In summary…I’m looking forward to the future of NM food more than I’ve enjoyed its present.  I think you can divide the food into three categories, historical, traditional restaurant and creative restaurant.

Too much of the historicall food seems to have been forgotten altogether…chicos, panochas, calabacitas, good blue corn, so on and so forth.  I’m not sure why the pantry has been dispensed with.  I believe there’s a lot of room here for exploration.  Different preps of chicos?  Actually good blue corn tortillas?  An insightful version of capirotada?  Seems like nobody’s interested.

The traditional restaurant is tasty, but damn the menu is almost identical *at every single one.*  Tamales, rellenos, burritos, enchiladas, hardshell tacos and combinations thereof.  It’s stultifying.  Apparently, it’s a formula that works.  You would think people would tire of the sameness, though.  Apparently, they’re  reassured by it. 

Similarly, the creative restaurants are stultified, just in the Eighties where sundried tomatoes never passed and flavors are designed to not transgress.  (To be fair, I didn’t dine at Trattoria Nostrani, The Compound, Geronimo or other non-NM/SW ilk.)  The lack of daring is palpable.  I have a hard time imagining a special trip to eat upper-end in Santa Fe.

But I did enjoy a lot!

I don’t want to sound negative, because I ate a lot of great food.  First on my list is Cafe Pasquals.  The chefs seem genuinely observant, enjoying some of the chile of NM, some dishes of Old Mexico, some of  the weird new age diets of Santa Fe and bringing it all together.  The dishes I ate were balanced and flavorful.  If it’s got a line out the door, well good for them.  They seem to be one of the few places in town sewing together past, present and future.  (Employee spinoff Tuneup Cafe also gets my enthusiasm, though they seem a bit more Old Mexican in style. )

Maria’s is my favorite closer-in restaurant for their delicious margaritas, magnificent carne adovada and tasty tamales. 

My third favorite is simply Cerrillos Road.  I never ate anything bad out there and somehow everything seemed more New Mexican and less Santa Fean.  (I know that’s probably not fair.)  But you can hop on a bus and visit Horseman’s Haven, Plaza Cafe South, El Milagro (taxi driver rec), El Campanario, Tecolote Cafe or Pantry Restaurant.  It’s grub!  Lots of choices and good eating.

Thanks for reading along.  The Lipid Harvest is complete.

Panocha flour is sprouted wheat, dried and ground.  The sprouting increases the sweetness of the grain.  I bought a pound of the flour itself, so it will be interesting to compare it with malted barley flour etc.

Anyway, here is the dense, spiced ‘pudding’ made from the panocha flour.

I wasn’t really a big fan, but a friend thought it was delicious.  We all seemed to really like the capirotada though, a bread pudding with raisins and cheddar cheese.

It was kind of hard to photograph beneath the cloud of forgivable redi-whip, but it was darned tasty.

The guacamole was bland.

But the chicos had a lovely chew to them.  The husk remains on the kernel, unlike posole.  I didn’t get much smoke aroma off of them, unfortunately.

The owner grows them herself at home, a truly special treat.

It’s hard not to love Matilda’s instantly.

We were charmed.

The food was pretty bad, I’m sorry to say.

That’s the huevos rancheros.  The flavors were muted and haphazard.  It may prove the maxim that when dealing with a limited pantry technique is all-important.

The frito pie was boring, too.  Fritos, boring!

My friend mused that even with grandma’s techniques, the economy has been bad up here for so long that the food itself may have had its lustre dulled.  Very depressing.

I walked past a child burning a cloth napkin in the candle holder (the parents couldn’t smell it somehow) and was seated at a dumpy courtyard with waterlogged tables and bric a brac strewn about the musician’s stage.

The servers tarried confusedly about.  Eventually, I got a stacked chicken enchilada.

It was tasty enough, but that wilted tuft of alfalfa sprouts (uh huh, and a defeated branch of parsley) didn’t justify the high price.  Maybe the ethno-Disney costumes the waitresses wear cost a lot?

Sprawling on the inside, you order at the cash registers.  The counter girls wear bandanas and the poor boys pushing fetid mops past your table endure paper hats.

I didn’t have much room after Barela’s and had to catch my train back so I just ordered a cup of green chile stew.

It had delicious green chile notes to it, but the meat and broth rendered it rather like a canned soup.  Great for a cheap cafeteria meal, but not much more than that.  I thought the flour  tortilla that came with it was inedible.  It was sweet, vapidly thin and lacking in bite or texture.    I was quite surprised to learn from my friend that they’re extremely popular!   People drive to Frontier just to buy these tortillas.  What?

I was enjoying my walk down to Barela’s when I looked around and realized I was on an isolated stretch, carrying my laptop and probably for all the world some plump mug-fodder.  I detoured my sketchy path to a busier street.

Barela’s gets sound and ubiquitous praise from all quarters.  It’s a big neighborhood joint, informal, damn friendly and packed with people.

I was pretty excited to try their famous chicharrones.

Weird, huh?  They didn’t look like chicharrones, which I’ve always thought of as cracklings.  Sometimes cracklings have a little meat but are mostly crispy skin.  These were huge hunks of flesh with almost no skin whatsoever.  I asked my server.  She reassured me that these were the chicharrones and when my bill came, it too said chicharrones.

They were terrible.  Not crunchy in the least, but fried hard, fried chewy, dried out flavorless wads.  I don’t know what happened, if this is normal, if other people like these things or if there is yet some other unimaginable explanation.  In any case, just bad.

I also ordered menudo with posole and red chile.

Pretty yummy stuff.  I gave it a good shake of oregano and scooped up the perfectly tender tripe with scraps of their fat and tasty flour tortillas.

And their Frito Pie al fresco.