It's Chile In Maryland

The 40lb. bag of roasted chiles.

Maybe it was a moment of haste. Heated haste, but I've done the impossible: brought home forty pounds of New Mexico's finest Hatch chiles for my personal consumption. The problem is: now I've got to process them.

And processing chiles is no small task. In fact, it's a real pain in the ass. As I break open the bags, the sweet aroma of roasted peppers fills my kitchen. Good thing I've got the space and the tools to process it all. It's slow going at first but after about ten minutes, I work myself into a rhythm and flow.


Ready to process.

I'm skinning the peppers, then cutting off the stem, then squeezing the seeds out. Surprisingly enough, the seeds squeeze out of the pods quite easily. Just two fingers in a downward motion and viola! It's done. From there, I just separate the chiles by color and then lay them out on parchment paper to individually freeze.

It's not tough work, just a bit monotonous. Luckily, I've got the television to occupy my mind but it's the presidential debate between Obama and McCain and it's just a bit tiring. As I'm working the peppers, all I hear about is how either of the two is going to "Save The Economy" but no one's offering exactly how that's going to happen. Maybe it's magic. To my mind, things in America are going to get much, much worse. People will lose their homes. People will lose their jobs. It's going to get really, really bad before it gets any better, but none of these guys are saying that.


Processed and separated. Looks pretty small, doesn't it?

According to them, it's gonna be Love & Rockets if they get elected. Hello. Tell me that things are bad and they're gonna be worse. Paint me a horrible picture and then show me why you're the guy to be at the helm. Don't tell me stories about pulling us out of recession prematurely, or that you're going to tax only 5% of the population, or that you're going to bail out all these people who should never have overextended themselves in the first place. Without pain, how will our nation grow? How will out people learn that this excessive living is bad for us? At least those who survived the Depression understood the value of money. For us, it's just numbers on paper that don't really mean anything.

But I digress.




Hatch Green Chiles ready to freeze.

Turns out that the individually frozen chiles were less than successful. They're so watery that they freeze to the paper and to the other layers. You can't do to these chiles what you can do to blueberries. What a bummer. Instead, I thaw them slightly to release and then vac bag them in what I presume will be individual serving sizes for later.

Of course, I've never worked with Green Chiles before so I don't know what to expect, but I look forward to a year of spiciness.




Oh, and here's some more of the stuff from El Modelo:


The remaining El Modelo tamales, vac packed and ready to freeze.


Two pounds of corn masa from El Modelo.

New Mexico: El Modelo

The front counter at El Modelo.

Once again, I've turned to the pages of Alibi for recommendations on food. This time it's tamales and Alibi says to check out El Modelo.

El Modelo is located in an industrial section of town. There's nothing much around it except for some picnic benches and railroad tracks. It's way off the beaten path and you have to know how to get here - there's no "stumbling across" El Modelo.

Of all the places I've been to on this trip, El Modelo is the most Mexican. Meaning that everyone here speaks Spanish and mostly Spanish, and my Spanish is poor to illiterate. However, the menus are legible and as long as I keep it to "seis tamales" I should be okay. Luckily, the counter girl recognizes that I'm basically just a gringo and speaks English to me.

I order the six tamales and then notice that they're also selling fresh corn masa. This is the real deal, not the Maseca we're used to in Baltimore. This is real, ground masa. And they're selling it. Of course, I must have it. Never mind that I really don't know how to work with masa, I must take some home with me.

When it comes to masa, they've got "prepared" and "unprepared." What's the difference? I don't know. And when I asked the girl, she brought out one of the cucineras but she doesn't speak English and my Spanish is terrible. From what I gather, I'm supposed to do something with the masa, but I'm not sure what, and all they have left this afternoon is unprepared masa.

Rather than stand around there trying to decipher the Masa Code, I decide I'll ask El Presidente at Woodberry Kitchen when I get home. He'll know what to do. Besides, I'm going to miss my flight if I dilly-dally around here longer. I grab by six tamales and two pounds of unprepared masa, bid my new friends goodbye (the girl was cute) and take off for the airport.


Eating the tamal during my stopover in Denver.

Like always, I never have time to spare. From El Modelo, it's a mad rush to find a gas station then off to the car rental return and to the terminal. Oddly, Albuquerque's airport has one shuttle bus stop - they don't drop you at individual airlines like most places. And wouldn't you know it - the shuttle stop is as far away from United's check in counter as you can get at ABQ.

With the tamales in my hand and the masa in the duffle with the chiles, I'm off for home once again. In Denver, I'm feeling a bit hungry and decide to eat one of the tamales. It's succulent and delicious. It's chock full of shredded pork. The corn flavor is light and amazing. I realize that I'm a moron. I should have bought two dozen. Idiot.

To be honest, I'm a bastard. A real dick. I choose a seat near to one of the kitchen workers at one of the food joints in United's Denver terminal. He's hispanic and he's glancing longingly at my tamal while he eats some generic-looking salad and orange juice. I can't help but to feel blessed. What a jerk. I can't help it.


El Modelo
1715 2nd Street SW
Albuquerque, NM 87102
505-242-1843
www.elmodelorestaurant.com

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.