When you and your roommate get into a seemingly pointless
argument that can’t be solved with logic, apathy, money or
distraction, something must be done.
Suggest that you both might be inordinately cranky because you
haven’t eaten yet that day. You’ll supply the
ingredients to make lunch, and the two of you can try to put the
bickering on hold while you field-test a tortilla wrap recipe
suggested by Lisa Bonos, the Daily Bruin managing editor.
Place two large tortillas on two larger piece of aluminum foil.
If you can find flavored tortillas ““ they come in spinach and
sun-dried tomato, and are colorful ““ use those. Normal ones
are fine too.
Soften some cream cheese in the microwave and mix it with a
spoonful of pesto. Spread it evenly over your tortilla.
When you offer the seasoned cream cheese to your roommate, you
notice that he’s already smeared his tortilla with cold,
uneven lumps of normal cream cheese, claiming that his way is
faster.
Now it’s time to add chopped vegetables. Reach around in
your drawer for the paring knife and, finding it missing, turn to
your roommate.
“It’s probably in your room. You’ve been using
it to open CDs again, haven’t you.”
Roll your eyes at his loud indignation ““ he’s
shocked that you even suspect him of such a thing! ““ and grab
a different knife. Thinly slice some bell pepper and red onion.
Grate a carrot and cut an avocado into rough chunks.
When you’re washing your grater (you’ve already lost
two this year by leaving them wet and discovering them rusty;
better to clean them right away), notice your paring knife at the
bottom of the sink. Your roommate notices too, rinses it off, and
starts chopping a tomato.
“Don’t put that into your wrap,” you say.
“It’s got to sit in the fridge for a while, and wet
ingredients will make it all soggy.”
“You think you know everything, don’t you,” he
says.
What does he mean? You were just trying to help.
Scatter your vegetables over the cream cheese on your wrap. You
are, in fact, right most of the time. What’s his problem?
“The knife, the tomato,” your roommate continues.
“That time you said I shouldn’t eat a frozen pizza
pocket “˜cause I’d break my teeth. You always tell me
what to do; you never think you might be wrong.”
Add a handful of canned pinto beans to your tortilla. Clearly
he’s being ridiculous.
Cut the crunchy spines out of romaine lettuce or open a bag of
baby spinach and blanket your wrap with the soft leaves.
“I mean, it’s just a sandwich,” he says,
piling deli meat and pickles onto his. “Break the rules
sometimes.”
The next thing you’re supposed to do is roll the wrap up
like a jellyroll and then cover it in the aluminum foil and let it
sit in the refrigerator until it stiffens. This takes about an
hour, but it’s not as sloppy that way. You can then slice the
wrap into pretty little cylinders and eat them as finger food.
But you’re so hungry. And your roommate has a point.
He’s right. You’re sorry.
Roll up the wrap and hack it in half. You can eat some now and
refrigerate some for tomorrow; it’s delicious both ways and
everybody wins.
Raab will make you a dessert if she writes a column based on
your recipe. E-mail her one at lraab@media.ucla.edu.