It's true. I can't deny it any longer. I made salsa this weekend. I got weepy watching a Travel Channel show about Santa Fe. The most exciting thing I'm looking forward to in December is the prospect of eating posole. Heck, I got excited watching a balloon from the Albuquerque Balloon Fiesta hit power lines and explode on the Discovery Channel. I'm homesick.
People in Pennsylvania do not understand my predicament. I met a woman at Teaching Parish this past Sunday who grew up in Albuquerque, and within fifteen seconds we were exchanging stories about our Christmas Eve traditions and bemoaning the lack of green chile cheeseburgers. New Mexico is a strange place, and outsiders just don't get it. What's the big deal about Santa Fe? Why would you put green chile on everything you eat? Who is this "Zozobra" character? People here don't know what posole is, or who Georgia O'Keeffe was, and they think that "spicy" food is made with onions and garlic. They don't seem to have a word for food made with capsaicin. And they look at you really funny if you try to explain that every restaurant and bar in the state of New Mexico will serve you a burger with green chile on it.
I miss the food, I miss the art, I miss the history, I miss the architecture. I miss the aspens turning yellow at the Santa Fe Ski Basin. I miss Zozobra and the Balloon Fiesta. I miss the food some more. I miss seeing chile ristras hung up as a form of decoration, and I miss luminarias. So Daddy, if you're reading this, make sure there's posole on the stove when I come home for Christmas. And we might not see you right away, because we'll have to stop at our favorite restaurant on the way home, the Flying Tortilla.
In the meantime, I still have a quart and a half of salsa in my refrigerator to eat...