Boots in the Oven

Chimayo: A Chile Pilgrimage

Last weekend, on our last day in New Mexico, we drove north to a town known for its chiles, dirt, and heroin problem.  

Chimayo is a short, beautiful drive from Santa Fe, and the prospect of one last chile-spiced lunch spurred us onwards.  When we arrived, we could smell the area's famous chiles in the breeze - or perhaps that was just the chile stand in the parking lot?

Our first stop, after a quick walk through town, was a little restaurant called Leona's.  It's pretty easy to find if you're on foot, nestled up against the side of the town's main attraction, the Santuario.

Ordering here is via a simple, cafeteria-style line, though the smells wafting from the kitchen make deciding what to eat a serious battle.

Horseman's Haven

What do you need after a raucous all night bachelor party? If you said grease, carbs and green chile you are totally right.

And an egg.

Serious chowing with friends.

God bless you Horseman’s Haven. Yup, this place was the only restaurant that made mine and Girlie’s absolutely must revisit list from our last trip to Santa Fe. Its straight up, no frills good food transcends its non-descript, hodgepodge pseudo-dive identity problem.

Shoved oddly behind a gas station, close to nothing in particular, this little unassuming diner has been churning out huge messy plates of deliciousness for locals and the college crowd for years.

The green chile cheeseburger laughs at your handheld attempts.

Even though they have recently renovated, you can’t shake the sense that the threadbare under layer is just behind the seams. Horse blankets still cover the vinyl benches, the odd assortment of pictures and nick-knacks hang unconcernedly at odd angles on the walls and the new karaoke machine is just as likely as not to have some crappy, falsetto, R&B song stuck on an endless loop.

Do People Seriously Go to School for This?

As we were jogging our way through the Dallas airport a couple of days ago, I couldn't help being momentarily distracted by this freudian dining experience that appears to be a group effort by Auntie Anne's and Nathan's.

I'm glad two big companies were involved in producing this excellent ad specimen.  I hate to think what might have happened if just one had been involved.

I swear I saw a woman cover her child's eyes as they went by.

Kickin' It in Santa Fe's Railyard Market

We have successfully returned from New Mexico. Friends have been partied with and married off. Green chile, red chile and honeyed sopaipillas have been eaten in copious amounts. Gruet winery stock is most certainly up. But the 105°F thermometer readings tell me that we’re squarely back in Austin. Or possibly the sun.

The trip, as expected, was seriously awesome. So instead of letting my shoes melt to the sidewalk or seeing if I can remove my fingerprints by grabbing my steering wheel, I thought I’d tell you about some prime Santa Fe action.

So many smudge sticks. So Santa Fe.

One of the best parts of this adobe covered New Mexican town is its sweet farmers’ market. It has new digs in a recently built throwback industrial space called the Railyard. The overflow of June vendors put our December experience to shame.

Even though I love it, every time we travel and explore local markets, it kind of feels like I’m rifling through a neighbor’s drawers. I mean some stuff is familiar but they always have so many different and unusual things. (Not that I go through my neighbors’ drawers. Sheesh. They totally keep their doors locked.)

I loved all of the cherries that are in season. Most people had these tiny, tart, bright red, pie cherries.

But occasionally we came across some plump, sweet, Rainiers.

The bakers that set up shop are amazing. This olive and sage flower loaf almost came back with us.

De Afghanan - And Yes I Can Spell.

Pretty much nothing. Zero.

I’d say that was an accurate description of the sum total of my knowledge of Afghan food. My knowledge of the country isn’t much more impressive.

I know we all should have gone in the ‘70’s, we’re bombing it now, and the opium is supposed to be amazing. Does that count?

While not totally uninformed (feel the stretch) I was eager to learn more about the place and the people when Rachel and I found ourselves in Fremont, CA- home to the largest Afghani population this side of the ‘Stan itself. Heck, they even call it Little Kabul.

Given a choice, my favorite introduction to a culture is through its food. While not exactly wearing their shoes, a good meal can really open a window on the lives of the people who prepared it. I know we were thousands of miles from all the actual local produce and spices, but I figured California probably grows a few suitable substitutes.

When we started looking around for the best Afghan place to break us in we noticed two things pretty quickly. First, there are a whole freakin’ lot of them. And second, they’re almost all labeled as kebob houses.

Uncovering Amarillo's Hidden Weirdness

Amarillo, up in the Texas Panhandle, is overwhelmingly conservative and dedicated to beef.  But there's some oddness lurking right under the surface, thanks mostly to helium baron Stanley Marsh 3.  (He thinks Roman numerals are pretentious, apparently.)

So, after waking up still stuffed with beef from our Big Texan meal the night before, we went out to see maybe his most famous project - the Cadillac Ranch.  Not to be confused with Nebraska's Carhenge, my goodness no.  The Cadillac Ranch is located just off of I-40 a few miles west of Amarillo.

You just park your car on the interstate access road and push through a fence that's kept unlocked at all hours.  Sometimes you have to watch out for cows, though there weren't any nearby when we visited - but you always have to watch for their, uh, leavings.

Sometimes people kindly spraypaint them for you, so they stand out more.

Amarillo by Evenin'

With apologies to (from?) George Strait.  (Wow, they really should disable comments on that video.)

Early-esque morning, Taos.  There was still snow everywhere, but dammit, it was time to go.  The plan - Amarillo, Texas, by dinnertime.

We passed hillsides set up as small ski runs, negotiated hairpin turns, and got stuck for a time behind a truck with a giant advertisement for Amarillo tourism plastered on the back.  A cowboy astride his horse, picked out in silhouette against a red sunset, implored us to visit the Amarillo Symphony.

Instead, we passed the truck and drove to Las Vegas, New Mexico.  It may not have the glitz and synchronized fountains of the Nevada version, but it does have a nicely preserved downtown area without a bit of adobe construction. 

We stopped in briefly at a weaving center that offered classes and information.  I loved reading about cochineal farming - the insects that are crushed to prepare bright red dye - but I'm just not a fan of the heavy, scratchy traditional blankets that made up most of their offerings.

The shop did have beautiful, naturally dyed and handspun yarns, with pictures of the breed of sheep that produced the wool.  Again, I wanna learn to knit!  Too bad resolutions aren't my thing.

Time for lunch!  At Estella's Cafe on historic Bridge Street, officeworkers were starting to gather.  We joined them.

I was getting seriously hangry (see hungry/angry) and was in dire need of eatings.  We placed our order, being sure to include one for chips and salsa since we expected they'd hit the table mere moments later.

Snowed in in Taos

There are many worse things than having to spend a day in a charming New Mexican ski resort town!

So, the whole "we'll be back in Austin on Friday" thing didn't really pan out.  We stayed in Mandeville (north of New Orleans) until Sunday and then spent most of the day yesterday ORGANIZING THE PANTRY YAYZ NOW WE KNOW WHERE THINGS ARE.  But before I show you pictures of scrumptious fried chicken and delicious holiday feasting eats, a little more on our December New Mexico trip.

We woke up at the Inn of the Sun Gods in Taos, and our car looked like this.

Snow, snow, everywhere, and the plows were having a heck of a time keeping up with it.  And if central Taos looked like this, what would the mountain roads out of town look like?

Let it snow, let it... whyzit gotta snow alla time!?

Living in a climate that gets snow once every two years or so, you forget what a pain in the butt the stuff can be.  Beautiful, sure, but always scraping it off your car, or having a chunk of it slide down into the open top of your short boots, or trying to drive on roads coated with the stuff and sludge, too?  Not so much.

On our last morning in Santa Fe we woke up to this view out of our hotel window.

Yay!  The stuff was really coming down.  Unfortunately, we were going to have to drive through it to get to Taos, which was expecting somewhere between 6 and 12 inches.  So we resolved to take the river road (as opposed to the high, scenic road through villages and pueblos) and set out on mostly unplowed roads.

Sadly, we didn't see any elk.

The drive was actually really nice, and though visibility was low we could tell we were driving through some lovely country.  About two-thirds of the way up to Taos, with the snow having mostly stopped, we pulled off the river road to take the high road the rest of the way into town. 

Santa Fe: Chilechilechile YAK!

Our first morning in Santa Fe.  You'll be shocked to hear that we wanted eggs and chile.  Luckily, just a block or so from our hotel was the well-regarded Tia Sophia's.

We'd heard that the wait at Tia Sophia's could be insurmountable, but when we arrived just before 10 there were only a couple of people ahead of us.  We waited out on the sidewalk, checkin' out the Lensic theater across the street.

Soon enough, our number was called, and we sat down to this exciting disclaimer:

New Mexico's so cool because of their complete unselfconscious mix of American, Mexican, and often Native American culture, especially with their food.  Tia Sophia's menu allows choices between sausage, bologna, bacon and ham; hash browns, posole, or home fries; tortillas or toast; and of course, the state question - green or red.  Chile, of course.

Husbear ordered bologna and posole, because wtf? but was accidentally brought hash browns.  They quickly fixed the mistake.  But damn, were they stingy with the chile!  We ordered a second ramekin.

Also, sadly, their chile was barely warm, totally undeserving of the bold disclaimer.  The restaurant is just off the Plaza, though, and probably gets a lot of tourists from cold, unspicy climes like North Dakota, people who would send back dishes spiced with black peppercorns.