El Modelo, originally uploaded by Flickr user Joey Harrison.
Most of the United States of America is closer to Mexico than Concord, New Hampshire.
That makes it a weird place to catch the Mexican bug. But there’s no accounting for taste. One day in 1989, I walked into a place in Concord called Hermanos and ate lunch. It left a mark on me.
For good, or for ill? That’s not entirely clear. But there is no going back.
They had a red salsa and green salsa fresh on each table; it was the first time I saw salsa made from fresh tomatoes. I ordered the beef enchiladas. What I got was shredded braised beef inside corn tortillas with jack cheese, covered in a sauce whose main ingredient was dried red chile peppers. The sauce was brick-colored, spicy, deeply flavored, like earthy dried fruit with herbal tones and a touch of bitterness.
My first reaction was: Ugh. I was not ready for the flavor. It was alien, and unexpected.
Enchiladas before this had been covered in “enchilada sauce,” which was like reddish-brown gravy flavored with chili powder. You know, the stuff in the McCormick’s bottle you shake into ground beef to make tacos.
I had never eaten “Mexican” where the beef wasn’t ground beef. I wondered why the food was so different than the Mexican I was familiar with – from places like Chi-Chis, and Taco Bell.
I took another bite. Then another. The taste was swarthy, stimulating. I cleaned my plate. The flavor remained on my tongue after I left Hermanos and went back to work.
The next time I came to Hermanos, I got the beef enchiladas again. I couldn’t figure out what had happened, and I wanted another shot. A co-worker ordered chicken nachos. Instead of chopped chicken breast with melted orange goop, he got corn chips covered with shreds of chicken cooked with spices, sauteed onions and jalapenos, and sizzling monterey jack and cheddar cheese.
What was going on?
In the years that followed, I sought Mexican wherever I could. Florida and Texas were illuminating; New York City was surprisingly wan. Albuquerque, New Mexico introduced me to the green/red chile culture, expressed through huevos rancheros, brisket with green chile, and the Louvre of Albuquerque Mexican: El Modelo.
I walked out of there with a chicharron burrito with a sauce of chorizo and pequin chile. That’s $4.50 for a handful of heaven (see PDF of menu): homemade pork rinds, Mexican sausage sauce, cheese and refried beans in a four tortilla. I also carried a container of pork ribs simmered in red chile sauce until falling apart, topped with cheese and thick corn tortillas, at $7.25.
Two days later, before we went to the airport, I found a Mexican grocery store and bought several sacks of New Mexico chiles. Then I bought a cookbook.
When I got home, I waited for the need to build, which took about a month. Then made my first batch of red chile sauce.
