How mucho is too mucho?

From our Denver correspondent

My ruminations on the quesadilla: "Haute cuisine or greasy feast?"

So tell me, at what point did quesadillas gain such panache?

I mean hell, I still remember the days when peanuts and manzanilla olives
reigned supreme.

Those were replaced by Ruffles and onion dip, or maybe Bugles if you were
redneck.

Next came the chips with salsa. Sure, that made sense since it was pretty
much chip and dip gone ethnic. They called avocado dip "guacamole" and
charged $3/oz for it.

And then we had nachos, a fancy way to serve chip and dip all at once and
charge you an extra $10 for the avocado dip, sour cream and desicated
chicken. We loved it, but it had it's limitations.

Then after a kind of collective apathy, which we filled with top-shelf
margaritas in martini glasses and "tapas," a not-so satisfying Spanish
alternative, came the quesadilla.

The quesadilla, in my esteem, is never sure if it's an appetizer, an entree
or what. I mean, there's no such confusion over ordinary tortilla chips--
chances are they ain't gonna make a meal no matter how high you stack the
sour cream and guac.

But a quesadilla on the other hand, depending on how much of what you put in
that sucker, could easily be a meal. And if you fill it with brie,
fines-herbes fresh shrimp and lobster, well then it becomes elegant, albeit
pretentious, cuisine.

But at the same time is it really a meal? Can a quesadilla ever get over
it's appetizer, fun-time, finger-food, party rep and make its way as an
entree?

I'm sure it could be done, but I've never seen one hold down a plate of
beans and rice the way a double-barrel enchilada or foot-long smothered
burrito can.