An Ex-Pat New Year's

For many Years Dan and I sought out quietude on New Year's Eve - we even went camping in the desert and saw in the New Year around a campfire, often with good friends. Apparently we have changed. Now New Year's Eve is all about a good party in Banámichi!

The purveyors of the best party in town are Tom and Lynn Matthews of Hotel Los Arcos de Sonora. Tom is a fabulous cook and takes this holiday as an opportunity to showcase his talents. For 24 hours ahead he cooks up a storm, including his famous New York Cheesecake....so rich that one slice could sink a battleship.

Dinnertime

So this year the party started with a formal dinner of turkey, and two hams with sides provided by various friends. We gathered to feast early in the evening, as various friends both gringo and Mexican came and went.I love the way Tom and Lynn just simply include whoever is present - hotel guests, townspeople, friends of friends. By the end of the evening everyone has become a friend. The guest list also included the town's very handsome young doctor. Many of us women decided that we were developing ailments that would need immediate medical attention.

That's Claudia in the red eating cheesecake!

The night was chilly (but it was NOT Minneapolis!) and there were two fires going, so we were able to gather around them and stay warm.And speaking of warm, I love the traditional Mexican greeting...a warm embrace followed by a kiss on the cheek. I don't know about you, but I love hugs, and this was a hug-fest. The best!

After we all stuffed ourselves on the main courses, out came the cheesecake. Lynn and I teased with Claudia, who is slim and gorgeous like an Aztec goddess, that the cake will make her "nalgas" (butt) grow. She giggles at the slightly naughty reference, and Lynn tells her that it is totally worth it for this cake! Afterwards, the group dissolves into many conversations, some in Spanish and some in English and some half way in between, as we wait for the hours to tick away to 2011.

Bug Man Dan - a local "bad boy"

Whenever boredom threatens, our local overgrown bad boys go out in the street and toss a few firecrackers.

Tom launching a rocket

The personnel include Tom and Dan, cheered on by Raphael and this year, Minister Seth from Bisbee. A number of us decide that we might be willing to consider church if preachers were as fun as he is! We joke that the cops are coming - last year they did, but now we speculate that they are used to our antics.

Fireworks are legal here, and somehow the tradition started of someone going down to the town of Ures and getting a bunch before New Year's Eve. The stash includes the little red ones with dangerously short fuses that make a huge noise. Of course the boys got into taping them together to see how big a bang they could get. Who doesn't like a good explosion? Only minor injuries resulted.Tom now has a spot that he will no longer have to shave.

Bottle rocket

Then there were the bottle rockets that streaked into the air trailing fire.  A flag-pole holder made a perfect launcher for them. Lastly there were the actual big rockets which blasted into the night sky and exploded into a a cluster of multicolor sparkles. Of course the "boys" had to try out various taped configurations - firecrackers atop rockets, and multiples of each. The implied danger kept us all running into the street to see who was in danger of losing which fingers in between running into the courtyard to warm ourselves by the fire.

Where did you say that fuse was?

Times Square on TV

Midnight Stragglers

I went into the house and sat down in the warmth for a few minutes and fell asleep.So much for partying hardy! I am becoming old, dagnabbit! I woke up shortly before midnight and went back outside to find the last stragglers of the party watching the ball descending in Times Square on Dan's computer. How is it that New York has become the world's standard for bringing in the New Year? Why not a bottle rocket and great hugs and kisses in Banámichi?





Seriously, though, a couple of my blogging friends  (A Camp Host Housewife's Meanderings , and An Alaskan in Yucatan) have done great pieces on the New Year and the passing of time. Even though I am philosophical by nature, I won't go there this year. At this point in my life, I love good friends, shared good times and the simple contentment of spending time in this lovely little pueblo with a great community of loving people. I hope to do more of the same in the coming year, and I wish all of you good friends, good times and contentment as well. Happeeeee New Year!

Pizza Night in Banámichi

Pepperoni and 4 Italian cheeses

Ever since 1971 I have wanted to build an adobe clay oven. The idea first came up with an article in Sunset magazine. For some reason the time wasn't right, so I clipped the article and put it aside for later use. From time to time I re-found the article, but the time was never right.
When we were renovating the house in Banámichi, I decided this was it...it was now or never. There were no codes here, and no one cared about backyard fires - in fact they had developed them into a sort of art form- smoky, smelly, burning trash and fragrant mesquite cooking fires seemed to be the order of the day.

While I was trying to figure out where to get all the supplies, my friend Lynn of the Hotel Los Arcos de Sonora researched mud ovens on the internet and found a wealth of information. While I was twiddling my thumbs and thinking about where to put the thing, she and Tom just built one! I was a bit miffed that they got to  my long term desire first, but couldn't help but celebrate the accomplishment with them.

Heating the dragon

Dragonshadow

Tom has even decorated his with a sculpted dragon that breathes smoke from it's mouth. It's way cool. My oven is now drawn out and the space  has been located in the back yard, however construction has not begun. When it does, I will keep you apprised of the progress!


Of course we had to experiment with making pizza in it. The first one emerged a bit burnt, but generally the results have been absolutely fabulous! The creations have been a joint effort and have been so enjoyed that we hope to make them a regular event. You can see the process and some of the results in the photos below. Don't you wish you were here for this? You can be! Come see us!

Preparing the dough

Spread the sauce

 

Add Ingredients

In it goes! Master chef Tom at the peel.

          

Now we're cooking!

 

3 minutes and out it comes

                                                                                                

Caprese Salami and fresh mozzarella

Why I love Mexico and hate Minneapolis

It is two days before New Year's and I am outside in a short sleeved shirt pulling weeds in my garden in Banámichi. The sun is shining and the sky is a brilliant blue.The temperature feels like about 72 F. The day is as perfect as they get. I love the winter in Banámichi.

Early in December I had to make a quick trip to Minneapolis. I flew out of Tucson on a warm Thursday and had a reservation to return the next day. All I had to do was lead a quick meeting for the Siddha Yoga Meditation Center there and I could go back to the sunny southwest. But this was not to be. The universe had other plans for me.

As the plane came in for a landing I could see that the farms and fields were covered with snow. The sky was leaden and outside the cold damp air smelled like it would start to snow again any second. I was thankful that I would not have to be out too much.

I dragged myself out of sleep on Friday morning with a rising feeling of nausea. I'll spare you the gruesome details - suffice it to say that I was too ill to fly that day, so my reservation was changed to the next day, Saturday. BAD choice!

By Friday evening I was feeling much better, however it started to snow during the night. By morning there was a good two foot accumulation in my host's yard. She called the airport and was assured that the flight would go. She said; "I can't take you to the airport - the driveway isn't shoveled and the alley isn't plowed. We'll have to call a cab." I had a feeling this was not going to end well.

The cab arrived and I waded through the snow banks to get to it. It was bitterly cold - an alleged wind chill of -18F. The cold went right through all the layers I was wearing. The cab driver was a courageous man - in places it was hard to tell where the road was - nothing was plowed yet. He kept telling me how beautiful it was and how after he left me at the airport he was going to quit for the day and go out to take some pictures. On the way I was astounded to see groups of people jogging and others walking their dogs as if this snow was the most ordinary thing in the world. Those Minnesotans are a hardy breed!

I was so thankful to arrive at the airport that I gave him a large tip and headed right for my flight gate. As I got there, I heard the announcement: the flight had been canceled because all the runways were closed. There was no way I was going home that day.

I re-booked the flight for the next day on a different airline and made a hotel reservation with the voucher I had been given. They assured me they had a shuttle. Two hours later when the shuttle still had not come I called again and was told the shuttle was not running because they could not get it out of the parking lot!

By now a sweet young Chinese girl who was going to the same hotel - the Ramada West - had latched on to me. Perhaps she thought I was a native and knew what I was doing. HAH!

Eventually she and I piled into a taxi van with a Canadian guy, a middle-Eastern family and a Somalian driver who hardly spoke English. He had an English study guide open on the seat next to him. Again I had this nagging feeling....I never had heard of any significant snowfall in Somalia.

We headed out on the freeway towards the Ramada West. The only way to tell it was the freeway was the tire tracks through the two feet of snow. The wind howled and blew snow upside down and sideways. It was almost a total white-out. The driver had to stop several times because the windshield wipers kept freezing to the windshield. In the cab the tension was palpable and no one said a word as the car slithered along the tire tracks. Finally we approached the Ramada and the driver slowed to look for the entrance. He thought he spotted the correct tire tracks in the wind whipped snow and turned right - directly into a snow bank. Now we were stuck!

We all got out to help push. I looked up and noticed that the hotel in the distance said "Ramada Inn Mall of America." I pointed this out to the Chinese girl and she started shouting at the driver who was now ineffectually poking the snow behind the wheels with an ice scraper. "You brought us to the wrong Ramada.!!" The driver shouted back in a high screechy voice that sounded on the edge of tears: "This only Ramada inn. No other one! You go!" The poor man was clearly out of his element. He was wrong - there WERE two Ramada Inns - I saw them on the board at the airport, and indeedy we were at the wrong one.

There was no point in arguing with him and he wasn't going anywhere in the near future - especially if he kept poking at the snow with that scraper. I decided that the only thing to do was to walk to this other Ramada Inn and hope there was room. I paid him, grabbed my bags and headed out across the snow-drifted field toward the building - probably 1/4 mile away. The Chinese girl decided to follow me. The tiny pellets of snow the wind blew  into my face felt like needles. The wind blew right through all my clothes and I could feel the chill on the skin of my back. Behind me the Chinese girl whimpered. Poor thing didn't have boots, hat or gloves.

We blew into the warm lobby on an icy gust and went to the check in counter. Not only did they have room, they even honored our vouchers! The Chinese girl vanished down a hallway and I never did see theragain. The snow had drifted against one of the glass doors of the hotel. I stood next to it to measure it - nearly 5' high!

The hotel restaurant was packed at dinner. No one could go anywhere - it was the only game in town. I ordered chili, thinking of warm spicy, sunny flavors - the taste of home. Meanwhile, two women came and sat at the table with me.. Edith and Gladdie. (In extreme circumstances Americans will act European and share a table.) They were on a church outing to see the Christmas sights and now they were snowed in as well.They still had their name badges on.

They asked me where I was from and I told them Arizona. "Oh, you're the ones with the screwy governor!" Edith said. I almost dropped my teeth. They were Middle Americans - I was sure they were Republicans - and THEY thought our governor was nuts! They also thought the chili sounded like a good idea on this freezing night.  When it came Gladdie took a taste and commented: "Oh, it's very well seasoned!" Personally I thought it tasted like ground beef floating in canned tomatoes, and I may have mentioned that I thought it a bit bland. Edith said: "Oh, you Arizonans like your food to bite you back!" Frankly, those two and their brand of humor were a bright light in a very dark night.

By the next morning it had finally stopped snowing. All the papers said that this was the biggest storm on record in the Minneapolis area. The roof of their stadium collapsed from the weight of it. At the airport, I could see the snow blowers on the runway blasting plumes of snow about 200 feet in the air. When my flight finally took off after about  4 hour delay (frozen brakes and a broken de-icer), I nearly cheered. Even if it was beautiful, I had had enough winter to last me the rest of my life.

I was so thankful to land in the 75 F sunny warmth of Tucson, and to head down to Banamichi, where a cold day might go as low at 50 F. It's been 45 years now since I moved to the Southwest. I truly have become a desert rat. I love hiking up some canyon and lying on a warm sunny rock by an icy stream fed by the snow melt in the mountains. I love gazing up at the bright blue sky and not giving a thought to the people in Minneapolis shoveling their driveways and jogging in a wind chill of -18F. Sunshine, warmth and the bright sunny flavors of chili and salsa suit me just fine now.

Poultry Wars

Some of last year's produce

What  happened to my lovely vegetable garden? Last winter I was rolling in produce - green beans, snow peas, too much chard, carrots, spinach - all of it. This year - nada! I lovingly turned over the dirt, added specially purchased worm casings and organic fertilizer, carefully practiced crop rotation and set the water timers. When we came back after several weeks nothing had grown.

June/Elena the Gardener

There were a few seedlings bravely struggling along, but mostly, nothing had come up. Why? No idea. So once again I prepared the soil and replanted and carefully took all the steps to insure a bumper crop. When we came back again, only a few more stragglers had sprouted.

Mother Beet of the Universe from last year's garden

After the third planting, We finally caught the culprits red-beaked. It was some neigborhood chickens! These feisty, wiry little garden-disposal units came over the 7 foot garden wall and pecked through everything as it came up. The stealth raiders came at dawn and dusk. I would get up at 5:30 AM and hear the telltale clucking outside. As quietly as I could at that hour, I charged outside and hurled rocks and obscenities in several languages."Malditos pollos!" "Verfluche Schweinhund!" "Danged chickens!" Amidst flapping and squawking the little buggers flew right over the wall.


Theorizing that chickens don't usually fly too high, we put three feet of chicken wire around the wall. Two days later, the hateful birds were back pecking at the garden. They flew right over the now 10 foot wall. I can't show you a picture, because now they flew at the very sight of me!


We began to joke about getting a gun - illegal in Mexico. About this time, our friend Lynn also had something eating her garden. She speculated that it was the iguanas - two exceptionally large lizards that lived in the area. She got Ramón to bring his BB gun - apparently legal - and he picked them off for her. Her garden grew.

Animal lover that I am, I have to admit that I did ask Ramón to come over, but he seemed more reluctant to shoot chickens. Dan, our neighbor, said if he caught one he'd slit its throat. But of course the trick was catching one of the two super-chickens.They could run and fly like crazy!


Dan mentioned to our neighbor Chuchico about the pests. Chuchico also confessed to the chickens bothering him and he suggested poison. He told us that often people have chickens but don't feed them, allowing them to scrounge. That way the eggs and meat are virtually free. Good for an impoverished family, I guess, but not so good for the surrounding neighbors. He identified the source of the chickens as a small white house around the corner from us. The people there  live very simply, and we doubted that they had the money to feed the birds.


We discussed the situation with various friends. Some told us to go to the owners and demand that they pay us for all the seeds their birds ate up.They told us we had a right to do that. We thought about it. If we did that, we would earn the reputation in the village of ugly Americans picking on poor people. Absolutely not worth it.


Back to the thought of chicken assassination. Tichi, Beto's mom, pretty much summed it up: it is not a good thing in Mexico to kill your neighbors' chickens. Then she giggled and told us how some naughty boys in her youth stole a neighbor's chicken and took it down to  the river bed and roasted it over an open fire. She thought it was quite the amusing prank, but not one to be repeated by presumably more mature adults. (Who? Us?)


 If we couldn't kill them, and nothing seemed to chase them off permanantly, the only solution was to build an anti-chicken cage - that is to surround the garden with chicken wire. This meant a trip to Hermosillo to the Home Depot. You already know how much I love  going to Hermosillo (NOT), but I did reluctantly go along for the cause. The war had to be won. I would not be outsmarted by two lousy chicken-brains.

The Anti-Chicken Coop

Over the next couple of days, Dan constructed a magnificent cage around the garden. It even has a roll-up door and is completely chicken proof. I replanted the garden a fourth time. By this time It was already pretty late in the season to plant a winter garden. So now, most things are actually growing, confirming that the chickens were indeed the problem. There's a hard freeze coming tonight. I hope none of the tender seedlings freeze!


Now I see the chickens scrounging in the road near our house. If they should get run over, I won't mourn their loss. Two days ago, our neighbor Dan gave me an early Christmas gift - a wrist-rocket slingshot! If I ever see those miserable birds in my yard again, they're gonna get it......

Git Along Little Dogie

Woolly Bully

The sound of exasperated and terrified bawling and mooing came from the old corral. About 50 cattle milled about in the limited space. A large white bull snorted and stamped the ground near the barbed wire fence where I stood watching as a tiny calf, all ears and eyes approached me, his curiosity overcoming his reticence. Fawn colored, his umbilical cord was still attached. Such a sweet little thing!

Sweet little calf and it's mom

 But there is no use getting attached to any of these animals...this is a working ranch. All the animals have to pull their weight, and after they have, it will be off to the meat packing plant to satisfy humans' insatiable desire for beef.

Still, these cattle have it good by Mexican cow standards. They are owned by the family of our friend Beto Corella, and they are extremely well cared for as Mexican cattle go. They are well fed and watered, vaccinated and nurtured along.

The ranch house porch

Beto and his wife Vicky invited us out to the ranch for a picnic. After 45 minutes of bouncing along a maze of unsigned dirt roads while leaving billowing clouds of dust behind us, we were definitely ready to arrive. The ranch house itself was primitive. The kitchen opened onto a wide  porch covered with corrugated aluminum.

Inside the kitchen was a blackened hearth and a tiny cement sink. In the center was a table with chairs made from tractor seats. This definitely was a man's hideout!


We all squeezed onto the shady part of the porch as the day was unseasonably warm. Meanwhile Tichi, Beto's mom, wiped down the metal chairs for us to sit and relax while Beto checked with his ranch hands about the animals and then started a fire for the picnic.

Gradually the female cattle were herded into a smaller corral off to one side. One of the ranch hands pulled on a long plastic glove that reached to his shoulder. After each cow was secured so that it could not move, he reached inside them with the gloved hand to feel if each was pregnant. These were real cowboys, doing real cow stuff. None of this nonsense about riding around and shooting at bad guys and Indians. They were testing a statistical sample to see what percentage of the cows would produce babies in the spring. This is a for-profit ranch in the hinterlands of Banámichi, and, as with any business, productivity is an issue.

I recall last year hearing Beto say that the bull "wasn't doing his job." Apparently that meant that not enough cows were being impregnated. This year the bull must have done well - 7 out of 10 cows were pregnant. At the end of the day, the remaining 3 females were loaded into a trailer to be taken to Beto's farm where they would be artificially inseminated. They cow has a job to do, and do it they must, want to or not.

Beto chopping wood for the cooking fire

 Meanwhile, back at the ranch (I've always wanted to use that expression in it's original context!), lunch was being prepared. Of course here in Sonora it could only be one thing - carne asada - grilled beef. Somehow it seemed a bit crass to cook and eat beef in front of the herd, but they were sufficiently disturbed at finding themselves in the corral that they didn't seem to notice.

Beto and Vicky cooking Carne Asada

The beef in Mexico is a bit different than what we get in the states. It is not grain fed, nor is it hung and aged, but it is often aged on the hoof -that is it comes from an old animal, and so will be quite tough and stringy. This problem is solved by slicing it very thin and then cooking it over mesquite coals. Then it is chopped into tiny pieces and put into a tortilla with pico de gallo (Salsa of fresh onion, tomatoes, green chile and cilantro), guacamole, and the ever present salsa de chiltepin. By the time it is eaten, the toughness is not noticed.

Yummy picnic: Carne Asada Tacos

This time of year in late October it is chiltepin season. The chiltepin is a tiny red pepper (the size of a small black peppercorn) that grows wild in truly inhospitable conditions. People have tried to domesticate it and grow it in gardens, but apparently, to no avail. It only grows in parts of Sonora and along the US border, and the salsa that is made from it is a specialty of this region.

Bowl of chiltepins

Chiltepins are VERY hot! On the Scoville scale, they are hotter than cayenne, but not as hot as habaneros. One tiny little red globe will make a bowl of soup very hot indeed. Recently I heard a tale of a fairly naive man who was convinced to pop one in his mouth and chew it up. His face turned bright red, and when he could breathe again he said "I shouldn't have done that!"

 Salsa de chiltepin is prepared from tomatoes, onion, garlic, seasonings and a certain number of chiltepins to taste - a few for a mild salsa, more for an incendiary one. Being a chile lover, I can attest to its intense heat, and also its excellent flavor.

Chiltepins on the bush

Part of our day at the ranch was spent in walking up a small dirt track into the desert and looking for chiltepin bushes. Whenever we found one we picked as long as we had patience - it is a slow and painstaking process.

It is a tradition that if you pick on somoeone else's land that you give them 1/3 of your pickings. Beto however would not take any, so we brought ours home to dry and store for future salsas.

I have not yet made the salsa - there is a woman who makes it and sells it door to door in Banámichi, and so far I have purchased it from her. It seems such a hard way to make a living! But this last time, Dan proclaimed it too hot to eat, so when this lot is gone I will attempt to make some that is milder.  I'll let you know how it goes.

Tichi and I crocheting on the shady patio

As he sun was setting we piled back into the vehicles for the trip home. The cowboys rode in the back of Beto's truck, Mexican style. The 3 non-pregnant cows lurched and tumbled about in the trailer as it bounced over the pot-holes. Back in the vehicle behind the trailer, their eyes glared wide and frantic in our headlights. Occasional "MWRAAAA!" sounds emanated as we crept along. Finally we saw the lights of the tiny pueblo of Las Delicias in front of us, and we were almost home. The journey for the 3 cows was just beginning.

Fall has Fell

Inter-not Update:
When we arrived this time, there was a note stuck to our door that TelMex had visited us several days earlier. Dan checked the router as soon as he walked in the door. "I think it's working!" he shouted! With shaking hands he plugged everything in and fired up the computer. "By Damn! It works!" he said. We don't know how this happened. o far as we know, no one has died and released a port. At any rate, we are now enjoying high speed internet, and we are as happy as clams with our new services.

Fall has Fell:
When I was 8 or 9, my group of friends and I used to repeat to each other,  "Spring has sprung, fall has fell, summer will be as hot as hell!" Then we would laugh out loud because we had gotten away with saying a naughty word.

This year I said naughty words all summer because this summer truly was hellish. The heat was long, intense and humid - a deadly combination. Normally I am fairly stoic about the heat, but this year it drove me nuts. There was no reprieve, no way out - no matter which way I turned, it was just plain hot. I sweated buckets and took lots of showers and grumbled a lot to whoever would listen.

That is until we arrived back in Banámichi a few days ago. It has cooled down here - literally overnight -  and the  weather is delicious - 70's in the daytime, 50's at night. Ahhhh...at last!  With a huge sigh of relief I am settling back into my glorious outdoor lifestyle.

With the cooler weather has come the red chile harvest - a time that is very important to the inhabitants of the Rio Sonora - and to me.

A couple of days ago we drove to the tiny pueblo of La Estáncia where many of the red chiles are sold.
The ristras - long narrow wreaths of chiles - were hanging from walls, doors, and from racks by the side of the road. We stopped at one farm where a sea of gorgeous dark red blanketed the entire area in front of the barn.The chiles were being dried and sorted, the ones not destined to become ristras to be ground up into a fine powder called "Chile Colorado."

Seeing the chiles brings joy to Elena's heart. (Remember Elena?) This is where I feel a deep connection to Mexico and the  people who share my love of the sauce made form Chile Colorado. It is a deep red, fiery hot, sensuous and delectable flavor. I could drink it with a straw. It makes all my mucous membranes tingle and come alive. My eyes might water and I may gasp for air, reach for beer, milk, any nearby liquid to quench the fire, but I can't stay away from the stuff. I am addicted to it. It is one of my favorite foods in this lifetime!

Ristras for sale at the farm

Ristras hanging in a doorway

A sea of red chiles

Sorting chiles for powder

Those of you who are not familiar with Chile Colorado may wonder what to do with the stuff. A few years ago, a friend with an extended Hispanic family taught me what to do with the pods themselves.

Chile Colorado Sauce (from  fresh or dry pods)

Start with more of the pods than you think you will need - lots - at least several pounds - the sauce freezes well. Carefully wash the pods and remove the stem end. Scoop and rinse out all the seeds (they are way hot - if you use your fingers, be sure not to touch any mucous membranes!) Bring a big pot of water to boiling. Drop a handful of pods at a time into the boiling water until they are re-hydrated and a bit soft. Fish them out with a slotted spoon and put them in a blender. Add just enough boiling water to make the blender go and grind up the pods into a thick slurry. Pour the slurry into a food mill or heavy duty strainer and squeeze, press, or mill until the slurry goes into the container below and only the dry chile skin fragments remain. Discard those. Repeat until all your chiles are used. Now you can use the sauce directly, or put it in baggies and freeze until you need it.

Red Chile pods

If you have some Chile Colorado powder, you can still make a perfectly delectable sauce.

Chile Colorado from Powder

Measure out about 2/3 to 3/4 of the powder.
Pour 1 quart chicken stock into a saucepan and bring to a simmer.
Very slowly add the chile powder to the stock, stirring with a wire whisk to break up lumps.
Whisking occasionally, simmer uncovered for about 30-45 minutes until liquid is reduced by about half and the resulting sauce has thickened enough to coat a spoon. Sauce is ready to use.

OK, you say, now what? Will the stuff be hot? You bet your sweet bippy it will be hot. How hot will depend on the variety of chiles you use. They come in various degrees degrees of ability to burn the mouth. If you have gotten a batch of hotties, and you have tender taste buds, I suggest you dilute the sauce with some good quality tomato sauce - the kind that comes in those little cup sized cans, not spaghetti sauce. A 1-1dilution is good. You can do more tomato sauce if you want, but with too much, the flavor of the tomato will overwhelm the chile flavor, which is a real shame.

A very simple way to use the sauce is to spoon it over grilled chicken breasts.
You can pour a couple of cups of it into a crockpot with a hunk of beef and in 6-8 hours you will have a delectable dinner.

You could also use it as the sauce base of chicken enchiladas.

The first way I ever tried Chile Colorado was in a Mexican restaurant in Durango, Colorado. They half-filled a soup bowl with cooked pinto beans, added some grilled chicken and then smothered the whole dish with a sizeable quantity of the sauce. Add a bit of cheese and some sour cream or guacamole and you will think you have died and gone to heaven. It is pure ambrosia.

This tells you a bit about Elena's tastes. I hope you will love this stuff as much as I do. If you don't live where you can purchase ristras or pure chile powder, DO NOT use the red so-called "chile powder" that is adulterated with garlic powder, cumin, salt or whatever. You will be sorry. It is NOT GOOD. It is a poor facsimile of the real thing. Sometimes grocery stores carry cellophane packages of dry red chile pods - especially in areas where there is a sizeable Hispanic population. Use those.

Good luck and my  blessings for happy meals that evoke the warm sunny climate and the cheerful loving people of the Rio Sonora.

Día de Independencia

Update on Inter-not: The green light is still blinking. Someone called us to let us know they were installing a new port as we spoke and that we would be hooked up in less than 24 hours. 24 hours came and went. The light was still blinking. Dan called TelMex again and talked to a supervisor who said that in fact there was no port, and we would probably have to wait until someone canceled their service or died before we got service. Time to rejuvenate the antenna contraption!

Día de Independencia:
Dan and I dragged our sleepy selves out of bed at 3:50 AM. It was Sept. 15th, the first day of the bi-centennial celebration of Mexican Independence from Spain.  The city had been swept to the point of spotlessness, and red, white and green banners hung over all the streets and around the gazebo in the Plaza Hidalgo. We had 10 minutes to throw on some clothes and walk to the plaza  where the Paseo de Gallo (Rooster walk) was due to begin. I told Dan, "Don't worry... nothing here ever starts on time."

As we headed down Calle Obregon, our neighbors were already sitting out on their porch waiting. Dan called out "Buenas Noches!"  They laughed and told him it was actually Buenas Días even though it was still pitch black and we had to strain to see the irregularities waiting for us in the street..

4 AM Sept 15th Paseo de Gallo

Other people were out on the corners, waiting in pajamas and bathrobes. As we rounded the corner into the plaza, the parade emerged out of the waiting crowd with trumpets and drums breaking the early morning silence. Right on time! We joined the back of the parade and headed back down Calle Obregon in the direction we had come. Periodically, someone shot off rockets that blazed into the dark sky and then exploded with a boom that rattled the windows of the houses. No one would sleep through this.The parade wound it's way through town, back to the plaza and then went on to the nearby towns of La Mora and Las Delicias to wake all those folks as well.

Apparently, many years ago, some of men in Banámichi decided it would be nice to take a walk early in the morning on the day before Día de Independencia to celebrate. Later this evolved into waking up the citizenry and inviting everyone to breakfast. At first it was men only, and then the womenfolk began to beg their husbands to go along to see what was happening. So gradually, everyone began to go and it became a local custom and an annual civic event.

The breakfast consists of menudo, a greasy concoction of hominy and tripe that is reputed to be a hangover cure. This seems to be a recipe that separates the Mexicans from us gringos - The Mexicans love the stuff, and most gringos I know are a bit iffy about it. We didn't try it.

After awhile, we peeled off the back of the parade and went home to sit on the roof for awhile to soak up the early morning cool and gaze at the Milky Way out over the river flats. A gentle breeze picked up that was almost chilly. I noticed the descent of the peace and contentment I always feel looking out at the church steeple and the mountains  in the distance Slowly we each succumbed to the hour and drifted back to bed snooze a  bit longer. We left the early celebrations and late night fiestas to the Mexicans who all in all are a hardier lot than we are.

On the evening of Sept 15th, people once again gathered in the plaza to celebrate "El Grito" (the shout) - the call for independence. In 1810, in the early hours of Sept. 16th, Father Hidalgo rang the bells of his little church in the small town of Dolores, Guanajuato to call everyone together. He spoke to them of Spanish oppression and at the end, they shouted "Long Live Independence!!"  This was the beginning of the 10 year war for independence, and this pivotal moment is celebrated every year when the Presidente offers the cry of independence in the plaza at 11 PM. 

The next day (Sept. 16th) we arrived early at Los Arcos Hotel to take our places across the street in the shade for the civic parade. Lynn passed out red, white and green Mexican flags to people nearby. An elderly woman with white hair and a bent back hobbled up to the corner where we were sitting. We offered her a seat and some coffee which she at first politely refused and finally hesitantly accepted. Meanwhile, A cowboy in matching blue boots and shirt rode up and down the street on his horse, transporting costumed little girls to the start of the parade.

Our local government

Finally with the now-familiar sound of drums and trumpets, the government contingent rounded the corner. El Presidente (the mayor) Adolfo Lopez, his wife Elvira beside him, was supporting the Mexican flag. All of the other city officers and staff followed behind him.They made a handsome picture, and I felt a flash of pride in my adopted home. Our friend Vicky waved to us as she went by.

Children in costum

Next came all the school groups! Sometimes I think of Banámichi as a town of elderly people, but this was a great reminder of how many children and young people live in the area. Some of the children were in costume, variously depicting independence history, regional costumes, the Mexican flag and so on. From the littlest to the biggest, they marched in formation with group leaders yelling "Alto,  ya!" (Stop, NOW!) And "Advanzar, ya!"(Go forward, NOW!)

Hooray for Santa Elena gold and silver mine

Even the Santa Elena mine had a representative contingent, who were in a joyous mood. They had just recently poured their first gold bar. Their helium balloons were everywhere, and rose into the sky as children watched them in wonder. Finally came the floats and more costumes, and then it was suddenly over with the passing of the city police car.

Unhappy corn gir

Everyone headed for Plaza Hidalgo where there was a jumping castle for the kids, food and drink vendors, and a gathering crowd. After a seemingly eternal wait, various age groups and school groups performed regional dances of Mexico.  The unhappy teen-age Corn Girl won the costume contest, after which she seemed to cheer up. It is easy to imagine her mom forcing the costume on her reluctant self, and like teenagers everywhere I could almost hear her say, "But mom, I will die of embarrassment!" She nearly did during the parade when a stray dog ran up to her and sniffed the corn husks that made up her prom-like dress.

Little peasant with sandwich

Folklorico dancer

The concluding entertainment were a group of young folklorico dancers, the boys handsome in their black and white charro outfits and the girls in their long, ribbon decorated dresses. There was no embarrassment here as the dresses whirled and flew in a blur of color with the exuberant movement of the dancers.


That evening there was to be another fiesta and dance. The weekend also included a rodeo and a horse race - regional activities in the ranching country of Sonora.

To an aging and sometimes cynical gringa, it was uplifting to see how much reverence the Mexican people have for their history, and how much pride in their Mexico. As an American, it is so easy to forget the realities of other countries - that people there feel the same pride in their heritage that we do for ours. We are not the center of the universe as we imagine ourselves to be. Particularly now, with the immigration debate in the US at a fever pitch of stridency  and animosity, it seems easy for a segment of our population to demonize the Mexicans and imagine that they are the one-dimensional enemy who wants to sneak into our country and upset our neatly stacked applecart. In reality, most Mexicans prefer Mexico - it is home and everything that is familiar to them and they only leave under the worst imaginable economic conditions. All they want to do is feed their families and then return home.