Chicken Enchiladas with Sour Cream White Sauce

I believe dinner should feel like a hug and a small, mildly dramatic apology I’m making to my past self for eating nothing but cereal at 27. Also: casseroles are culture (fight me), especially when you live somewhere where a weather app is basically a personality trait. If you want the quickest route to comfort, try my full Chicken Enchiladas with Sour Cream White Sauce recipe—but also keep reading because I will tell you how I almost ruined it, then fixed it, and then second-guessed myself like usual.

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There was a time I thought more sauce = better life. I dumped a vat (okay, two ladles) of sour cream onto shredded chicken and thought, “This is it. This is the peak.” It smelled weirdly like a diner that had never closed and a library that lost its sense of smell. The tortillas turned to limp little envelopes of regret (they made a sad slosh when you picked one up), and the cheese? Soggy, not triumphant. My oven beeped like it was judging me. Embarrassing, honestly. I remember my partner asking if we should just order pizza and I said no because PRINCIPLES, then microwaved a napkin and cried into it. Also: why were there whispers coming from the baking dish? (I’m dramatic. Not sorry.)

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What changed is patience, empiricism, and a little brutality. I stopped fearing the oven. I realized that 2 cups cooked shredded chicken behaves like a mattress — it needs structure but also a gentle hand. I swapped the “more is more” mentality for “a balanced pour” of sour cream and actually mixed the soup in (game changer). This version of Chicken Enchiladas with Sour Cream White Sauce finally works because I stopped babying the tortillas and started treating the filling like a team player. Emotionally? I let go. Practically? I listened to the quiet things in cooking — texture, not just taste. Also: I learned to stop rolling like I was tucking in a baby and roll like I was sealing secrets.

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• 2 cups cooked shredded chicken
• 8 flour tortillas
• 2 cups sour cream
• 1 cup cream of mushroom soup
• 1 cup shredded cheese (cheddar or Monterey Jack)
• 1/2 cup diced green chilies
• 1 teaspoon garlic powder
• 1 teaspoon onion powder
• Salt and pepper to taste
• Olive oil (for greasing the dish)

Budget-friendly, creamy, and surprisingly pantry-stable (I once made this from things I found under a textbook and a houseplant); texture note: shred the chicken by hand for irregular pieces — it’s prettier and makes better bites.

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1. Preheat the oven to 350°F (175°C).
2. In a bowl, mix together the shredded chicken, sour cream, cream of mushroom soup, diced green chilies, garlic powder, onion powder, salt, and pepper.
3. Take a tortilla, fill it with the chicken mixture, and roll it up.
4. Place the rolled tortillas seam-side down in a greased baking dish.
5. Pour any remaining chicken mixture on top of the tortillas, and sprinkle shredded cheese over the top.
6. Cover the dish with foil and bake for 20 minutes.
7. Remove the foil and bake for an additional 10-15 minutes until the cheese is bubbly and golden.
8. Let it cool slightly before serving.

Also: I know listicles like to feel poetic but here’s the chaotic truth — sometimes I undercook the cheese, sometimes the chilies shout but it’s okay. TIP: don’t be precious about the browning; if it looks like a tiny volcano, you’re doing good. Interruptions (because life) — if your chicken is cold from the fridge, warm it a minute so the filling isn’t chilly. IMPORTANT? Not always. But sometimes yes. Also, if you love extra tang, add a squeeze of lime at the end. Or don’t. Live dangerously.

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Okay, real talk: who else burns their hand reaching for the foil? Who else pretends every bite is a test from some culinary deity? Answer in your head. Have you fed this to guests and pretended it was “from a restaurant”? Me neither. (Lies.) Do you serve it with rice or a salad? Why not both and call it an identity crisis? If you’ve ever argued about whether sour cream belongs in enchiladas at 2 a.m., we are friends. Tell me about your tortilla strategy. Soft? Toasted? Rolled like a neat burrito? I will judge you gently — then steal a piece.

In an alternating mood I sometimes pair this with something wildly different, like that time I made a chicken chow mein because I accidentally bought the wrong noodles and then decided to lean into chaos. It worked. Also: leftovers are negotiable and sacred.

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I keep thinking about how food is memory and also negotiation. This dish is proof that small things — a teaspoon of garlic powder, a decision to stop over-saucing — can unstick you from a rut. I texted my mom a picture while it bubbled and she sent a thumbs-up and a recipe critique (naturally). If you make it and hate it, call me dramatic and then remake it the way you want; if you love it, send me a photo so I can live vicariously. I should probably go check the oven timer but also I just remembered I left my coffee on the roof of the car this morning and now I’m worried about it and also where did I put my keys and—

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