It’s weird what we remember.
Carlos Quintana was a punchline for me growing up. A light-hitting first baseman, he played parts of 1988 and 1989 with the Red Sox before playing full seasons for in 1990 and 1991, finishing with a very modern .295/.375/.412 line in the latter campaign. Then disaster struck. In the 1992 offseason, his brothers were shot at a party in Quintana’s native Venezuela, and on the way to the hospital, Quintana’s car crashed, breaking both of his wife’s legs and his own left arm and big toe. He missed the entire season and when he returned in 1993, he had lost feeling in his left hand while being quickly replaced by Mo Vaughn, and that was that.
I think I fixated on Quintana as a punchline because of how aggressively the Red Sox were flailing at the time to stay competitive when Roger Clemens wasn’t pitching, and I considered him emblematic of the whole shebang. I also couldn’t get a short story out of my head that my seventh grade classmate wanted me to read, because he knew I was the sports/writing guy, and I think he wanted to impress me. While he didn’t do that, he gave me a story I’d never forget.
In his story, the Red Sox were trailing in the bottom of the eighth inning of the World Series, when, led by Carlos “Contana,” they mounted a stirring comeback against whatever team they were playing. I think, adding to the surreality here, it might have been the Yankees. Anyhow you can see where this story is going: They grab the lead and escape the top of the ninth and win it all, right? Well, yes and no. My friend plainly didn’t know the rules too well, because after the Sox did the damn thing and retired whoever in whatever thrilling scenario, they came back to bat, leading in the bottom of the ninth, and only after going 1-2-3 did they finally start celebrating.
None of this has to do with quesadillas, but it has stuck with me for years.
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I didn’t grow up on quesadillas they way my daughter has or her mother, from Arizona and California, did. I typically do not order them at or from restaurants, but I’ve made hundreds of them as a divorced dad who sometimes does the bare minimum for meals. Sue me.
There also isn’t any thematic connection between Quintana and quesadillas any more or less than there are between any two things that being with the letter “q,” but I assume there’s a “game recognize game” aspect to the whole thing, in which I’ll participate. I recognize the quesadilla’s workaday importance the same way I recognize Quintana’s 1991 season. I wish I knew better at the time (I would’ve annihilated quesadillas in 1991), but I’m happy to be wiser now.
Quintana’s Quesadillas
- Corn tortillas
- Shredded cheese
Bryan’s Notes
I don’t understand flour tortillas. That’s all.
- Place tortilla on a microwave-safe plate, put shredded cheese on top, and place another tortilla on top
- Microwave for 30-45 seconds
- Cut into little triangles, put some celery and apple slices on that plate, give it to your kids, and be happy for the things you have. You never know when it’s gonna stop