September 2012

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La Posta de Mesilla

Thursday, September 13, 2012 in Mesilla, New Mexico | 2 comments

La Posta in Mesilla has been serving up tacos “to eat with your fingers” since 1939. Photo by David Lansing.

I got to Old Mesilla around eleven and realized I hadn’t had dinner last night or breakfast today and I was hungry. I was still thinking about Janine and the guy with the gun but there wasn’t anything I could do about it at this point. I parked near the plaza which was empty except for a couple of kids playing up on the bandstand which had flags of the U.S. and Mexico, crossed, painted on the façade of the roof. I was thinking maybe I’d have lunch at La Posta, if it was still around. It was a good New Mexican restaurant. Not great, but good.

The last time I’d been to La Posta was about 20 years ago, when I was working for Sunset magazine, and I was writing a story about retro highway diners. I’d gotten the idea from a framed copy of a Life magazine article from July 1, 1957, hanging on the wall in La Posta. The article was titled “Roadside Inns and their Fine Foods” and included a story about La Posta as well as The Crab Broiler in Seaside, Oregon; Nepenthe in Big Sur; and the Ojai Valley Inn in Ojai. I’d been to all of them many, many years ago.

It was something to think about Life magazine writing a story about La Posta 55 years ago and how the restaurant was still here, serving up the La Posta Specialty: a starter of chile con queso and corn tortillas, guacamole, red enchiladas, tamale, rolled taco, frijoles, sopaipilla, and, for dessert, an empanada served hot with ice cream, all for just $14.25. That’s what I ordered, even though I knew I would never eat it all.

Just seeing that big platter of food made me nostaligic. I’m not sure for what. Maybe for the day when even something like a taco was just exotic enough to American tastes that the La Posta menu needed to describe what it was and how to eat it: “The taco can best be described as a Mexican sandwich. Eat tacos with your fingers!”

Yes, eat tacos with your fingers. They’re best that way.

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A long night at the White Sands Motel

Wednesday, September 12, 2012 in New Mexico, White Sands | 4 comments

I just sat in my car in White Sands listening and watching the thunderstorm. It was something to see. Dark. Spooky. Sort of biblical I guess you’d say.

But it passed as quickly as it came. I rolled down my windows and slowly drove through the park, the light in the late afternoon soft, the air clean and delicious.

Originally I figured I’d drive to Mesilla, just south of Las Cruces, and spend the night but when I got to the highway I turned north, towards Alamogordo, instead of south.

Alamogordo, in case you were wondering, means “big cottonwood.” Or maybe “fat tree” (gordo means fat in Spanish and alamo can either mean tree or cottonwood or even poplar). The city of Alamogordo says it’s “The Friendliest Place on Earth.”

I can’t say I picked up that vibe.

I stayed at the White Sands Motel, about five miles from Holloman Air Force Base, and it was just fine. A little threadbare but what the heck do you expect for $49.95? There was a young couple staying in the room right next to mine that were straight out of a Raymond Carver short story. They kept me awake much of the night with their arguing and shouting and crying and drinking. Around three in the morning, I heard the door to their room slam and then someone got into the pickup parked outside and started it up but didn’t go anywhere. This was the husband or maybe the boyfriend. After awhile, he turned off the engine and came back to the room but he was locked out.

“Janine, goddamnit, open the door!” he yelled, throwing his shoulder against it. I could hear Janine on the other side of the wall crying. “You don’t open the goddamn door I’m gonna shoot the both of us,” he said.

Now, this is the point at which you wonder should you get involved in a domestic argument. There’s a couple of drunk people on opposite sides of a cheap motel door and evidently someone’s got a gun. I suppose I could have called the cops but I was worried that would only make it worse. I didn’t want to be crouched behind my lumpy double bed while the cops shot it out with the husband in the parking lot of the White Sands Motel. So I told myself I’d just monitor the situation. And if it looked like the husband really had a gun, then I’d call the cops.

Anyway, the threats and door pounding went on for at least another half hour and then it quieted down. I didn’t get much sleep after that and shortly after dawn, packed up as quietly as I could and softly opened my motel door. The husband was slouched over in an old rusty metal chair outside the door of the motel. An empty bottle of Jack Daniels was in his lap. I didn’t see any gun. I opened the door to my car as quietly as I could since it was parked not five feet away from the sleeping drunk, started her up, and quickly backed out of the lot. I’m sure Janine was just fine.

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Shelter from the storm

Tuesday, September 11, 2012 in New Mexico, White Sands

A thunderstorm over White Sands National Monument. Photo by Evgueni Strok.

The dark shadows from the nearing storm cast a cool, blue light across the towering sand dunes, transforming them into a pitching ocean. What once looked eternally still and solid now seemed as fluid as a rolling breaker. Lightning strikes, once faraway in the San Andreas Mountains, are getting closer and closer.

Though black masses of clouds now block out the horizon, making it impossible to tell exactly where the mountains are—my compass point—I feel almost certain I’m heading in the right direction. I remember passing the same skunkbush sumac, wrapped in a mounded plaster cast of etched gypsum, on my way out on the trail. And there’s the three brittle soaptree yuccas where I first stopped to drink some water two hours ago.

A deafening clap of thunder, a brilliant lightning strike and just when I’m almost certain that I’m lost, I see it: The glare of my car in the deserted parking lot. I run as fast as I can and nervously open up the car door just as the first large plops of the thunderstorm smack against my chalky windshield.

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A thunderstorm at White Sands National Monument

Monday, September 10, 2012 in Uncategorized

Just before the storm; alone in the middle of the dunes at White Sands. Photo by David Lansing.

If I were a raven, I could have flown due east about 30 miles to White Sands National Monument and been there in no time. But I’m not a raven. So instead, I have to drive south to Las Cruces and then take Highway 70 northeast until just before the Holloman Air Force Base which is home to the world’s longest and fastest test track and where they keep all the UFOs the government collects.

I’m just kidding about the UFOs.They do test a lot of bad-ass bombs and missiles and such out here, as well as train the pilots for the drones they use in Pakistan and Afghanistan and elsewhere. In short, it’s a little spooky out here.

An hour ago, when I parked next to the only other car in the lot for the Alkali Flat Trail, the sky was the color of bleached denim, the dunes so glaringly white in the staggering heat that even with a baseball cap and sunglasses, I found myself squinting hard as I trudged over powdery gypsum sand that, I supposed, was the trail.

Don’t get lost, I kept telling myself, pausing frequently to make sure Gardner Peak was still due west of me in the distant San Andreas Mountains.

Perhaps it was the softening of the early September light or maybe the almost indiscernible metallic smell in the faint breeze, but I could feel a dramatic change in the weather. The winds began to pick up, blowing stinging grains of sand against my ankles and legs. Wispy clouds of mare’s tail darkened in the southwest.

A desert thunderstorm was approaching. Time to turn around and follow my solitary tracks back through the barren interdunes that twist and turn through a maze of 50-feet-high sand dunes. The hair on the back of my neck rising, I hustled as fast as I could, hoping to get back to where I’d parked my car before the rain washed away any trace of my passing.

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Hatch chile frittata recipe

Sunday, September 9, 2012 in Hatch, New Mexico

Russ Parsons of the Los Angeles Times came up with this Hatch chile frittata recipe that I’ve modified to suit my own tastes. I really like the taste of Hatch chiles and so have upped the amount that goes into the frittata but if you’re afraid it will give you too much heat, just dial back the quantity.

Hatch Chile Frittata

2 tablespoons butter

1 medium zucchini

3/4 cup chopped green onions (both green and white parts)

1/2 to 3/4 cup roasted, peeled, and diced green chile. I like to use Big Jims but you can use whatever you’ve got.

1 cup raw corn kernels (about 1 ear)

6 eggs

1/2 teaspoon salt

1 cup grated Monterey Jack and sharp cheddar, evenly divided.

–Heat the broiler. Melt the butter in a 10-inch nonstick skillet over medium heat. Cut the zuke into half-inch cubes.

–When the butter sizzled, add the zuke and cook, stirring occasionally. After 1 or 2 minutes, add the green onions and green chile and cook until the zucchine is tender, about 6 minutes total. Add the corn and remove from the heat.

–While the zuke is cooking, beat the eggs with a fork in a mixing bowl just until the yolks and white are thoroughly mixed. Stir in the salt, the zuke mixture, and half of the cheese and stir to mix well.

–Return the skillet to low heat, cover and cook, without stirring, until the eggs have set, leaving only a top layer uncooked, about 8 minutes. Scatter the remaining cheese over the top and place it under the broiler until the top is browned and puffy, no more than a minute.

–To unmold the frittata, let it cool slightly in the pan. Use a spatula to loosen it firmly on a cutting board to release the underside. Slide it out onto a serving plate. Serve at room temperature.

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