Baked Chipotle Black Bean & Sweet Potato Taquitos

In continuation of my series of posts about making several meals from one core component, I’m making Baked Chipotle Black Bean & Sweet Potato Taquitos.  Crunchy taquitos are a welcome handheld appetizer, served with a healthy helping of salsa and guacamole.  They can also move into the world of main courses with the addition of soup and a green salad.  For the filling, I use a mixture of my Spicy Black Beans, chipotle chile pepper, and bite-sized pieces of sweet potatoes.  Few things go together more beautifully with black beans than sweet potatoes.  They were made for each other.

Generally, taquitos are made by warming soft corn tortillas in a dry, warm skillet until they’re pliable.  (If you try to roll a cold corn tortilla, it will break.)  Then they’re rolled with filling and fried in oil, seam side down.  Once a seal has been created, the taquitos are turned to brown on all sides.  The fried version is a delicious indulgence, but I try to limit the amount of fried foods I eat.  Plus, if a person incorrectly gauges how sealed the taquitos are and turns them too soon, one can end up with a pan full of fried filling.


In lieu of warming them in a dry skillet, I microwave the corn tortillas before filling them.  It saves time since I don’t have to warm the tortillas one at a time, but if you’re anti-microwave, feel free to do the pan method.  After that the tortillas are filled and then baked for fifteen minutes.  This baked version simplifies things to the point that make taquitos a doable and healthy weeknight dinner.

Baked Chipotle Black Bean & Sweet Potato Taquitos
Makes 10-12 taquitos

  • 1 sweet potato, cut into small, bite-sized pieces
  • 2 tsp extra virgin olive oil, divided + extra for brushing tortillas (optional)
  • 2 garlic cloves, minced
  • 1 cup red onion, chopped small
  • 1 ½ cups black beans (1 15 oz can), drained and rinsed
  • 1 tsp cumin
  • 1 tsp chili powder
  • ½ tsp oregano
  • ½ tsp coriander
  • ½ tsp paprika
  • ½ tsp chipotle chile pepper
  • 1 Tbsp lime juice
  • ¼ cup water + 2 Tbsp to combine (optional)
  • Salt, to taste
  • 10-12 corn tortillas

Preheat oven to 420 degrees. Put sweet potato pieces on a parchment paper-covered baking sheet. Toss with one teaspoon of extra virgin olive oil and spread them evenly across the sheet, being careful not to overcrowd. Roast potatoes for 20 minutes, tossing once for even cooking.

While the potatoes cook, heat skillet to a medium heat and add one teaspoon extra virgin olive oil to the heated pan. Rotate pan to spread the oil and add minced garlic and onions. Sauté onions and garlic until fragrant and translucent, about 3 minutes. Add black beans, cumin, chili powder, oregano, coriander, paprika, chipotle chile pepper, lime juice, and ¼ cup water to the pan. With a spatula, fully combine the beans and spices. Turn the heat off of the pan until the sweet potatoes are ready.

Once the sweet potatoes are ready, add them to the black bean mixture. If necessary, add 2 Tablespoons of water to fully combine seasonings.

Put the corn tortillas on a plate and cover them with a damp cloth napkin. Microwave the corn tortillas for 1 ½ minutes, until they are warm and pliable. (If they aren’t pliable enough, microwave for 30 seconds more.) While you fill each tortilla, keep the remaining plateful covered with the damp cloth napkin to keep them warm and pliable. Spoon two heaping tablespoons full of the black bean mixture onto the center of each tortilla and roll it into a tube. Place each rolled taquito on the parchment paper-covered baking sheet that you used for the sweet potatoes. Place the taquitos seam side down, and lean each of the taquitos against each other to keep them in place on the sheet.

Once all of the taquitos have been filled, brush them with a light drizzling of extra virgin olive oil, if desired, for optimum browning. Place the taquitos back in the 420 degree oven and bake for 15 minutes.

Have you missed my other Spicy Black Bean recipes?  Check out Spicy Black Bean Tacos, Mango Pineapple Salsa on Black Bean-Stuffed Potatoes, and Black Bean Taco Pizza.

My Stint as the Easter Bunny

When I think back to my most memorable Easter it was long after the stages of neon-grass filled baskets and endless jelly beans.  It occurred my first year out of college.  I had recently ended things at one of those “internships” that looks suspiciously like a 60-hour work week, and I’d started looking for something that I could finagle with last minute auditions.  While leafing through BackStage West I came upon an ad for a local company that hired actors to perform at kids’ birthday parties.   I sent off my headshot and resume, and within a few days I was hired.

During the training we were taught to do a few simple magic tricks involving a magic wand, including one vital one that gave us the power to remove our fluffy costumed paws.  (Yes, the tricks were really high tech.)  That way we could use face paint on the kids and make balloon animals. I learned how to twist balloons into the shapes of giraffes, bunnies, swords, and flowers.  Then on Fridays I’d drive to Culver City to find out who I was going to be for the weekend.  Sometimes I was a Power Ranger.  Sometimes I was Barbie or Cinderella.  Other times I was Scooby Doo, Hello Kitty, or even just a generic dinosaur.  (Of course, they never advertised their characters as those specific names for copyright reasons.  I was a fashion doll or a mystery-sleuthing hound.  You know the drill.)  The costumes varied from being quite realistic and well made to a little flimsy around the edges.

At first I really enjoyed it.  I was greeted like a princess rock star.

“Oh, my god.  Barbie is here.  Barbie!  At my birthday!”

I regaled the girls with stories about Ken and our dream house.  I painted hearts and flowers on their cheeks, made some balloon daisies, and gave my best queen-like wave goodbye.

Then after a few weeks, it somehow took an unfortunate turn.  The problems began when I started going to parties for children over seven.  I don’t know what it is about seven, but at that point suspicion came to life.  It’s not the full-blown affirmation that happens around ten.  It’s this nagging and overpowering sense that they might be getting duped.  If seven year olds had their own kiddy version of Cheaters, it would mostly involve finding out the real truth behind the Tooth Fairy.

“Betsy, we have this video footage of your mom grasping underneath your pillow while you slept.  Do you want to see it?”

It was at that age that I spent a good chunk of my time deflecting the question, “Are you real?”  Was I really Barbie?  My North Hollywood dream apartment and dream Chevy Cavalier would have pointed largely to no.  But what do you do?  The parents have shelled out money for their little one’s party all bent on the idea that this celebrity sighting would be a highlight of the day.

But I should get back to the subject at hand, and that is Easter.  On this Easter in question all of those years ago, I was to attend a small gathering dressed, of course, as the Easter Bunny.  When I picked up the costume, I was impressed.  It had a real lifelike look to it, much better than your average mall-variety bunny.  It eased my worries a little, as just a week before I’d had a particularly bad run-in with a ten year old who wouldn’t let it go that I couldn’t possibly be an actual dinosaur at his party.  “You’re extinct!” he screamed at me.  I only wish I was kidding.   So this bunny gig boded well.  It seemed like it would bring on better days.

I drove to East Los Angeles and popped on my bunny head.  (We were told to do all of this from outside of viewing distance from the home in case the kids were watching out the windows.)  I knocked on the door and was greeted by a mom who was surrounded by a group of seven to ten year olds and one baby.  The mother put the baby into my furry arms, left me with the children, and went outside presumably to mingle over fruit salad and mimosas.  I started into my shtick, but the kids weren’t having any of it.  (Although the baby seemed positively delighted.)

I should mention that playing Barbie or a princess was the easy part.  The hard part was when parents would leave you to play games and watch after their sugar-loaded kids while dressed as a fluffy bunny.  You know who doesn’t garner respect?  A grown adult dressed as a fluffy bunny.  I felt as if all of the tools I’d gained in adulthood in keeping order with children were now stripped from me.  (If parents really want their 18-year-olds to consider higher education outside of theatre school, they should show them a variation of those 16 and Pregnant-style precautionary shows.  It would pretty much be me wearing a headband to catch all of the sweat that pours into your eyes while wearing an enormous costumed head but that you don’t have access to with your hands.  I’d be sneaking up on a house, slipping on my rabbit head and saying,  “I didn’t plan on my twenties looking like this…”)

I showed the kids my magic wand.  I offered to make balloon animals.  But all they wanted to do was have that epic, existential conversation…  Was I real?  At this point it all seemed to be very surreal being dressed as the Easter Bunny, pondering the questions of our times.  Who was I to break the truth to these kids, once and for all?  After a considerable amount of debate, the kids gave up on me and ran outside.  I worried what that might do to my tip that I couldn’t keep the kids entertained.  I decided the only thing left to do was continue on with it for the amusement of the baby.  I removed my paws and started working on a few tricks for her, and then the kids had a change of heart and came back just in time to see me handless.

“See!  You aren’t real!”

“No,” I sputtered.  “It’s all part of the magic.  See, but you missed it…”  Happy Easter, kids.

It was completely fruitless.  I’d sealed my bunny fate as a fraud.

I did a few more parties after that, but I started looking for other things.  If I’d wanted to spend that much time pondering my own existence, I would have gone into philosophy.

Easter Basket Salad

  • Pineapple, sliced & also shaped into a bunny
  • Strawberries, sliced
  • Kale, shredded with the shred blade in a food processor
  • For bunny features: thyme leaves for eyes, red bell pepper for nose and mouth, strawberry top for hat, strawberry slice for necklace, and a chickpea tail

Assemble in a bowl and top with your favorite dressing.  I topped it with creamy cashew dressing, but a raspberry vinaigrette would also be lovely.

Black Bean Taco Pizza – a taste of nostalgia

One of the biggest surprises in moving to the West Coast was the near total lack of taco pizza.  That was astonishing to me as taco pizza is an institution in the Midwest.  You’ll find it on the menu of every pizza place from the one at the gas station, to the mom and pop restaurants, and even to national pizza chains that make a specialty taco pizza for their taco loving locals.  The one that was my favorite growing up was from Happy Joe’s.  Happy Joe’s started in Bettendorf, Iowa.  It was the go-to place for kids’ birthday parties at a time when Chuck E. Cheese was still just a twinkling in some animatronic rat’s eye.  In celebration of Little Emmy Lou or Billy Joe Jr.’s big day, an employee would come out with a squeaky black horn.  A siren would sound and the room would go quiet while the employee announced, “Emmy Lou is seven today!  Let’s all join in to sing happy birthday!”  A roomful of strangers would sing while Emmy Lou beamed.  Afterwards, kids would steal pens from their mothers’ purses to fill out the word games on their paper placemats and chuckle over jokes printed on them that were sent in from kids all over the Midwest.

“Why did the man put his car in the oven?  He wanted a hot rod.”  (Can you imagine the hot pads that guy must own?  They have to be huge.)

Then the kids would beg for quarters and run off to play in the arcade while parents talked over pitchers of pop and beer.  My brothers needed to be told when the pizza had arrived because they were immersed in the game room; however, I was only too aware.  My favorite spot at Happy Joe’s was the platform and window where you could watch the pizza being made.  I’d gaze at the pizza makers, pulling and stretching the dough and then loading it with toppings.  Then came the main event.  With the platform as my stage I’d turn to face the unsuspecting audience and regale the customers with dances from my tap class or my own homemade choreographed show.  I was 23.  I’m kidding, I’m kidding.  I was 5 or 6.

Once our pizza was ready, I’d run to the table, eager to eat my dinner…  of chips.  See, for a real tried and true taco pizza, you need crushed nacho flavored chips on top.  Think of it as the pizza version of those noodle casseroles topped with crushed potato chips.  The seventies were a marvelous time, weren’t they?  I’d start picking chips from the top of the pizza, happily crunching away, until my mom would inevitably size up the situation and tell me, “Cadry.  You can’t just eat the chips.”  It was worth a shot.  I’d settle in to a whole slice… with a few extra chips for good measure.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the state my someday-to-be husband was gobbling up taco pizza of his own.  Apparently, one time his dad even forgot his brother there in the arcade.  He came home with pizza for the family, and his mom said, “Did you forget anything?”

“No, I got the pizza,” his dad said.

“I mean your son.  Happy Joe’s called.”

What did I tell you?  That arcade was something of a Bermuda Triangle for preteen boys.

You can imagine my shock and disappointment when discovering that, in a similar fashion, on the West Coast taco pizza ceased to exist.  (I found one place between LA and Phoenix that has it, and that’s it.)  Happy Joe’s only made it as far as North Dakota and stopped.  (Did they suppose a restaurant couldn’t hope for more than a city called Grand Forks?  My sources say yes.)  In my fantasies, I imagined opening a restaurant selling taco pizza, showing the Angelenos what they were missing out on…

And then 9 years into living there I met my sooner-to-be husband, and I discovered that he too had a deep well of love for taco pizza.  That well was so deep, he actually had people in Iowa send him boxes of the taco flavored chips that were essential for the true taco pizza experience.  He had discovered in his time in LA that a SoCal chain had a similar crust to Happy Joe’s, and so in our early dating days we’d order their pizza, and then add raw chopped onions, lettuce, and taco chips.

It may come as no surprise after all of this that when we announced our engagement to my family back in Iowa, we all met up at Happy Joe’s.  In came an employee who honked her squeaky horn.  (Yes, I know.  We’re fancy.)  My family members looked at each other confused.  None of us were celebrating a birthday.  Then she said, “We have a special announcement!  Cadry and David are getting married!”  The siren sounded, and there were hugs all around, and then I realized I should have pulled David from the Skeeball game first.  (I kid, I kid.  He’s terrible at Skeeball.  He’s more of a Ms. Pac-Man guy.)  In fact, I even gave taco pizza a shout out in my wedding vows.

Then we went vegan.  And the taco pizza from Happy Joe’s with its dairy-based cheese, meat, and nacho chips were all put to the wayside.  I started making a chickpea taco pizza on a Vicolo cornmeal crust.  (You can check out the video here.)  It was and is delicious, but the chips for topping were elusive.  Nothing was quite right for the spicy, crunchy topping.  We tried blue corn chips, and they were too hard.  We tried seasoning our own tortilla chips, but the spice blend was never quite right and felt a little dusty in the mouth.  Eventually we gave up and settled to the idea of a life of chipless taco pizza.  Then, like a cilantro-fueled dream, Garden of Eatin’ came on the scene with their Pico de Gallo chips, and the chipful taco pizza was born again.  The crunch, the seasoning, it’s all right on.  (But very dangerous.  Somehow those bags have a hard time staying full in our kitchen cupboards.)


This recipe is part of my continuing series on ways to use one component of a meal for several entrees.  It utilizes spicy black beans and several cupboard and freezer staples.  If you feel like making homemade marinara and crust, go for it.  But we love this meal for something hearty, indulgent, fun and quick.  It’s an occasional treat with a lot of sentimental value.  Plus, using some premade products and leftover spicy black beans means that the whole shebang, including baking time, is done and on the table in twenty minutes.  You couldn’t drive to Happy Joe’s, park, order, and do a couple of tap numbers in that amount of time.  The only thing missing?  Those placemats with crosswords and corny jokes, but I’m working on that.  I came up with this little beauty last week.  Tell me if you think it’s up to snuff for a sheet of paper used to protect my table from splotches of pizza sauce…

“Why does the bird outside my window only sing the same one line to a song over and over?  Early bird gets the ear worm!”

No?  How about…

“What did the creamy cashew and garlic salad topping say to the refrigerator?  Close the door!  I’m dressing!”

All right.  I’ll keep working on it.


Black Bean Taco Pizza

  • ¼ cup (heaping) Spicy Black Beans
  • 1 Vicolo cornmeal crust
  • A few spoonfuls of marinara (My favorite is Trader Joe’s Organic Tomato Basil Marinara)
  • Any or all of the following toppings:  chopped tomatoes, onions, cilantro, avocado, red bell pepper, olives, and crushed Garden of Eatin’ Pico de Gallo chips

Preheat oven to 425 degrees.  Top the cornmeal crust with marinara and spicy black beans.  Bake for 15 minutes.  Remove the pizza (and hot rod, if necessary) from oven and top with your preferred toppings.

Update:  For a gluten-free crust idea, check out this post from Andrea at Cook Easy Vegan.

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