Category: Hatch

My People

I am always filled with a not-so-quiet joy when I see the place from whence I came showcased on the big stage.

It somehow validates me.

Sure, having Big Bad Billy run for President surely upped New Mexico’s cool quotient and “put us on the map” in plenty of ways.

But my heart sang and my eyes wept last night watching an episode of “No Reservations” on the Travel Channel.

I love this show. Starring Anthony Bourdain, a career chef, New Jersey born, New York resident. This is a high class, high dollar guy who knows his food.

He was head chef at upscale Les Halles in New York for many years. He’s also a prolific writer and avid traveler. I’ve read a few of his books, many of his editorials and some blog posts. His writing is tight, snarky and well, just good.

I’ve watched his food/travel show since it was called something different for a season on the Food Network. I’ve also seen every episode of the long running series now on the Travel Channel.

I’ve been around the world with Tony. Watched him get pummeled by bulky bodybuilders in Finland, seen him travel the back roads of Viet Nam eating god knows what, watched him get bucked off a four wheeler in New Zealand, and am intimately familiar with his love for all pork products.

So last night’s episode (actually, it was last week’s, I missed it and caught a rerun), Anthony was given use of a BMW SUV, then set out on a road trip to the American Southwest.

Hoookay, Mr. Snappy Chef Boy, you are dancing on my terrain now.

I was pretty certain I’d see plenty of Arizona, lots of Texas, and none of my Fair New Mexico.

I was wrong.

In between stops in Indio, CA (god, why would *anyone* willingly stop there) and Waco, TX (home of one Mr. Ted Nugent), the No Reservations crew made a stop in Hatch.

Yes, Hatch, New Mexico, home of one of the finest food ingredients in the world.

Tony sat at a vinyl-topped table with the owners of The Pepper Pot, and talked with them about the troubles of chile farmers (mostly that there is lack of demand, so farmers are converting crops to more profitable items, like corn).

While they talked, the host was served both a red and a green enchilada.

And Mr. Bourdain, world traveler, renowned chef, he of highly calibrated taste buds turned to the camera and said, “That is the best enchilada I have ever eaten.”

Yes, yes it is. The best you’ll *ever* eat.

Take that to Manhattan, big man.

Because if it was the last day of my life, and I was told that I could choose one of two places for my last meal: a high end, high dollar establishment, or a crappy diner in New Mexico, there would be no contest.

Chicken enchiladas, green, with a fried egg and sour cream.

And I would go quietly into that great beyond with a big smile and a full belly.

Salute to my home state for getting a good review from a snarky host of a travel show!

To celebrate, I’ll have feet on the ground in just less than two weeks.

Because it’s time. And because my sweet New Mexico calls to me.

Mostly because my best friend said she’d make rellenos.

Green chile chicken enchiladas, here I come!

Watery eyes, sweating and that "whooooo" sound in…

3….2…..1…..

“Adam Lagesse, 25, a produce manager for H.E.B., a supermarket chain out of Austin, Texas, bites into a green chile pod Wednesday as he and other Texas grocers toured a field in Salem, N.M., north of Hatch. They were learning how the green chile industry operates so they can better market the vegetable grown in New Mexico to their consumers.”

From the Las Cruces Sun News.

Come to me…

Sweet precious weekend.

Glorious, tasty two days of freedom from the shackles that bind.

I need it.

Crave it.

And yet…here I am at work. I have more meetings yet to go today. Many more. One of them will be rather ugly.

So I’m still on an uphill trudge.

But other than the weekend, I have something to keep working toward. See, last night I had a conversation with my best good friend. If you can believe it (I can’t) we celebrate twenty years of friendship this year. Mind boggling.

She makes her residence in Las Cruces and graciously offered to throw a backyard “together” for The Good Man and me and a variety of our friends. It will be a chance to catch up with my New Mexico familia and I couldn’t be MORE excited to be there.

I mean, it’s not just seeing old friends, hugging my beautiful godkids, breathing clear desert air, seeing mountains in the distance, resting, not working, but also one big reason……

I’m running about a quart low on green chile.

Tastes Like Nuevo Mexico

I have been reading a book titled “Tastes like Cuba: An Exile’s Hunger for Home” by Eduardo Machado.

I picked up this little gem off the “new” rack at my local library. I liked the title. Plus I have a total fascination with Cuba. This passion in past years has been fueled by the movie “Buena Vista Socal Club” which I saw in the theater, and own and watch often. It’s an amazing movie.

What lay ahead of me in this book, Tastes Like Cuba, was not something I could expect. I was excited by the form the book took, discussing Cuba through the author’s memories of food. Each chapter ends with a couple recipes for the food just discussed (which is a really cool idea). It was like food porn, and since I’m a big fan of good eats myself, it immediately appealed to me.

As the book progressed, it went from mild interest to speaking directly to my heart. Eduardo goes through quite a transformation in his life. Born and raised in Cuba, at the age of 8, just as Castro took over Cuba, Eduardo was shipped out to Miami on the now infamous Operation Peter Pan flights. He went from a life of relative luxury and wealth, surrounded by his parents and grandparents, to being poor and parentless in a new country with the added responsibility of caring for his younger brother.

When his parents did finally arrive some months later, his father moved the family to Los Angeles, a wild and wacky place for a young, sensitive, creative Cuban kid in the 1960’s. He struggled to identify himself. He wasn’t a Chicano during the power and protest periods in LA. He was not a Caucasian American. He was something no one could identify, not even himself.

To add to this lost state of feelings, in America he couldn’t get the food from home, the tastes that made him feel whole. Through growing, becoming more of an American, and exploring his creativity, he found a dichotomy. A man without a country, without the touchstone of his family that turned out to be more dysfunctional than he’d ever imagined (his father boldly admits, to his face, that he never loved Eduardo. How’s that for a mind f*@k?), and without something to identify with, it sent him down a spiraling journey into low self-esteem and depression.

What finally rescued him was the theater. First as an actor, and then ever more successfully as a playwright.

He wrote plays about his life, his family, his darkest fears, the ugly parts, the pretty parts, all of it. And though it scared him senseless to put it all out there, he still did it.

I started thinking hard about why this book spoke to me so deeply. Now, certainly, I’m no exile from another country, but I, too, was raised in a very culturally deep place with food unlike anywhere else in the world. And yes, I miss the food from my home. Daily. Did you know you can’t find whole, fresh roasted Hatch green chiles in California? And forget it about Indian Fry Bread.

And I often feel misunderstood here in California. Culturally, artistically and all the rest. It was profound when I first moved and still is something of an issue, some ten years later.

But, much like Eduardo, it took me leaving my home to be able to plumb the depths of my own creativity. Living in California has become a means to help me learn who I am, why things matter to me, and to be able to write, paint, and photograph about them.

I am a woman of two places. Like Eduardo, I’ve learned to love them both, while being conflicted at the same time.

My transformation has been on a much smaller scale than Eduardo Machado. But I guess in reading his words, I wish I could just tell him, “I get it”.

Because I do.