New Mexico: Bob's Burger

Ranchero Burger, Fries, Frito Pie and a Dr. Pepper.

Voted as the Best Frito Pie by Alibi readers, I knew that I had to make a visit to Bob's. And when I saw that they had a location close to the hotel, I knew it was meant to be.

The notion of Frito Pie just sounds magical to me. Since I was a child, I've always loved the greasy corniness of Fritos. Few snack foods are as satisfying as a bag of Frito's and a cold Coke, and the idea of smothering those Frito's with chili and cheese just makes it that much more appealing to a hedonist like me.

Bob's is an Albuquerque chain of fast food restaurants. It's plain, clean and utilitarian. Efficient. It's not even as nicely decorated as a McDonald's but as long as the food is good, what do I care? I'm not going to sit here for four hours eating a twenty course tasting menu, I'm here for Frito Pie - the ultimate in New Mexican working class fare.

But it's lunchtime and I'm also hungry and their Ranchero Burger sounds pretty good. All beef patty, cheese and green chiles with french fries and a large Dr. Pepper. That should fill the ticket. Just sidle up to the counter, place your order, pay and they'll call out your number when it's ready. It's the early part of lunchtime so the restaurant is fairly empty save for a few telephone repairmen and some others who are taking advantage of the lull before the rush.

Finally, my order is ready. It comes on a standard, red tray. One thing that seems popular here in Albuquerque is the use of paper to wrap burgers. It's a nice touch that reminds one of a simpler era rather than the large boxes burgers seem to come in on the East Coast. I feel decidedly American. Decidedly nineteen fifties - without all the ethnic segregation tendencies.

Let me tell you: the burger is absolutely stellar. It's as near perfection in a fast food burger as I've had anywhere. The patty is thin, the buns are thin, the patty is juicy, there's a slice of American cheese and a layer of green chiles. Quite simply, it's amazing.


Inside the Frito Pie.

Most people think that a good burger must be a "big" burger. Go to most fancy burger joints or restaurants and the patties are these thick monstrosities of beef. But a big patty a good burger doesn't make. Same goes for the bun. Many places have these huge buns on top of huge patties because we're obsessed with the More Is More concept of America. In the world of burgers, more is definitely not more, and Bob's seems to have captured that concept and wrapped it in paper topped with green chiles.

The ratio of beef to bread is nearly perfect. It's equal and the flavors are complimentary. The size of both allow one to easily take a bite of burger without having to overextend the jaw and look like some sort of giant ape eating Manhattan. But, more importantly, the size of the bun and patty means that eat bite will be a balance of flavors. Suddenly, you're not overwhelmed by beef or bread, but rather you can actually taste the creaminess of the American cheese and the searing bite of the green chiles. It's nothing short of sublime.

The patty is juicy, the bun is soft, the cheese is creamy and the chiles bring a fire that smolders in your mouth. That fire brings a slight pain, but the flavor is so compelling that you don't want to stop eating. The flavors bring pleasure to your mouth while the endorphins lull you into a state of culinary eroticism. This burger is true food porn at it's best and most obscene.

The french fries, to quote Michelle, are just "meh." Basic, frozen, industrial shoestring potatoes a la McDonald's but not as good. They're perfunctory and that's about it.

But what about the Frito Pie? Afterall, isn't that why I came to Bob's?

The Frito Pie. You know, I must be harboring some sort of prejudice about the Frito Pie because after having it no less than three times during this trip, I'm not finding it as appealing as I would have expected. Bob's Frito Pie was as good as the others I've tried. It's simple: take some Frito's, put them in a paper tray and smother with chili, cheese, lettuce and tomato. It's good. It's decent. But I think my problem with it all is that it's not what I was expecting.


Here's how I'm able to sample so much in one day: I don't finish it all.

I was expecting something more industrial. Something really bad for you. Something that would be a little more gross. And how much more gross can you get by pumping 7-Eleven hot dog chili and nacho cheese over a bag of Frito's? Come on, that's disgusting. But I can imagine it being so good.

So, instead of receiving a monument to obesity and poor health, I'm presented with something that seems relatively gourmet. Instead of the gruel that I expect out of a proper 7-Eleven chili, one can discern the beef from the sauce in the chili served here. Heck, you can see and taste the beans. That ain't no 7-Eleven chili. The cheese is actually shredded cheddar instead of some noxious yellow-orange liquid being pumped out of a can labeled "Nacho Cheese." And then there's the shredded lettuce and chopped tomato. This can't be the nightmare called "Frito Pie" that I dreamed about. This seems too gourmet. As though Thomas Keller waved his hand over the 7-Eleven version and gave us something more palatable.

Bob's Frito Pie is good. Darned good. Denizens of Albuquerque say it's The Best. It's just not what I was expecting. But really, Frito's layered with chili and cheese? No matter how much you dress it down or gourmet it up, it's just a winning combination.

I think I need a Coke...



Bob's Burger
5230 4th Street NW
Albuquerque, NM 87107
505-345-8727

New Mexico: Roasting Chiles

Loading my sack into the roaster.

I didn't plan it. In fact, I didn't even know about it until I saw these iron roasters set up in parking lots across the state. Here in New Mexico it's green chile season and it's in full swing. Everywhere you turn in this state are chiles. Red chiles, green chiles, chile wreaths, chiles hanging from the ceiling, it's chile, chile, chile. It's so chile here you might need a jacket. Ha ha.



Hatch Green Chiles Roasting.

For less than twenty bucks, you can buy a forty pound sack of freshly picked Hatch Green Chiles and have them roasted for you while you wait. Wow. Who would have thought? Back at home, roasted poblano peppers is a real pain in the butt. You're there, over an open fire (or searing oven) charring your peppers so you can skin them. It's time and labor intensive.



Unloading and bagging.

But here in New Mexico, they do all that for you. And they've got the contraption to do it. Simply take your bag of chiles, load it into the expanded steel drum and fire up the burners. The drum rotates and roasts the chiles. Seven minutes later, it's done and you're on your way to chile heaven.



My green chile booty.

For someone like myself, there are a few logistical considerations to consider. First and foremost, I don't live here. Second, I have to fly home. Third, how much can I really take home with me? All serious things to consider. Happily, my status with United means that I don't pay for checked baggage and the normal weight limits do not apply. That means I can pretty much bring anything home with me, regardless of how much and how heavy. Because of this, I always fly with an extra duffle bag stuffed into my luggage - just in case.



Chiles cool in the back of the Xterra.

Fifteen bucks lighter and forty pounds heavier, my chiles have been double bagged in plastic and the placed back in their burlap sack for support. Once they've cooled down sufficiently, I'll seal up the bags and toss it into my duffle for the flight home. It's a simple plan and one that fills the Xterra with the sweet aroma of roasted chiles for the rest of the day.

New Mexico: Albuquerque Coffee

Coffee and an English Muffin in the warm confines of Satellite Coffee.

What kind of coffee place is closed on Mondays?

It's my last day in Albuquerque and now that I'm recovered, I thought I would go check out The Grove again and give their espresso a try but they're closed on Mondays. Drats.

Good thing I noticed those other coffee shops on Central by the University the other night, so I head over there. It's around 8:30am and the streets are light - I guess it's pretty early for college students after a weekend of partying.

First stop is Satellite Coffee.

Satellite is a funky chain of cafes around town and the place looks like an Albuquerque's answer to Starbucks. Imagine an indie coffeeshop with the Roswell close encounters kind of vibe that's seriously trying to emulate a Starbucks environment within those parameter and you have an idea what Satellite looks like. It's slick, glossy and slightly weird, all at the same time.

As you walk in, you can't help but notice Satellite's Toast Bar. An assortment of breads and baked goods ready for toasting. I go for the English Muffin (they seem to be popular in Albuquerque), fork split and nicely toasted with butter.

Originally, I was thinking about a cappuccino but luckily, another customer was ahead of me ordering some sort of milk drink. As I watched the barista do his thing, I decided that the regular drip coffee would be the best bet. Once I saw the barista steaming a 64oz steam pitcher full of milk to the brim (and there were only two of us in line), I realized that perhaps this wasn't the cappuccino for me.

Instead, I went with a 12z cup of Costa Rican coffee. I asked if it was their Terrazu but the girl with my muffin didn't know. Either way, with some sugar and cream, it was an enjoyable cup of coffee to go with my buttered English muffin.

At The Spro, I can barely finish an 8z coffee, much less a 12z coffee and had to discard part of it. Not because I didn't enjoy it, but rather because I just had my fill and I knew that I had one more stop to make.



The Macchiato at Ecco Espresso.

Just a block or so away from Satellite is Ecco Espresso & Gelato. I don't know what it is with espresso and gelato places but they seem like an odd combination to me.

If one were to base their espresso expectations on decor alone, you wouldn't expect much from Ecco. That said, you probably wouldn't expect much from The Spro either. Ecco is a large and spartan space with slick walls and lots of echo (Ecco?). But I got to see the baristas making a drink for another customer and I was surprised. They actually looked like they knew what they were doing. Time to give them a test drive. Let me have a macchiato.

Here I am, a first time customer ordering a macchiato, I would have expected a query from the baristas asking if we were speaking the same language or if I were speaking Starbucks. There would be none of that. In a few moments, out came a proper macchiato. Just an ounce or two of espresso with a dollop of foam. Proper.

I thought that was pretty confident of them and was impressed by that alone. The drink was rich with bitter chocolate offset by the creamy foam. Perhaps not the best macchiato I've ever had but certainly a very good one. I wondered if any place else in Albuquerque could make drinks like this.


I requested a short pour cappuccino at Ecco.

Ecco follows a more traditional Italian approach to espresso. There's sugar on the counter for you to spoon as you desire and the baristas are cordial but not chatty. There's a mirror on the wall that allowed me to see some of their technique and it looked good. Even the espresso shots came out like dark streams of warm honey. Nice.

Assured that they knew something about our craft, I decided to have another round. This time a cappuccino. While the macchiato remained rooted in tradition, their menu demonstrated that their cappuccino was more American than Italian with three size offerings. I asked the girl behind the counter questions about their smallest cappuccino. In the end, I ordered a double shot cappuccino in a ceramic cup that was only filled about three quarters of the way with milk. That should emulate the size of a proper six ounce cappuccino.

Again, the bitter chocolate notes were there and the cappuccino was quite enjoyable. A nice find here in the desert.



Satellite Coffee
3513 Central Avenue NE
Albuquerque, NM 87106
505-256-0345
www.satcoffee.com


Ecco Espresso & Gelato
3409 Central Avenue NE
Albuquerque, NM 87106
505-268-0070

New Mexico: Not Quite Minimum Wage

Lawmakers want to pass a law allowing slot machines in the state of Maryland. To do so, they're trying to get people to vote on changing the state's constitution. All of that because they can't control their spending.

I'm not a fan of slots. It's too slow. There's no action going on. I want to seize the moment and live, not just sit there pushing buttons like some automaton. For that, give me table games. Give me craps.

One of my greatest fears is that I have an addictive personality. I worry that I'm just a hedonist who enjoys pleasures. And I find craps to be immensely pleasurable. Living in Maryland means that I am limited from indulging myself in gambling and that I must resort to long trips to Las Vegas (where the odds are better than Atlantic City).

Ever since our trip to Sandia Peak on Friday, I've been noticing the signs for the Sandia Resort and Casino located on Native American Reservation lands. Just a few minutes from downtown Albuquerque and a stone's throw from Balloon Fiesta Park and I can be throwing dice, rolling numbers and making big money while the casino comps me with meals, hotel rooms and fast women. It's the American Dream.

I arrive at the casino around 10pm and I smell the scent of a bygone era. Cigarette smoke. How odd and how anti-American it seems nowadays. While I detest cigarettes, their smell reminds me of a bygone era when Americans were once free to choose how they lived and enjoyed an existence away from the police state that is America today. I inhale deeply, filling my lungs with secondhand smoke just because I can.

As I approach the craps table I notice the table is hot and maneuver myself into position. The Shooter is rolling numbers and everyone is making money. I'm a big time gambler, so I lay my forty dollars on the table and start betting. There's five dollars on the pass line and ten dollars on the odds bet. The point is five. After a couple of rolls, a five comes up and we all make money. It's happy-happy, joy-joy all around.

After a little while, I'm up by one hundred dollars and that's when the shooter sevens out. All is lost and we start again. Not wanting to walk away from the action of the table, I ride out the next couple of shooters and take a bath. After the fourth shooter, I walk away from the table with $44. I've just made four dollars in one hour.

I cash in my chips and walk around the casino to check it out. After learning craps several years ago, nothing appeals to me. Poker requires too much concentration. There's too many variables in blackjack. Roulette is just a big crap shoot. But craps is all action. You can win fast and you can lose fast. Time your free drink orders correctly because you might be wiped out by the time the cocktail waitress comes back.

My stroll takes me back to the same craps table where the dice have just been passed back to Jose, the original shooter. And Jose has his magic back. He starts hitting numbers. My five dollar world bet hits and money rains down on me. The shooter is making point and we're winning money again.

Truth be told, in spite of that odd five dollar world bet, I'm playing it very conservatively. Five dollar pass line with the maximum five times odds bet of $25. After reading the statistics, the pass line bet and odds bets are the safest bets on the table. The rest are just sucker bets that increase the house margin against you. That said, it is those sucker bets that make craps so darn exciting. Placing money on the numbers, pressing your winnings, bringing your bets back when the hards roll soft, C&E bets - all of these allow you to win big money, but they also allow you to lose big money.

After a little while, I'm up another hundred bucks. I'm making money. And once again, the seven comes up and we lose it all. But I'm still a hundred ahead...

"In the casino, the cardinal rule is to keep them playing and to keep them coming back. The longer they play, the more they lose and in the end, we get it all."
- Robert DeNiro as Ace Rothstein in Casino

And like a fool, I keep playing. I know this quote. It's in my head. I know that casinos are built because of people like me winning. They're built because people like me lose all their money. But I keep going because I'm lured by the action - even when the dice have turned cold and the shooters keep rolling sevens.

In the end, I walked away from the table with forty-nine dollars. In just under two hours, I had made about $4.50 per hour. I had made less than minimum wage.

But I had a great time doing it.

Next time, I just know I'm gonna hit it big...

New Mexico: El Patio

New Mexican Style Cuisine at El Patio.

Before I left for Albuquerque, I asked former residents Bryan and Maria what was the one place that I had to try. El Patio was it. BTW, it's pronounced "patio" as in "outdoor patio" and not the Spanish styled "pah-tee-oh." To do so would be very un-New Mexican.

On the way there, I called Bryan and Maria to ask for menu recommendations. Maria recommended the red chile enchilada with extra potatoes and Bryan recommended the stuffed sopapilla. I would try both.


Tortilla chips, firery hot salsa and a Dr. Pepper.

I'm all alone at El Patio because Maria has flown back to Phoenix so she can go back to work tomorrow. It's a chilly night here in Albuquerque and Maria (Bryan's wife) said that I "had" to sit outside on the patio for full effect. It's no problem getting a table because everyone else is inside keeping warm. At least my server thanked me for sitting outside so she could "cool off" a little.

El Patio is located on a side street off Central Avenue (seems like everything is on Central in Albuquerque) and close to the University of New Mexico campus. Hold on a moment: "university" and "Mexican" together usually means something horrifically crappy but not here at El Patio. They keep things real here.


Before.

First up is an order of chips and red salsa. The salsa is smoking hot and I can't take too much of it without burning my mouth and rendering my tastebuds useless, but I want to eat more of it because it's that good.

For my meal, I decide not to hold back. Let me have both the enchilada and the stuffed sopapilla. Immediately, I realize that perhaps I've made a mistake. Both orders are huge. Even though the sopapilla is a side order and not the full dinner, it's massive. Puffy fried dough stuffed with spiced ground beef topped with green chile sauce and cheese - my God, who thinks of these things??? It's amazing. Delicious. The meat is delicately balanced with the spice of the chiles. The dough is chewy and I want to eat more but I mustn't.


Stuffed Sopapilla

The enchiladas are more of the same. One cheese and the other beef, drenched in red chile sauce. It's good. It's hot but the flavor is not as compelling as that of the green chiles. This seals it: I'm a green chile fan, not a red chile fan. The enchiladas come with refried pinto beans which are good, but it's the potatoes that rock the house. I should have ordered a double like I was instructed.


Done. I can't eat another bite.

The bottom line is that it's too much. I can't finish half of either dish. I'm defeated but luckily there are takeaway containers and I pile all my leftovers into the containers for some midnight eating later.


El Patio de Albuquerque
142 Harvard Drive SE
Albuquerque, NM 87106
505-268-4245

New Mexico: I Scream Ice Cream

Maria and our ice creams.

I've been using publications like The Alibi to find interesting places to eat while in Albuquerque. It's those recommendations bolstered by the real world local input from Bryan and Maria (the other Maria) that helped us choose where to eat. Now, Maria's an ice cream hog and after our drive down from Santa Fe, she's in the mood for more ice cream. It's here where the people of Burque let us down.

Listed as the "best" ice cream in Albuquerque is Cold Stone Creamery? Cold Stone, really? What is this place, some sort of suburban backwoods? Is the "best" that Burque has to offer a national chain? We can't do national chains - not when we can get that same crap at home. When on the road, we want something different. Something real. Something that we can't get in the suburbs.

According to the articles, Cold Stone is the only ice cream business actually producing ice cream in New Mexico. All other ice cream production has moved out of state. How is this possible? This is the desert. There are no places that make their own ice cream - in the whole state???

Somewhere, out there on Carlisle Boulevard, not too far away from downtown is a place called I Scream Ice Cream. They don't make their own ice cream but they do have one of the larger, out of state dairies make a line of ice creams specifically for them and no one else. Plus the articles on I Scream tell of a magical place that's unlike any other ice cream parlor in the state and perhaps the nation.

Most importantly, it's local and it's not serving a national brand like Dreyer's - which seems to be quite popular at ice cream places out here.

Albuquerque is a land of strip shopping centers and I Scream falls into place in one. It's the typical concrete with glass and aluminum framing construction you've seen all across America, then you step in.

Along the right wall as you walk into the shop is the service line. A long bank of ice cream dipping cabinets offering all sorts of flavors. Velcro'd to the top of the cabinets' display glass are quarter pans of all sorts of toppings, from animal crackers to gummi bears to peanuts and more. Bill, the owner and one of his staffers are manning the counter and a couple with their two kids are just finishing their orders as we arrive.

Sounds like a typical ice cream shop, right? Not quite. The rest of the shop is jammed with posters, wall hangings, signs, placards, and lots and lots of toys. It's like children's paradise in here. This place is designed to allow kids to run amok. Go crazy. Get wild and dress up and play tea party. The amount of games, toys and costumes is bewildering. The toys range to satisfy all ages - there's even a few Darth Vader helmets in case Maria and I want to re-enact Star Wars (she's Chewbacca to my Han Solo).

It's quite an amazing sight. It's busy. It's jam packed. It's crazy but you suddenly feel overwhelmed with - how do I put this? You're overwhelmed with happiness. I want to grab some of those cars and drive them across the table tops with death-defying stunts and unbelievable aerobatics. Oh yes, my robber will escape from those cops. Oh yes, they will.

After ordering our ice creams (Maria gets pumpkin pie and a berry of some sort with whipped cream, I get pumpkin pie and cookies & cream with animal crackers) we chat will Bill the owner a little while Maria splits her attention with the Colts game on the television (death to Colts, I say). Bill is a fun and welcoming guy to talk to and he tells us why his prices are so low.

I mean my ice cream cost less than three dollars. Bill says that he built this place so that families could come and enjoy ice cream for less than ten bucks. A family of four going out for ice cream for less than ten bucks? That's doing true community service in my book. And this place is jammed with toys so that the kids can play amongst themselves and the parents can let their guard down for a few minutes while here. I can't believe I hadn't thought of this.

Everyday, each and every toy is scrubbed clean by Bill and his staff. Considering how many toys are in this place, I can't imagine how long it would take to do so. If it were me, I'd install some sort of room sterilization machine to do to the work for me, but this place is truly a labor of love for Bill and it shows.

The cookies and cream ice cream is good, but the true winner is the pumpkin pie. It tastes just like real pumpkin pie and I can't get enough of it. I want to order more, but I decide to play it smart and hold back. Afterall, the night is still young.

The Colts are winning, our ice creams are finished and Maria's flight is leaving in half an hour, time to go. We leave Bill and company behind in the afternoon lull between children's birthday parties. No doubt that in just an hour's time, I Scream will be packed with screaming kids running amok once again.


I Scream Ice Cream
2000 Carlisle Boulevard NE
Albuquerque, NM 87110
505-268-0139

New Mexico: Football!

Maria reading the sports pages before the upcoming game.

About a week before our trip to Albuquerque, Maria calls me to check if I've got everything planned out. While she likes to travel, she's big into planning and knows that I have a penchant for last minute flights, hotels and car arrangements. I tell her a little white lie and say that everything is planned and ready to go.

Okay, it's not exactly a white lie. Everything is planned out. I've got the flights, got the car reservation and have the first nights' hotel reserved. It's just the other nights that haven't been reserved yet. I know where we're staying, I just need to inform the hotel that we'll be staying there. Either way, it's all good.

Of course, Balloon Fiesta is in town, which also means that the population of Albuquerque doubles, but I don't have any trouble securing us a room.

But the real reason she's calling is to negotiate an activity (or inactivity as it were). She's cool with going anywhere and doing anything, but she wants to know if we can take some time Sunday to watch the Redskins game on television.

Huh?

In the world that I'm used to living in, it's typically the man who's trying to negotiate with the woman for some football time, not the other way around. Truth be told, I really don't care for football. I almost never watch it on tv, and when I had season tickets to the Ravens, I almost never went to the games. There's more going on in my life than sitting in front of the tv on any day or night (much less Sundays) to watch anything - especially football. It's just not part of my reality.

But I'm an accommodating and affable chap and we find a place in Santa Fe to watch the Redskins on a big screen tv at the bar. She's got on her Redskins jersey and I offer to beat up the guy wearing the Eagles jersey just because. Luckily, she's not into violence which saves me from getting beat up (since I don't like to fight) by the rather large New Mexican local wearing the Philly jersey.

I'm cool with the Redskins, but she's a fan of the Colts and I can't support the Colts. As a true Baltimorean, I cannot support the team that sprinted away in the night back in 1983. I just can't. She's a Colts fan and a Ravens hater because she dislikes Baltimore, my home town.

Okay, I know I said that football really doesn't matter to me, but when you're a Colts fan and a Ravens hater because you dislike my city, we have a problem. Publicly, I'm feigning disinterest in the games surrounding us (we can see all three teams playing separate games). The Redskins are winning, the Colts are winning - hell, even the Ravens are winning.

Secretly, I'm hoping for a Ravens victory and Colts defeat so I can tell her to go suck it.

But no matter how much of a lead the Ravens may have in the first half of the game, those years holding season tickets taught me one thing: they can't hold the lead. Inevitably, the Ravens will falter and give up the lead and their victory, leaving us fans bitter and disappointed. And today, the Ravens stayed true to form losing to the Tennessee Titans 13 to 10. Crap.

Still feigning disinterest in Maria's glory that the Ravens lost and both the Redskins and Colts won, I pray to the football gods that my Baltimore Ravens will crush and destroy Peyton Manning and his Indianapolis Colts next Sunday so I can tell them all to suck it next weekend.

New Mexico: Jornada del Muerto

.


"I am become Death, the Destroyer of Worlds."
- Baghavad Gita




I grew up during the 1980s. The Cold War. During a time when mutual nuclear holocaust seemed vibrantly realistic. Where followers of Nostradamus predicted the End of the World by nuclear annihilation in 1987 after a war in the Middle East. During those times, the Soviet Union was our natural enemy. As it was in the beginning, is now and ever shall be...

Within a matter of weeks, the Berlin Wall fell and the Cold War ended without any of us being fried to a radioactive crisp. Who knew?

Today, a generation has come of age without ever knowing the fear and horror of The Cold War. Russia is just another country. There is no East or West Germany, just "Germany." If anything, the name "Tito" has more to do with Tito Ortiz of Ultimate Fighting than Josip Broz Tito who created Yugoslavia. In times like these, perhaps it seems odd and a bit strange to travel all the way to New Mexico just to reminisce about what was once our national obsession (or fear).


The long walk to Ground Zero.

I didn't come to New Mexico to eat green chile everything, or check out the Balloon Fiesta. I came for one reason and one reason only: to visit the Trinity Atomic Bomb Site in White Sands Missile Range. I came to get radiated.

In case you are unaware, Trinity is the location where our government and scientists from Los Alamos came together to test the first atomic bomb in history. It was here that they strapped an implosion assembly method bomb to a one hundred foot tower and set the world on fire. In a burst of sunlight, the United States rocketed the world into the Nuclear Age and jump started the Cold War.

Trinity is located, literally, in the middle of nowhere. Out in the midsts of the Jornada del Muerto, or "Journey of the Dead Man", the valley is aptly named because there's nothing out here. From Albuquerque, you take a hour drive south on I-25 to a town called San Antonio (which sells good fudge at the gas station and tasty burgers at the Owl Bar). Then it's a 12 mile drive to the White Sands Missile Range Access Road. Drive about four miles to the range's northernmost gate and then it's a seventeen mile drive to the actual Trinity Site. It really is in the middle of nowhere.


The lava rock obelisk marks the exact spot where the atomic age began.

Pass through the gate and it's a two-lane road through the desert. For a military installation, it looks pretty sparse and the gate seems rather unfortified compared to other military bases I've visited. A chat with a range employee later would reveal that the main gate and the actual post of the installation is actually south of here. About 100 miles south of here. There's a mountain range between us and the main gate. Whoa. This place really is huge.

When we reach the site, it's quiet, but the parking lot is pretty full. The sun is high in the sky and bearing down on us. There's no cloud cover and I wonder just how people of old made it through this terrain. On a horse, wagon or on foot, it would be merciless and unforgiving.


Not to mention it's also radioactive.

Out here, in the middle of the desert, the Trinity Site is enclosed by chain link fence. Despite the government's efforts to clean up the site, it's still radioactive, though they say that exposure here is equivalent to flying on an airplane cross-country, one can never be sure. I am aware to note any metallic taste in my mouth indicating radiation poisoning.

The site itself is quiet and serene. I expected it to be eerie, but it's not. Just quiet and serene. With a cot and some shade, I could take a nap out here. A black lava rock obelisk marks the spot where the bomb was detonated. Along the perimeter fence they've hung pertinent images of the explosion. There's a concrete and steel bunker that supposedly is covering a patch of ground that was preserved as-is from the day of the explosion, meaning that it's full of Trinitite and highly radioactive. The bunker is closed today meaning that everyone wishes it was open and emitting its' deadly gamma rays.

Not too far from the obelisk sits a flat bed tractor trailer with an empty shell of the same bomb. It's pretty big but looks innocuous as far as bombs go. The implosion method required multiple explosive charges to detonate at precisely the same time and precisely equal to each other in order to compress the Uranium-235. The charges would compress the Uranium to critical mass, creating a nuclear explosion. If it was off, the explosion would simply eject the Uranium.


Radioactive Trinitite being held under plexiglass.

Truth is, the United States didn't want to drop a dud onto Hiroshima. That would result in America looking foolish, losing face and probably reinvigorate the Japanese fighting machine. A test detonation was needed and Trinity was the place.

On the morning of July 16, 1945, the first atomic bomb was detonated at 5:29am. Scientists had calculated several potential catastrophes due to atomic detonation, the most serious of which was the potential ignition of the atmosphere and resultant incineration of our planet. They continued anyway.

The detonation illuminated the surrounding mountains "brighter than daytime" with a mushroom cloud 7.5 miles high and people 200 miles away said they could hear the explosion. The intensity of the heat melted the sand, creating Trinitite, a radioactive glass that is only found at the Trinity Site.


Inside the McDonald Ranch House is where they developed the bomb.

A couple of miles away from Trinity is the McDonald Ranch House, the site where scientists assembled the Uranium parts for the bomb. A shuttle bus takes you there and while the house has been restored, it's just empty rooms with a couple of sign placards detailing what went on in the "clean room." It was here that my Canon G9 digital camera started to go haywire and fail. Later, others would say it was a faulty logic board, but perhaps it was the radioactivity.

Back on the two lane roadway, it's too easy to hit 80 mph or more. The land is flat. The mountains are in the distance. There's very little to telegraph your velocity. I could easily hit 100 mph and think I was just inching along at 30mph. Some lolly-gaggers are rolling along at 55mph and we whiz by them. Since they're the only thing on the road, they come up at an alarming rate of speed.

Leaving Trinity and White Sands, we hook a right turn on the highway for what turns out to be a very long drive across the Jornada, through plains, over mountains and lava fields to the town of Carrizozo, also in the middle of nowhere.


Trinity Site
White Sands Missle Range
New Mexico
Open the first Saturday of April and October
http://www.wsmr.army.mil/wsmr.asp?pg=y&page=576

New Mexico: Balloon Fiesta!

Balloons on the Dawn Patrol


Date: Saturday, October 4, 2008
Time: 5:45am
Location: I-25 Northbound

It's five forty-five in the morning and we're stuck in a major traffic jam.

When the girl at Duran Central Pharmacy said she got up at 4:30am to go to Balloon Fiesta, I figured it was because she lived a ways away. Sitting in traffic on an otherwise desolate strip of highway waiting to get on the exit with 100,000 other people forced me to realize that this Balloon Fiesta thing wasn't some small, isolated event dreamt up by a funky little town but a major event.

Not one to enjoy sitting in unwarranted traffic, I maneuvered our Xterra around the traffic to the second exit and took the open lane to get a little bit ahead of the masses welling up behind us. From there, it would take us over 45 minutes to traverse the 1 mile of roadway to get to the Fiesta. I couldn't believe it. It was insane.


Takeoff!

The view from our upper level parking lot was impressive. In the twilight, a number of balloons were taking off for the Fiesta's "Dawn Patrol." With the sun barely peeking over the horizon to our back, the rising balloons illuminated from within by their propane burners. It's a mesmerizing sight in the high desert.

There's a chill in the air as the sun starts to rise but this place is packed. It's Day One at the Balloon Fiesta and the crowds are incredible. This festival is huge. I had always thought Artscape in Baltimore was a big festival but this one easily dwarfs Artscape. Hundreds of acres large, the take off field for the balloons is jam-packed with spectators. And the line of food vendors running the length of the Fiesta grounds are cranking it out trying to battle never-ending long lines of hungry attendees.


Darth in the morning sun.

As we wander the field, we start to pick up the rhythm of the Fiesta. The balloons line up in sequential order on the field and take off in order when the "referees" come by to give the balloons their take off orders. Slowly, one by one, the balloons take off amidst wild applause from those immediately surrounding their take off spot.

Evidently, Albuquerque didn't become balloon central by happenstance. From what I've been told, the position of the city, surrounded by mountains developed a wind pattern that could allow the successful and skilled balloon pilot to fly his balloon in essentially a circle and land at the same spot where he took off. No need for chase vehicles. No need for long drives. Just take off, fly and land. Easy peasy - and it's what made Albuquerque into Balloon Capitol of the World.


A parrot inflates.

We've all seen different kinds of balloons, but chances are you've never seen some of the balloons featured at Fiesta. Sure, there's the standard-looking balloons, but there are also one-man balloons, sport balloons, gas balloons, race balloons and all sorts of shapes. From balloon-looking balloons to pyramid shaped balloons to a Wells Fargo Wagon, twin bees, clown fish, Ronald McDonald, a parrot, and more. Even Darth Vader's helmet is a balloon, not to mention a floating cathedral. The array of balloons is amazing and impressive.

But what's an outdoor festival without food? Nada. And since we got up so early, we're hungry. While Maria goes off to find something, I jump in a line promising Hatch Green Chile Breakfast Burritos. Sounds good to me. They've also got Frito Pie - that ubiquitous and slightly obnoxious New Mexican delicacy that takes Frito-Lay Fritos corn chips and piles them with Texas chili, cheddar cheese, lettuce and tomato.


That's a clown fish, but it's not Nemo.

There's a coffee vendor that looks like it has potential (at least greater potential than the Folger's they're serving at my stand), but I'm not willing to stand in another long line. The line is moving slowly and the wait after order is considerable. Some people are getting grouchy but at least they're making our food to order instead of hot holding in some hot box. I can appreciate freshly made product and can wait for it.

Finally, my number comes up and I've got the burrito in one hand and the Frito Pie in the other. I start with the pie. Years ago, when Bryan and Maria (a different Maria) told me about Frito Pie, I imagined someone going into 7-11, ripping open a bag of Fritos lengthwise and pumping both that crappy hot dog chili and nacho cheese on top. Because of this, I was expecting a sloppy, running and industrially salty kind of concoction. One that would be ideal for late night binge eating and lots of acidic Coca-Cola.


Maria looking for something to eat on the Midway.

Instead, this Frito Pie is almost refined. It's a big mount of stuff in a paper container. I'm a bit put off by the lettuce and tomato, thinking that it's just impeding my enjoyment of the good (bad) stuff. The chili is nice, it tastes real and has actual beans instead of the salty gruel that passes for chili at 7-11. It's very different than what I pictured. The cheese is shredded and their are greens. To eat, just mix and mash it all together then eat. It's good. The flavors start to come together.

Frito Pie reminds me of my favorite breakfast dish: chilaquiles. In fact they share similar traits. Corn chips smothered in a sauce, what more could one ask for? Fried egg maybe? It's a good dish and I try to pace myself. I'm thinking that I'll let Maria try some but I've lost track of her. She's somewhere around here and I've left my cell phone in the car, so much for calling.


Frito Pie.

In the end, I find her but not before I've finished the Frito Pie. I choose to omit the detail that I had a Frito Pie, just in case. Next up is the breakfast burrito, it's ubiquitous in this part of the world and while I've never lived here, it's also a popular order with movie on-set caterers and I've spent many a cold morning eating some tasty breakfast burritos before running off to set up the first shot of the day.

The breakfast burrito here, well, sucks. The tortilla is dry, the scrambled eggs are dry. It lacks flavor and/or distinction. I wish I had coffee to help wash it down. There's some sausage in there but it doesn't help. I dig through it to find the lone piece of Hatch Green Chile and it's bland. Lame. I don't even bother to finish the rest. I just dump in in the bin.

We hang out a little while longer and listen to a children's choral group from Kenya sing a few numbers. I try to check out the apparel tent to see if there are any cool embroidered jackets to buy but the place is just too packed - and I hate crowds. I pass and keep my sixty bucks. Pretty soon we're back on the road heading for our next adventure: Trinity.


The Floating Cathedral.


Balloons take off in order along a line.


Mowhawk.


Albuquerque International Balloon Fiesta
4401 Alameda NE
Albuquerque, NM 87113
505-821-1000
www.balloonfiesta.com

New Mexico: Jennifer James 101

Maria sporting her new jacket.

On any trip I like to do at least one nice dinner. One at a "fancy" restaurant. And while Albuquerque has a few "fancy" restaurants, the one name that kept coming up in reviews was Jennifer James. It seemed that when it came to haute cuisine, it was "Jennifer this" and "Jennifer that" and "Jennifer left this place" and "Jennifer went up to Seattle." On and on and on the local media went about Jennifer James and how she had returned to town to open her eponymous restaurant: Jennifer James 101.

Oddly enough, the restaurant is away from the city center on a suburban-like boulevard in a suburban-like strip mall. The facade blends in so well with the surrounding suburban scenery that it's easy to miss. After circling around, we found ourselves in a relatively smallish space (probably around 1500 square feet) painted in orange and accented in black. Halloween colors? Well, it didn't look Halloween.


Centerpiece and table pickles.

As you walk in there are several tables in the center of the room, a banquette (in black) runs along the left wall and the kitchen is smack dab in the middle of it all - directly in front of you as you walk in. Jennifer James herself is manning the hotline in light blue and after having read so much about her, I couldn't help but to feel slightly starstruck by it all.

We were offered a choice of seating and Maria left it up to me to decide. I chose the two top with the banquette facing the kitchen so I could catch all the action. Of course, Maria took that seat, leaving me sitting with my back to the kitchen and catching glimpses in reverse through the sliver of mirrors hung on the wall. Once again, the male suffers in silence...


Duck Confit, wilted chard, sweet onions & honey.

The menu is small with only five offerings for both the "primary courses" and the "secondary courses." I'm not one who really enjoys thinking too much about what to order, maybe it's because I've come to enjoy tasting menus where the chef decides for you or maybe I'm just lazy. Either way, even ten choices are too much for me - especially since I'm still in gastro-recovery.

Maria decides that she's only going to have one course, the Seared Tasmanian Salmon. I ask our server to ask the kitchen if they would please choose two courses for me. I have no restrictions and I'm willing to eat anything. I'd just like to try whatever the kitchen thinks is best.


The Hawaiian Fish with sauteed peppers and rice.

It's a Friday night and the place is humming. The dining room is nearly full and everyone looks to be having a good time. The vibe in the restaurant is fun and lively. A couple of bikers have left their custom choppers (with ground effects lighting) outside the door and lit up, giving a festive atmosphere to the exterior. There's cool bikes outside, a good vibe inside and you think that Brad and Angelina are going to walk through the door at any moment just because.

After a little while, the Duck Confit arrives. It's juicy and tender but the skin isn't crisp. I don't know if this is an error or intention by the kitchen and I don't bother asking. I'm here to enjoy and experience, not to compare whether or not this follows what I think is French tradition. Personally speaking, when it's good, I can't get enough of duck confit and I certainly couldn't get enough of this one. Tasty and delicious, paired with the wilted chard and onions and it's a nice combination - though I don't really taste any of the honey.


Seared Tasmanian Salmon, caramelized onions & fennel with horseradish-cheddar mashed potatoes.

Not long after, Maria's salmon arrives and it tastes good. I only had a bite so I can't really say but she enjoyed it enough.

That's when my secondary course arrived. A nicely seared white fish. I believe our server said it was a "Hawaiian Hobi" but I can't be sure. Actually, whatever name she said, it wasn't familiar at all to me. It began with an "h" but there's not many Hawaiian fishes that start with "h", other than the famous Humuhumunukunukuapua;a.


Affagado - espresso granita with vanilla ice cream and chantilly.

The fish was meaty. Thick and meaty. Almost like steak. It was delicious. And filling. Topping it were a medley of sauteed peppers, both sweet and spicy. They were a perfect compliment. There were sweet peppers and then there was the unexpected burst of flame from the hot peppers. The bite started off with the rich meatiness of the fish, complimented by the sweet peppers and then a punch in the face from the hot peppers, tempered by the steamed white rice and soy reduction. Five flavors on the plate singing in harmony. Just lovely.

From there, we moved to dessert. The Affagado (yes, I know it's spelled incorrectly, that's the way they wrote it) was really quite exciting as a coffee dessert. Sweet espresso granita mated with vanilla ice cream and whipped cream? Wow, a great interpretation of an Italian classic.


Biscotti with Dessert Wine.

I went for the Cookie and Dessert Wine combination that paired three types of biscotti with a sweet dessert wine. I can't remember the specifics of either the biscotti or the wine but I hoarded them greedily. I had never thought that biscotti and wine would go together so well.

That was it. Dinner was over. It was good stuff. But more importantly, I had made it. After nearly 24 hours of suffering, I had beaten the odds and completed my meal. It was delicious and I look forward to going back.


Jennifer James 101
4615-a Menaul Boulevard NE
Albuquerque, NM 87110
505-884-3860
www.jenniferjames101.com

New Mexico: Duran Central Pharmacy

The Green Chile Enchilada at Duran Central Pharmacy.

In these modern times, who would have known to go to the local pharmacy for a bite to eat? This isn't the fifties. Long gone are the days of the drugstore soda jerkIn these modern times, who would have known to go to the local pharmacy for a bite to eat? This isn't the fifties. Long gone are the days of the drugstore soda jerk. But perhaps time has forgotten this little town known as Albuquerque - and a good thing too.

Nestled along Central Avenue, near the tourist mecca of "Old Town" Albuquerque is the quiet, lazy and not quite so easy to find Duran Central Pharmacy. It's not much as far as pharmacies go. There's the expected drug counter and pharmacist waiting to fill your prescription for vicodin or viagra but compared to the slick Walgreen's and Rite Aids of the world, it's kinda sparse.

But we're not here just to pick up some Viagra (or Pepto Bismol). We're here to see just what all the fuss is about. To the left as you walk in, slightly hidden by display racks is a countertop and eating area that supposedly serves some of the finest New Mexican cuisine in all of New Mexico.

The trouble is that it's 6:28pm and they close at 6:30pm. Luckily, we catch a break and the friendly girl behind the counter decides to accommodate us. We're grateful.

Duran's menu is small but extensive. While they don't serve Chile Rellenos, they serve just about everything else from enchiladas to sopapillas to burritos and eggs. We're not sure what to order and go with the Enchilada Plate of three cheese enchiladas, covered in green chiles, served with beans and onions. To be honest, our visit to Duran is really just a snack before our dinner at Jennifer James 101 scheduled for 8:30pm.

After a few minutes, our enchiladas arrive and they're looking quite sexy. The enchiladas are literally drenched in green chile sauce and cheddar cheese. I both excited and torn to try it.


Maria at the plaza after a round of shopping.

It's the moment of truth. In my battle against giardaisis I haven't eaten anything substantial all day and have been guzzling Pepto Bismol like it's going out of style. All my suffering and effort have been in preparation for this moment. Can I handle the zesty fire of the green chiles without it sending me frantically sprinting for the men's room? With great angst, I take a bite.

The flavor of the green chiles with the cheese and tortilla is truly sublime. These green chiles don't have the furious zing that the Green Chile Stew at Frontier had. These are mellower with a light zing that compliments the flavor rather than overpowers. It's a flavor that builds a hunger. A hunger for more. It's absolutely delicious and I just want to devour it greedily.

Along with the enchiladas is a side of pinto beans that have to be some of the best beans I've ever eaten yet. They're soft while still firm with just the right bite. The flavor is rich and nutty while being creamy. I can't get enough of them. I want more.

In the end, we must stop because we still have a full dinner to eat in a couple of hours. In the meantime, we'll wander around Old Town searching for a new jacket for Maria and sharing deep and inner secrets under the moonlight in the plaza.

Next time, I'll be sure to try Duran's Torpedo and Mexican Combination Plate.

New Mexico: Sandia Peak

The tram arrives to whisk us to the summit.

Maria wanted to check out Sandia Peak so we were off. It's Balloon Fiesta week here in Albuquerque and they're expecting long lines. From the point we joined the line, the wait was thirty minutes, but there are signs farther down the line that foretold of waits up to two hours.

Luckily, it wasn't too long before our flight was being called and we were being herded onto the tram car that would take us to Sandia Peak, some ten thousand feet and fifteen minutes away. The Sandia Peak Tramway is actually the world's longest passenger aerial tramway, making 10,500 trips per year. In spite of my grumbling and not-as-angry-as-before stomach, the time in line passes quickly and soon we're being reaching for the horizon in our 55 passenger tram car.

I'm actually phobic of heights but if I'm ensconced in some sort of vehicle, dizzying heights rarely bother me. From inside the tram, I can lean my head against the window, look down and all is well. Do that over a cliff and I'm ready to freak out. At one point, the ground is nearly one thousand feet below. Certain death awaits should the cables above give way and Spiderman doesn't appear.

Whether it's on an airplane, a vehicle or tramcar, I have a decidedly morbid streak. I can't help but ponder and make comments about our certain doom. For me, it's humorous. A funny way of perhaps dealing with the uncertainties in life and adventure. Maria's a bit skittish about the tram and the height and doesn't find my commentary at all amusing.


Certain death awaits if we fall and Spiderman doesn't show up.

The odd thing is that part of me is secretly hoping for doom and destruction. I enjoy the thrill of living through some sort of disaster or near-miss event. Whether it's nearly getting side swiped by a car going fifty miles an hour or surviving a 7.2 earthquake, there's a certain thrill about living through such events. Of course, the key to that thrill is actually living through it and surviving relatively unscathed. Actually being killed or injured because of it kinda tempers the thrill...

At the summit, it's beautiful. The other peaks look fantastic but the thin air at ten thousand feet makes it difficult to keep up any sort of pace. On the back side of the mountain is a ski resort with the requisite ski lifts. On some days, you can just ride the ski lift up and down the back of the mountain. Today, the lift is closed and the weather is brilliantly sunny. It's hazy so Albuquerque looks a bit murky in the distance, but right here, right now, the weather is gorgeous.

My stomach's TSA Threat Condition is still Orange (that's a little travel slash TSA humor there) and Maria wants to wander through the woods. She likes to hike. I like the idea of hiking. I enjoy entertaining visions of myself scaling grand mountains and looking out across the void, satisfied in my accomplishment. But after nearly being killed (okay so that's a bit dramatic) by hypoxia while pushing for the summit of Mauna Kea (13,796 ft.), and ascending Mount Bradbury (485 ft.) in an ice storm, I've enjoyed relatively benign hikes through the alleyways of Towson.


Maria walks by the fence that cannot contain my wanderlust.

Hiking through Towson can be fun and enjoyable - especially since you can easily stop for a hot dog or chat on a park bench, but at ten thousand feet, the air is thin and I'm dreading every step we take down the trails surrounding the summit. Each step means a strenuous, hypoxia-laden step back up, but more importantly, it's one more step further away from the rest room at the High Finance Restaurant.

But I'm a man and I know it's my role to present a strong and stoic face - no matter my true disposition at the moment. It is our (males) lot in life to suffer silently and I've accepted that fact. It's why we're the uncommunicative side of the male/female equation. We can't cry, we can't show emotion, we can't seem weak. We just do and forge ahead - even when facing certain doom and destruction. Women don't chase us or give us flowers. It's no wonder we have shorter life expectancies than females.


Peering out to the horizon, I am ready for my destiny.

It's pretty here at the summit and like any dim-witted boy, if there's a fence, I must see what's on the other side. Even if that fence is keeping people away from dying a horrific death by falling off the side of a treacherous cliff. It's a fence. I'm a man. No fence shall impede my God given right to go where I want and do as I please. Truth is, I'm really too scared to get too close to the edge and look too far over. It's easily 800 feet to the rocks that will certainly break you in half should you fall. My acrophobia starts to kick into high gear and before I become a shriveling ball of crying human flesh I make my way back to the safe side of the fence.

Happily, my tummy is slowly recovering. The whole time we've been in Sandia, I've managed to hold on pretty well. With any luck, I'll be able to indulge myself this evening. Luckily, our trip down the mountain is relatively uneventful, except for the two ten year old boys who yell out at regular intervals: "We're gonna DIE!!!!"

I smile privately, secretly wishing I could join their chorus.

New Mexico: The Grove

Maria and San Pellegrino.

It was absolute, utter misery.

That was my night last night. Sheer agony. Okay, maybe not "agony" but definitely miserable. Probably one of the most miserable nights in my life. I didn't really fall asleep until 4am and then was rocked awake by another frantic sprint to the bathroom. Could've used a matchbook. Hell, a blow torch would have been ideal.

It's morning and things have settled down a bit but I'm worked. The only positive aspect of the night is that I read just about every printed word in this week's Alibi (Albuquerque's Alternative Weekly Newspaper) and have intimate knowledge of every event going on in town. Did you know that Journey and Cheap Trick are playing tomorrow at 7:30pm? Now, you do.

After spending half of her night giggling at my misfortune and suffering, Maria is hungry and ready for breakfast. I can't eat a damn thing. I'm not even hungry. What was I thinking eating that Green Chile Stew last night? Moron.

But she's hungry and she wants coffee.

Finding coffee in a new town is always an adventure filled with trepidation. Luckily, Ray was in town earlier this year shooting a movie - maybe it was porn, maybe not (okay, porn is what I'm planning to do next year), and recommended a place called The Grove. Since he and his wife own the half eponymous Gesine in Vermont, it's a safe bet to check out.

The nice thing about Albuquerque is that everything is pretty darn close to each other. It's one of the blessings of a small town, which makes getting places easy peasy. The Grove is both a cafe and market. Actually, it's more gourmet than market with only a selection of pricey gourmet offerings but there's a big La Marzocco GB5 espresso machine behind the counter that instantly buoys my spirits, not to mention the really tasty menu offerings from the kitchen.


The only thing I'm allowed to eat: plain English muffin.

Problem is, I can't eat anything. A phone call to Doctor Mom revealed what I already feared in my heart of hearts: no solid foods, no caffeine, no dairy, only liquids and crackers. Ugh, what a nightmare.

It's a shame because while I really wanted to check out their coffee, I couldn't. It looked pretty good. They were doing latte art. They steamed milk individually per order. They've got a nice espresso machine. Lots of good things going on.

That's when I noticed the barista pulling a shot for a cappuccino that was done at 22 seconds, she kept it flowing. For the uninitiated, one can tell when an espresso shot is "done" by the color of the espresso stream as it falls from the spouts of the portafilter. It should come out dark and brown. When it turns blonde, you know that all the great flavor of the coffee has been extracted out of the bean and you should stop, lest you prefer excessive bitterness in your coffee.

Unfortunately, I don't think these people were trained with that little tidbit of information because this barista let that shot run and run, and run. All the way to 27 seconds. It's not as if she was distracted, she was intently watching the shot the whole time - probably waiting for some prescribed amount of time to pass before stopping the brew. A shame. And at least I had a reason why I couldn't drink coffee.


Maria's crepes with fresh fruit, yogurt and creme fraiche.

Compiling my misery was what I ordered for meal: house made English muffin, no butter and a bottle of San Pellegrino sparkling mineral water. The muffin was pretty good. Sliced. Would have been nicer fork split to have all the nooks and crannies to hold your melted butter. Of course, I couldn't have butter so I suffered. Compound that with the mineral-y carbonated water from Italy and I wanted to stick that butter knife in my throat and just end my suffering.

Fact of the matter is that I hate, absolutely detest, carbonated water. Unless it's got a 5 to 1 ratio of Coca Cola syrup in it, I'd prefer to have plain water. Then no butter??? Just a plain English muffin??? Can you feel my pain?

Maria, on the other hand, went ahead with a vanilla steamer and an order of Grove Pancakes - French style crepes with fresh fruit, creme fraiche, toasted nuts, local honey with yogurt. It looked absolutely delicious.


The Grove Cafe & Market
600 Central Avenue SE
Albuquerque, NM 87102
505-248-9800
www.thegrovecafemarket.com

New Mexico: The Last Frontier

Few things in life are as rewarding as a pretty girl waiting for you by the gate as you get off the plane after a long flight, and in today's world of TSA and protecting us from our freedoms, having anyone waiting for you at the gate is a relic from a bygone era. Happily, Maria's flight arrived before mine and there she was: waiting by the gate as I got off the flight. How nice.

Of course, such a rare occurrence such as this does not go unnoticed by my fellow passengers and I spy envious and longing glances from those around me. Ah, such is this charmed life that I lead...

Which is tempered by the fact that I barely endured the short, 45 minute flight from Denver to Albuquerque - having spent about twenty minutes of the flight in the lavatory trying to flush the McDonald's out of my system.

There are few horrors in the world worse than traveling to a place, such as Albuquerque (land of delicious food), and being burdened with a stomach illness (perhaps Giardiasis). How will I be able to sample the wonders of New Mexico if I can barely last twenty minutes in an airplane?

The beautiful thing about Maria is that she's open to eating. She likes to eat. She likes to sample a variety of dishes and textures. In this respect, we're highly compatible. Plus, her distaste for benign chain restaurants, and her insistence that we never eat at one, warms my heart immensely.

Problem is: I'm struggling. My stomach is fighting an all-out assault on its' system - and losing. A veritable war is going on in my tummy and I'm trying to remain stoic about my condition. It's part shame and part male bravado that propels me forward pretending that all is well on the Western Front. Maybe we can just go to the hotel and crash, I mean, it is nearly midnight in Albuquerque.

"Are you hungry?"

Oh, there it is. The three words I've been dreading. The three words that's code for: "you know, I'm starting to feel hungry so let's go eat." This is a bad time for me to go on an adventure binge but the ramifications of having a hungry and, therefore, grouchy woman on your hands is a difficult proposition. The choice becomes clear: don't go to eat and suffer the grouchiness of a hungry woman, or go grab something to eat and battle to keep the war raging in the tummy at bay. Either way, I suffer and there's no way out of that. But there is one path that leads to a lesser amount of suffering...

Prior to my departure from Baltimore, I did a bit of research into the places we need to check out while in Albuquerque and for late night eating, only one place stood out: Frontier Restaurant. Located on Central across from the University of New Mexico, Frontier is the quintessential New Mexican restaurant. Open now until 1am, the servings are large, the seating area is huge, the food is delicious and there's no one around to bus and clear the tables.

We arrive around midnight and it looks as though an army swept through here. Dozens of tables display the remains of the once hungry masses. Dirty plates, cups and napkins are all over the place. It reminds me of what an archaeological dig might find a millennia from now after our civilization has been wiped out. Odd and strange remnants of the eating habits of the beings that once were.


Maria's BLT Sandwich.

Ordering and getting your food is strictly assembly line. Green lights above the registers flash when the cashier is available, and grouchy locals are at the ready to poke and prod you mercilessly if you zone out and fail to notice the blinking green light. The menu itself is huge and varied. Think "New Mexican Denny's" and you kind of get the gist of what Frontier is all about. There's American comfort food like pancakes, burgers and french fries. There's also Mexican comfort foods like tacos and enchiladas. Top it all off with green chiles and a side of green chile stew and it's decidedly New Mexican.

Maria goes for the BLT and an order of fries. The BLT is nicely done with well-toasted bread and melted American cheese. The fries are typical frozen foodservice fries. Like a true addict of flavor and texture, she wants to know if I feel hungry for onion rings (I do not) and suggests that I can have some of her fries if she can have some of my onion rings. Even though I'm not hungry, I allow myself to be manipulated into ordering onion rings. Such is the power of women.

Unlike the fries, the onion rings are a jewel. Crispy, crusty on the outside and tender on the inside. I love them. I want more of them. I want to douse them in ketchup and pepper them with salt. Bring me more Dr. Pepper, please.


Green Chile Stew with french fries and onion rings.

From my readings, the "must have" dish at Frontier is the Green Chile Stew. It's chiles, ground pork and spices in a rich broth. As I peruse the menu, my stomach quivers in fear of throwing chiles into the mix, but I delude myself into thinking that I'm feeling better and convince myself that I can handle it (even though I know I can't) and go for a small cup of the Green Chile Stew.

Quite simply, it's beautiful. The flavors are a brash mix with the fire of green chiles that slowly (but decidedly) creep up on you then hit you with all their might and fury. My taste buds are dancing, my tongue is ablaze and my stomach just got ambushed.

The Green Chile Stew was everything I had heard about it and then some. I decided to ignore the battle in my stomach and was rewarded handsomely. However, I would have to pay dearly for the next 24 hours...




Frontier Restaurant
2400 Central Avenue SE
Albuquerque, NM 87106
505-266-0550
www.frontierrestaurant.com

The Misery of McDonald's

Misery.

That's the only way to describe it.

Utter misery.

Yesterday I left Baltimore on another odyssey. This time to Albuquerque, New Mexico to visit the Trinity Atomic Bomb Site. However, my connection on United was through Denver and while in Denver, I took a wrong turn.

I was hungry. It was 7:30pm or so and I wanted to grab a small bite to eat. The United terminal in Denver is considerably large and there's a variety of eateries to choose from - none of which are entirely compelling. My usual quickie meal in Denver is tacos at Que Bueno! but they're quality has been declining and the offerings didn't look too appetizing.

In the center of the concourse is a French bistro serving all sorts of odd fare. There's a couple of French dishes like onion soup or coq au vin but I didn't want a sit down meal that would cost over twenty bucks. I wanted something quick, cheap, fast and small. Just something to carry me over until I got to Albuquerque. I chose McDonald's.

Having not eaten at McDonald's in months, I thought a cheeseburger Happy Meal would suffice. Small fries, a cheeseburger and a Dr. Pepper. Simple. Quick. Small.

How dumb could I possibly be?

Not fifteen minutes after eating, my stomach was grumbling. I had to use the facilities. Ten minutes later, I emerge and head to my flight.

My usual boarding retinue is to wait until the last moment possible to board. It's a strategic move that keeps my time in the aluminum tube to a minimum while allowing me to choose an open seat (or combination of seats) at the last moment. If I time it correctly, I can be the last person to board - meaning that those three empty seats in row 8 really are empty, and all mine.

As I stood pensively outside the aircraft door, the flight attendant asked me if I was alright. I told her I was fine. She thought I was scared of flying. I wasn't scared - just unsure of the growling in my stomach. But I went ahead anyway.

By flight level 150 (15,000 feet), I had to make my way to the lavatory. It didn't matter that the "fasten seat belt" signs were illuminated. It didn't matter that the plane was still at a climbing attitude. I had to go and I had to go now. Making my way to the back, the same flight attendant commented about the sign. I couldn't wait, I told her, this had to happen now.

Luckily, it's a short flight from Denver to Albuquerque, about 50 minutes. I spent at least 30 of those minutes in the back.

I won't elaborate further except to say that it was a long and excruciatingly miserable night in Albuquerque.