"Chilaquiles"

In the kitchen's warm embrace, A dance of flavors takes its place. Tomatoes, jalapeños or serranos the color green, A culinary sight to be seen. "Two or three?" the question rings, As mother's laughter softly sings. Eyeball it, dear, don't you worry, In cooking, there's no fixed recipe, because is your story. Tortillas sliced, a perfect art, Prepared to play their hearty part. Roasted, fried, a sizzling sound, In mother's guidance, love is found. A dash of this, a sprinkle of that, Onions chopped, garlic's pat. Knorr Suiza's secret touch, Adds the flavor we love so much. In oil's shimmer, tortillas dive, With onions' sizzle, they come alive. The mixture poured, a savory flavor flood, A recipe born from mother's blood. Cotija cheese grated, onion's zest, On chilaquiles, they come to rest. Egg and beans, a side so fine, A dish where love and taste entwine. "Mother," I say with eyes so bright, "These chilaquiles are pure delight. Not just the spice, the cheese, the fold, But your love, the ingredient untold." In every bite, a memory sweet, Of mother's love, no feat can beat. Chilaquiles, more than a meal, A moment of love, forever re