines, tomatoes, and beans crowd my cramped cupboard. I’ve always preferred to buy what I need and a little extra, but now I’m building up a small cache.
Dark-chocolate-covered raisins, peanut butter cups, and mints are 
Essential foods for the sequestered spirit, also
Fritos, chili-cheese Fritos.
Gochujang is a spicy Korean paste made from chili peppers and fermented soybeans. I didn’t know it by name until it was a recent word-of-the-day — now I crave Korean tofu stew.
Husband Don likes leftovers, doesn’t mind repetition, appreciates whatever I come up with, and cleans up afterward. 
Ice cream doesn’t live here. It’s drinkable an hour after putting it in the freezer section of our aged apartment-sized fridge, which I have to defrost every month and which may outlive me.
Julia and Jacques Cooking at Home is zesty quarantine reading, especially when they disagree. She’s a purist about Caesar salad, since seeing Caesar Cardini make it himself when she was nine. Anchovies adulterate it, she says, whereas Jacques and I swear by anchovies and enjoy creative variations, like blue cheese.
Kitchen claustrophobia is alleviated by takeout-pizza, Mexican, and sushi. 
Linguine, bucatini, tortellini, farfalle, fusilli, capellini, cannelloni, rotini, rigatoni, spaghetti, vermicelli, ziti, fettuccine, orecchiette, penne, pappardelle, ravioli, orzo, gemelli, lasagna, radiatori, manicotti, conchiglie, gnocchi, and, of course,
Macaroni, loaded with cheese, whether Neal’s Yard Cheddar or Velveeta, Havarti or Pepper Jack, Taleggio, or Maytag Blue — comfort food for young and old, rich and poor. 
Nonpareil means “having no equal.” Nonpareils are those little chocolate disks covered with white candy dots, candy for these unparalleled times. 
Old people are allocated seniors-only hours at many grocery stores. The first time we went to Baron’s during the “gray hour” we had to show our ID — carded again after all these years. 
Pizza is my personal nonpareil, my desert-island choice. The guys at Bronx Pizza, a neighborhood institution for twenty-five years, have cranked out pies throughout the pandemic. Half pepperoni for the spouse, half cheese for me. 
Quesadillas, tacos, tostadas, burritos, and enchiladas. From Tony’s, El Cuervo, La Posta, Roberto’s, and Los Panchos. 
Restaurants opened (and closed and opened again) for limited dine-in service to the joy of owners, cooks, food workers, suppliers, and patrons. I miss waffles at Perry’s, melanzane alla mozzarella at Arrivederci, the yellowtail sandwich at Mitch’s. I miss breakfast out after a run and lunch with friends. But I’m not ready, not yet.
Sociability is sacrificed to safety, as we sup, sip, and shop in solitude or six feet apart. 
Two-buck Chuck, after inflationary rises to three dollars, is back to $1.99, and we welcome Trader Joe’s back into our routine.
Unappetizing, unpalatable, inedible: not much these days as we encounter scarcity, appreciate what’s available, recognize our privilege when so many are going without: without jobs or living wages, without food, without safe shelter, without health care, without basic human rights. 
Vegetarians and vegans may have an advantage — grains and pulses keep indefinitely.
Wine: see E for essential, T for two-buck chuck. 
Xerophagy is the practice of eating dry food, cooked without oil, a form of fasting. Don’t, not now — life is short and precious. 
Yellow split peas — why did I buy them? Will I ever use them? Should I change I to impulse buys or D to delusional? 
Z zucchini, ziti, or Zinfandel usually bring up the rear in food and drink abecedaria. But there’s also Zabar’s caviar and smoked whitefish and cooking classes on Zoom. I raise a glass of Zonin, my preferred-price-point prosecco, and drink a toast of solidarity in semi-seclusion.

Alice Lowe

Alice Lowe writes about life and literature, food and family. Her essays have been published in more than eighty literary journals, recently or forthcoming in South 85 Journal, Anti-Heroin Chic, Eclectica, Hobart, JMWW, and Gold Man Review. Her work has been cited in the Best American Essays and nominated for Pushcart Prizes and Best of the Net. Alice lives in San Diego, California, and posts at www.aliceloweblogs.wordpress.com.

Headshot: DE Strandberg

Photo Credit: Staff