Hot Times in Hatch, NM

Sometimes the sweetest events are spicy too. It's chile harvest season in New Mexico--and we're talking a hot time--literally. The last time I was there for the Hatch Chile Festival, the temps hovered in the upper 90s and the sunshine was beating.

But it was a great time and I'd love to go again (anyone up for a road trip?) I could use

a 50-pound burlap bag of the roasted chiles to take home and freeze for making all sorts of wonderful recipes during the year (until the next harvest! And please no comments about the 100 pounds of Montana flour I'm still making use of --another story). Many of the people I met when I was in Hatch came from Texas with huge coolers to buy their stash of chiles by the way. I envied them!

Hatch is about three hours south of Albuquerque-- and driving into town visitors are greeted with a fiesta of colors and scents. Hand-turned gas roasters are everywhere and the air is infused with this incredibly seductive scent. They don't sell the freshly roasted chiles by ones or twos (most people buy 50 or more pound bags of the roasted chiles)--but vendors are happy to give a sampling. Tasting a hot roasted chile fresh from the roaster, sprinkled with salt, I was addicted. I immediately had visions of selling these at the Minnesota State Fair. They'd be awesome, and perfect--and they can be served on a stick! 

At outdoor markets, vendors braid bright bunches of red and multicolored chile ristras to sell on the spot as well. They're cheap and beautiful. You can also buy all sorts of fresh chile powder--the best. The festival itself has become a rather huge affair, and takes place a few miles out of town, set up under  tents. More roasters and food shacks there hawk everything from chocolate chile pecan brownies to the biggest seller of all when I was there two years ago--a fresh mango, stuck on a stick, peeled, squeezed with lime juice, then rolled in chile powder. There were the requisite chile eating contests (even the Chile Festival princesses took part in those) as well as a Mexican "yell" competition.  But pictures can tell more than my words....sample the following:

Postcard from Nice, France

Having just returned from a trip to the south of France, including Nice--I am dreaming about the market there. It's truly a feast of scents, sights, sounds--and color........

One sweet French memory

This is a case where a picture does not tell a thousand words. While staying in Rouen, in Normandy, France last year, I decided to get up early and prowl around the city on my own one morning. When I left my hotel, l'Hotel de Bourgtheroulde, I discovered there was a lovely little boulangerie/patisserie almost right next door. I stopped in, and bought myself a cafe and a pain au chocolat (mais oui!). But that's when the trouble started. I had to dig through my purse (a huge bag)to find my Euros --because I knew I had some coins I could use. In the process, I ended up (as I often do) taking out half the contents of my bag and putting them on the counter (luckily, it was so early no one else was up yet or in the shop). I found my money finally and produced the coins with a flourish. The proprietor could not speak much English, nor I much French, but he seemed somewhat amused, not disdainful of my problem. We parted with smiles, mercis, and I continued on my way down to the center of the city to take photos.

About 45 minutes later, I was headed back to the hotel. As I walked past the boulangerie/patisserie (Maison Bastien), I heard someone saying in a loud voice (the French do not shout), "Madame, madame!" I looked to see the proprietor of the shop gesturing me to come inside. I stopped, and went in. He then picked up a makeup case that looked surprisingly like my own (yes, it was my own and yes,I keep it in my purse and no, don't ask me why) and handed it to me. Then he tried to explain how I had left it earlier and he had been watching for me to come back! Anyone who has lost a complete makeup case while on vacation in a foreign country can understand how thankful I was. While unloading my purse on his counter earlier, I had obviously been half asleep and the case had not made it back into my purse. Embarrassed and thankful, I thanked him profusely, Merci, Merci, Merci beaucoup.

So the photo may not be the greatest, but the memory of what transpired there, is.

Check out my Normandy travel story in the St. Paul Pioneer Press newspaper today, May 27, 2012: 

Israel: A Sunset and Spice Shop in Akko

 

Recently, I've been looking at paint colors for the kitchen-- and in the process discovered a whole new world. Not of colors, but of the names of the paint colors. I started in the yellows: Warm Bread, Sunday Afternoon,Pure Laughter...then I moved to the whites: Luna Moon, Restful Rain, Sugar Dust, Wind Blown. Finally, though I have no intention of painting the kitchen pink, I got into the "pinks". They were the most fun of all: Wishful Thinking, Sweet Nothing, Fading Rose, Musical Mist, Summer Memory. I could write a book with chapters like this, I decided. But what does any of this have to do with the photo for this blog entry or the real reason for this writing? It's a long convoluted way of explaining how I came about thinking of Akko in Israel.

Akko was one of those little serendipitous type places or moments: when you're least expecting something memorable--and suddenly there it is. As I was looking at the paint names back in Minneapolis, my mind wandered (as its nature) and I started thinking about Akko and if I were naming it a paint color...what color would it be? Part of it was the setting, obviously--it was going on sunset when I arrived there--with the sun's rays shining below a cloud, the waves crashing in to the wall (it was not a beach), a lighthouse in the distance, ships on the horizon. Alas! My blog picture does not do it justice--because you can't feel the cool sea air, or hear the waves. But that's not the whole picture. The other part of Akko was the spice shop I visited, which has been there for several generations.

At Akko, there is a wonderful market and one of its entry points (from the port) is through a tunnel. Cut in natural stone, it was once used by the ancient Templars who guarded European pilgrims arriving in the Holy Land to visit holy places. That's a "trip" in itself--but once inside, the herb, spice, and coffee house I was headed to, turned out to be like from a dream. It made me think of a quote from Kipling: "The place was packed as full of smells as a bale is of cotton." But it was not like being in a modern day Penzey's with its own array of lovely aromas; this place had a... patina of scent...if that's possible--of layers and layers of ancient herbs and spices...cardamom, curry, sumac, and cinnamon...It felt like a little magic and alot of mystery all swirled together. I could have spent hours (friends know I would have if given the opportunity). But I did the next best thing. I bought several spices. The proprietor weighed them out on a scale, packaged them up with labels, and explained how to store and use them: store in glass, sprinkle with a spoon. He gave me a quick lesson on how to make the hot curry (a glass of orange juice is key).

I haven't tried the curry yet--but every morning since I've been home, I have made myself toast sprinkled with sugar and some of the cardamom I bought there. It never fails to transport me back to that shop--a time travel place--full of past and present--and all the other women who once shopped there, or still do--cooking up meals, and memories. Meantime, I still haven't come up with a "color name" that aptly describes Akko.

 

 

 

First Thursday!

 

First Thursdays with my BFF's last night: Drinking Love Potion #4. Need I say more? Rosemary's concoction and a winner!

Israel: Ilana Goor museum

The ilana Goor museum was a delight--and one of the most unusual art museums I have ever visited.
Pure joy. 

Postcard from Israel

These photos are from the market in Jerusalem where I needed more time to shop, to take photographs, to eat, to sit and have coffee....to absorb it all.