Mucho Bueno Tortilla Chips

My mother has a habit of stopping by during Jeopardy! and Wheel of Fortune.

She never calls first. She knocks, comes in, and asks who's winning, which is a difficult question to answer when you're watching Jeopardy! because there are usually three people involved and she doesn't particularly care for any of them.

She prefers Wheel of Fortune. She can solve most of the puzzles before the contestants do, and she gets irritated when somebody buys a vowel she already knew was there.

I keep telling her the contestants can't hear her.

She says they should pay attention anyway.

A while back, her doctor suggested she cut down on the junk food. This was not especially welcome news. My mother likes potato chips, tortilla chips, and those little cheese crackers that come in a box. She also likes reminding people that she's reached an age where she ought to be allowed to eat what she wants.

I don't entirely disagree with her.

But I'd like her to reach an age where she can make that argument for another twenty years.

So I started making tortilla chips in my air fryer.

There's not much to them. Four corn tortillas, cut into triangles, arranged on the tray, and cooked until they're crispy. No oil. No salt unless you want some. They come out golden brown, and they have a nice crunch.

The first time I made them for Mom, she ate one, looked at me, and asked if I'd bought them somewhere.

I told her I'd made them.

She ate another one.

"Mucho bueno," I said.

I don't speak Spanish. I took two years of it in high school, and I remember approximately six words. Two of them are probably incorrect.

Mom apparently thought *Mucho Bueno* was the name of the chips. I didn't realize this until the following week, when she came over and asked if I had any more of those Mucho Buenos.

I told her I could make some. And that was that.

Now they're Mucho Buenos.

The name became a little more complicated when we went to the small Mexican restaurant near her house.

We'd ordered our dinners when Mom asked the waitress if they had Mucho Buenos.

The waitress looked at her.

"Mucho Buenos?" she repeated.

"The little triangle chips," Mom explained. "My son makes them."

The waitress looked at me.

"She means tortilla chips," I said. "The ones you serve with salsa."

"Oh!" the waitress said, smiling. "Of course."

Mom looked pleased. I looked at the menu.

The waitress brought us a basket of chips, and Mom informed me that mine were better because they weren't greasy.

I don't know if that's true. The restaurant makes very good chips. But I wasn't going to argue with her.

We've been back a few times since then. Mom still asks for Mucho Buenos. I still translate. The waitress, if it's the same one, just brings the chips.

There are worse arrangements.

These days I usually make a batch when I hear Mom at the door. My air fryer is the toaster-oven kind, so I can spread them out on the tray while she's getting settled in front of the television.

By the first commercial break, they're usually ready.

We eat them plain most of the time. Sometimes I put out salsa. I have a homemade salsa recipe I've been meaning to share here, but that's another story.

Mom says her doctor would approve of these.

I suspect her doctor would also approve of her eating fewer of them, but I'm staying out of that discussion.

She has her chips. I get to spend an evening with my mother. And if she solves the final Wheel of Fortune puzzle before the contestants, I get to hear about how somebody just threw away thirty thousand dollars.

That's a pretty good evening.

Mucho bueno, actually.