Chiles - Chile Festival

Hatch The Chile Capital of The World

Text by Paula E. Morton - Photos by Thomas McConnell

One of the first things you learn in southern New Mexico is that the heat of chiles intensifies in proportion to the heat of the desert sun. In fact, they seem to capture and focus the heat of the sun. Here in the high desert country, at 3900 feet above sea level with little or no cloud cover, low humidity, and an average of only 8 to 9 inches of rain a year, a blistering hot sun beams down on fertile fields along the Rio Grande. I wither. The chiles thrive.

You may not know that “peppers” are sweet bell peppers, but “chiles” are, well, chiles (spelled the New Mexican way), loaded with capsaicin – the tasteless, odorless and insoluble compound that accounts for the spicy taste, more in some varieties than in others. The hotter the sun shines down on the long, straight rows of chili plants, the hotter the chiles will taste in the mouth. When I eat my favorite burritos smothered in green chile sauce, I feel the searing heat that burns my lips, tongue and throat, at least until I wash it down with cold Mexican beer.

As a transplant who traded the green meadows of Pennsylvania for the desert landscape of the southern New Mexico for a year, I made my temporary home in the Rio Grande Valley, less than an hour’s drive north of the U. S. /Mexican border. The valley has been formed by what is now a less-than-grand Rio Grande that nevertheless provides most of the water for the irrigation of immense groves of pecans and fields of onions, cotton, alfalfa and the chile crop. The county, Doña Ana, which includes the small, thriving city of Las Cruces and the agricultural community of Hatch, ranks as the top chile producing part of the state. It boasts the Chile Pepper Institute, a famous chili research center at New Mexico State University, located in Las Cruces.

With August comes the chile harvest season. After bathing in a summer sun, ripe chiles threaten to bake on the vines, and it is at that moment – not the following week – that it is time to harvest the chiles. It is the peak time for flavor and quality. You soon see, pulling out from the fields, tractor-trailer trucks overflowing with red, yellow, orange and green chiles. The aroma of ripened chiles, dried chiles and roasted chiles soon fills the air

It seems that everyone in Doña Ana County roasts chiles, using everything from small homemade roasters in backyards to large commercial roasters in grocery store parking lots. My neighbors, busy with their chiles, disappear behind their walled courtyards. They will roast a supply that will last through the winter, until the next harvest.

Chiles that are not roasted are dried. Hung from clotheslines or arranged on rooftops to dry, brilliant red shiny firm pods turn into deep burgundy-colored, wrinkled pods. Most are saved for winter storage and cooking. Some are arranged in clusters called “ristras,” which will hang decoratively beside turquoise or yellow front doors through the coming festival and holiday seasons.

By now, I’m into the swing of chile harvest, and I need to stock up on a supply of roasted chiles direct from the farmer. I head for the annual Hatch Chile Festival, which is held on Labor Day weekend at the edge of the community, located some 37 miles north of Las Cruces.

Rather than taking the busy Interstate 25, I take the longer State Highway 185 from Las Cruces to Hatch. You follow the narrow road as it runs beside the cottonwood trees that grow along the Rio Grande. You pass through the historic hamlet of Radium Springs. You pause at a U. S. Border Patrol checkpoint that is located 70 miles from the Mexican border and about seven miles south of Hatch.

West of the river valley, the land becomes stark: scrub desert land of various browns interrupted by Creosote Bush, Honey Mesquites and occasional brave and lonely wildflowers. In the distance, west of the Rio Grande Valley, lie the low bare mountain peaks of Sierra de Las Uvas, Spanish for Mountain Range of the Grapes. No grapes here, through. Just lots of chiles.

The words, “Welcome to Hatch, Chile Capital of the World,” encircle a water tank decorated with pictures of red and green chiles. Chile processing plants, roadside chile roasting stands, Mexican-food cafes, and a retail store with a roof covered with dried red chile peppers welcome you to the friendly Southwestern town. The Saturday morning Chile Festival parade proceeds down a wide, almost treeless main street of one- or two-story flat-roofed adobe buildings and an 1890 train depot (now the Hatch library).

Between fields littered with missed chile pods and across from the Garden of Memories town cemetery is a dusty, sun-baked tract of land that serves as a ball field, fairground and municipal airport. As long as planes don’t land in the middle of a ball game or fiesta, it all seems to work.

Today, thousands of chile worshipers descend upon the fairground to party and eat chili-sauce-covered barbeque brisket, chile corn soup and chile ice cream. I wonder about the ice cream. I prefer my chiles for dinner, not for dessert. A Chile Festival Queen, amusement rides, t-shirts with chile logos, Western fiddlers and mariachi bands mark the occasion. Fresh chile vendors with roasters reign. All this is as it should be. Life without chiles is Ohio.

Bombarded by a carnival of chile hawkers – “Poblano; Macho, Red or Green; Habanero; Huachinango” I try to decide which to buy. On an official heat scale of zero to 10, which of the multiple chile varieties could my taste buds tolerate?

Among Southwest natives, indulging in the spiciest of the varieties of chiles is considered a point of pride, almost a point of honor. I have no pride and not much honor. I hate pain. Ramon, my Mexican friend, tries to entice me to taste his Orange Habanero sandwich. “You’re in New Mexico, taste our best; with salt, it’s not so hot.” How can I buy into that as tears run down his flushed cheeks when he pulls an Habanero – the hottest of all the varieties of chilis – from the roll and chews it raw?

Smiling, a sun-weathered Hispanic farmer hands me a paper plate with assorted chiles. “Taste, then select,” he says. Timidly, I bite off small pieces. Too small, in fact. I miss the punch. Instead, I take the word of the blond behind me. She’s from Santa Fe. She should know what she’s talking about. Actually, she just wants me make up my mind and move on: “New Mexico Green,” she says with finality and some impatience, “good flavor.”

I buy the New Mexico Green. My pick is soon placed in a roaster cage that rotates as a spit past a phalanx of propane jets. Roasted, limp chiles spill from the roaster into a metal trough and are scooped into burlap bags. A bushel is a lot but no one is walking away with less. “Hey, I’ll take two,” I shout. Soon, I toss two warm fragrant burlap bags into the trunk of my car. For the rest of the life of my car, I will now carry around a reminder of those roasted chiles.

At home, my neighbor, Juanita, advises me to pick out the seeds and peel off the skin. “Dear, kill the heat of the chiles for your tender throat,” she says. I pop out my contact lens (I don’t want to trap capsaicin in my eyes), don an old paint shirt, slip on rubber gloves, and line up knives and freezer packages. Until late at night, I hunch over my kitchen counter, peeling and picking and stuffing.

Six months later, I’m still eating chilis, squishy when defrosted but as hot as ever, the heat settling in the ribs of the pod. I understand that the nutrients found in chiles promote a sense of well being. No wonder it’s always fiesta time at the border.

THE HATCH CHILE FESTIVAL,

Labor Day Weekend

Hatch, New Mexico

Festival grounds: 1 mile west of Hatch off State Highway 26

Admission: Free
Parking: Fee

www.hatchchilefest.com

To reach Hatch: