Category: New Mexico

  • New Mexican Red Chile Brownies: A Little Heat for a Cold Day

    New Mexican Red Chile Brownies: A Little Heat for a Cold Day

    Rich chocolate, a little New Mexican red chile, and one cook stepping outside his comfort zone.

    I can cook pretty well. At least, that’s what I tell myself, and so far, nobody has filed a formal complaint.

    Give me a skillet, a few ingredients, and a little time, and I can usually figure something out. I know how to adjust seasoning, rescue a sauce, and recognize when something needs a few more minutes on the stove.

    Baking, however, is another matter entirely.

    Cooking allows for a little improvisation. A pinch of this, a splash of that, and occasionally a prayer. Baking seems to require an understanding of chemistry and mathematics, and a willingness to follow instructions without arguing.

    That last part might be my biggest problem.

    But fall has arrived in New Mexico, bringing cooler mornings, shorter days, and the annual reminder that I am apparently not built for cold weather.

    Some people welcome the chill. They open their windows, put on a light sweater, and talk about how refreshing the air feels.

    I start looking for another blanket.

    And while a good bowl of red chile can warm you from the inside out, I began wondering whether that same New Mexican warmth might find its way into something sweet.

    Which brings me to brownies.

    Now, chocolate and chile might sound like an unusual combination to some people, but the two have a long history together. And here in New Mexico, where red and green chile are practically family, adding a little chile to dessert doesn’t seem all that unreasonable.

    Besides, if we’re willing to put red chile on just about everything else, why should chocolate get special treatment?

    I usually bake and cook with sugar substitutes, including monk fruit and brown sugar alternatives. But since I’ll probably be giving most of these brownies away, I decided to use regular sugar this time.

    Consider it an act of generosity.

    Or perhaps an opportunity to let someone else deal with the calories.

    Either way, these brownies are my small salute to New Mexico: rich chocolate, a little cinnamon, and enough red chile to remind you where you are without making you reach for a glass of water.

    And if they turn out well, I’ll happily accept the compliments.

    If they don’t, we may never speak of this again.

    A Few Decisions Before the Baking Began

    Now, I could tell you that I carefully selected every ingredient for these brownies, but that wouldn’t be entirely true.

    The chocolate chips were already in my kitchen, so I used those. They’re Lily’s Dark Chocolate Style Baking Chips, with no added sugar. I figured there was no reason to buy more chocolate when I already had some perfectly good chocolate on hand.

    The red chile, however, was another matter.

    I chose Loma Vista Hot Red Chile Powder. Not mild. Not medium. Hot.

    And I used a full teaspoon.

    I suppose I could have gone with something milder, especially since I plan to give some of these brownies away.

    But apparently, the New Mexican in me wasn’t willing to entertain that possibility.

    We’ll see whether that was confidence or poor judgment once the brownies come out of the oven.

    New Mexican Red Chile Brownies

    Prep Time: 15 minutes

    Bake Time: 25–32 minutes

    Cooling Time: Approximately 1 hour

    Total Time: Approximately 1 hour 45 minutes

    Servings: 9 large or 16 smaller brownies

    Oven Temperature: 350°F (175°C)

    Baking Pan: 8 × 8 inches

    Ingredients

    For the Brownies

    • ½ cup (1 stick) unsalted butter
    • 4 ounces Lily’s Dark Chocolate Style Baking Chips (or semisweet chocolate)
    • ¾ cup granulated sugar
    • ¼ cup packed dark brown sugar
    • 2 large eggs, room temperature
    • 1 teaspoon vanilla extract
    • ¾ cup all-purpose flour
    • ¼ cup Ghirardelli unsweetened cocoa powder
    • ¼ teaspoon sea salt
    • ½ teaspoon ground cinnamon
    • 1 full teaspoon Loma Vista Hot Red Chile Powder

    Optional Chocolate Ganache

    • 3 ounces semisweet chocolate, chopped
    • ¼ cup heavy cream
    • A small pinch of New Mexican red chile powder
    • Flaky sea salt, for finishing

    A Little Warning About the Chile

    Before you reach into your spice cabinet, know this.

    New Mexican red chile powder and the chili powder commonly found in grocery stores aren’t necessarily the same.

    Pure New Mexican red chile powder is made from dried, ground red chile peppers. The more common chili powder is often a seasoning blend containing cumin, garlic, oregano, and other spices.

    Both have their place in the kitchen, but only one belongs in these brownies.

    Trust me, nobody wants to bite into a chocolate brownie and wonder why it tastes like a bowl of chili.

    For this recipe, use pure New Mexican red chile powder, not a chili seasoning blend.

    Instructions

    1. Prepare the Oven and Pan

    Preheat your oven to 350°F.

    Line an 8 × 8-inch baking pan with parchment paper, leaving a little extra hanging over the sides. This will make removing the brownies easier once they’ve cooled.

    Lightly grease any exposed sides of the pan.

    2. Melt the Chocolate and Butter

    In a microwave-safe bowl, combine the butter and Lily’s Dark Chocolate Style Baking Chips.

    Microwave in 15–20-second intervals, stirring between each, until the chocolate mixture is melted and smooth. Sugar-free chocolate chips can melt differently from conventional chocolate, so use gentle heat and avoid overheating.

    You can also use a double boiler if you prefer.

    Set the chocolate mixture aside to cool slightly.

    3. Mix the Sugars and Eggs

    In a large mixing bowl, combine the granulated sugar, dark brown sugar, eggs, and vanilla extract.

    Whisk for approximately 1–2 minutes, until the mixture becomes slightly thickened and well combined.

    4. Add the Chocolate

    Slowly pour the melted chocolate mixture into the egg mixture, whisking gently until everything is smooth and glossy.

    Make sure the chocolate isn’t too hot. We’re making brownies, not scrambled eggs.

    5. Combine the Dry Ingredients

    In a separate bowl, whisk together the flour, cocoa powder, salt, cinnamon, and Loma Vista Hot Red Chile Powder.

    Mix until the ingredients are evenly distributed.

    And yes, that’s one full teaspoon of hot red chile.

    Apparently, we’re committed now.

    6. Make the Brownie Batter

    Gradually fold the dry ingredients into the chocolate mixture using a spatula.

    Stir just until the flour disappears.

    Avoid overmixing. It can make the brownies tougher and less fudgy.

    7. Bake

    Pour the batter into your prepared pan and spread it evenly.

    Bake for approximately 25–32 minutes.

    The edges should appear set, while the center should remain slightly soft. A toothpick inserted near the center should come out with moist crumbs, not wet batter.

    Remember, brownies continue to firm up as they cool.

    8. Cool and Slice

    Let the brownies cool completely in the pan before lifting them out with the parchment paper.

    Cut into 9 large squares or 16 smaller portions.

    For cleaner slices, wipe your knife between cuts.

    Optional Chocolate Ganache

    For a richer finish, prepare a simple chocolate ganache.

    Heat the heavy cream until steaming, but not boiling.

    Pour the warm cream over the chopped chocolate and let it sit for about 2 minutes.

    Stir until smooth, then add a tiny pinch of New Mexican red chile powder.

    Spread the ganache over the cooled brownies and finish with a light sprinkle of flaky sea salt.

    Allow the topping to set before slicing.

    A Few Notes From My Kitchen

    Choose the Right Red Chile

    For these brownies, I used Loma Vista Hot Red Chile Powder, keeping things close to home and giving this chocolate dessert a little New Mexican character.

    One thing to remember: pure New Mexican red chile powder isn’t the same as the chili powder seasoning blend you find in grocery stores. Those blends often contain cumin, garlic, oregano, and other spices.

    There’s nothing wrong with those seasonings, but they have no business showing up uninvited in my brownies.

    If you can’t find Loma Vista, another pure New Mexican red chile powder will work. Just watch the heat level, since not all red chile powders are created equal.

    We’re looking for a little warmth, not a reason to call the fire department.

    How Much Heat?

    I used one full teaspoon of Loma Vista Hot Red Chile Powder.

    If you prefer a gentler introduction to New Mexican red chile, start with ½ teaspoon.

    For those who enjoy a stronger chile flavor, you can adjust the amount in future batches.

    Remember that chile powders vary in heat, so what tastes pleasantly warm to one person might be much hotter to someone else.

    About the Chocolate

    I used Lily’s Dark Chocolate Style Baking Chips because I already had them on hand.

    They’re made without added sugar, but that doesn’t make this a sugar-free brownie. The recipe still contains regular granulated and dark brown sugar.

    You can substitute conventional semisweet chocolate if you prefer. The sweetness and texture may vary slightly.

    Don’t Overbake

    The difference between a fudgy brownie and a dry one can be just a few minutes.

    Begin checking around the 25-minute mark.

    Let Them Cool

    I know. Waiting is difficult.

    But cutting brownies while they’re still hot can leave you with a delicious pile of chocolate crumbs instead of neat squares.

    Give them time.

    Storage

    Store the plain brownies in an airtight container at room temperature for up to 3 days, or refrigerate for up to 5 days.

    Refrigerate brownies topped with cream ganache in an airtight container and enjoy within 4 days.

    Allow refrigerated brownies to sit at room temperature briefly before serving for the best texture.

    The Verdict: Oh My God!

    So, I made the New Mexican Red Chile Brownies.

    I’ve shared the recipe and the photographs, and by now, some of you may be wondering how they actually taste.

    Well, I just had my first one.

    And let me tell you something.

    I stopped what I was doing and said, “Oh my God!”

    Not quietly, either.

    The texture was somewhere between cakey and fudgy. Not too dense, not too light, but somewhere in that wonderful middle where a brownie seems to have figured out exactly what it wants to be.

    The sweetness was just right.

    For a moment, I was so absorbed in the chocolate that I almost forgot the other ingredient.

    Then it happened.

    The red chile arrived.

    Not with a dramatic entrance. No fireworks, no emergency glass of milk, and certainly no regrets about using the hot variety.

    Just a gentle warmth that followed the sweetness, slowly making itself known.

    It wasn’t overpowering. It didn’t compete with the chocolate or try to steal the show.

    It was simply there, reminding me that it had been invited for a reason.

    And it was an important part of the party.

    I wondered whether using a full teaspoon of Loma Vista Hot Red Chile Powder would be a mistake.

    Apparently, the New Mexican in me knew exactly what he was doing.

    Now, I’m not going to pretend that one successful batch of brownies has suddenly made me an accomplished baker.

    But I will say this.

    For someone who approaches baking with a little suspicion and a great deal of uncertainty, these brownies gave me a reason to reconsider our relationship.

    And yes, I’ll be making them again.

    Kyle J. Hayes

    kylehayesblog.com

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    Resources for Hard Times

    If you’re looking for practical help, food support, or community resources, you can visit the Salt, Ink & Soul Resources Page.

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  • A Long Way from Canned Tamales

    A Long Way from Canned Tamales

    Whenever I travel outside the Southwest, someone eventually asks.

    “Do you want to go out for Mexican food?”

    They mean it kindly.

    They are trying to offer me something familiar. Something they believe might remind me of home.

    And my answer is almost always no.

    Not because I dislike Mexican food.

    Because I have learned to love it too much.

    I am spoiled now.

    There are things you can unlearn. Facts you can forget. Names that slip loose from memory. Roads that disappear after enough years away.

    But once you have eaten certain foods prepared in certain places, your mouth becomes an unreliable diplomat.

    It no longer wishes to be polite.

    Before I moved west, Mexican food mostly meant Taco Bell.

    This is not an insult to Taco Bell. Taco Bell has been there for many of us at times when few others were willing to answer the call. It has fed college students, night-shift workers, road-weary travelers, and people who suddenly discovered at 11:43 p.m. that they had made no plans for dinner.

    There is nothing wrong with that.

    But a considerable distance separates a drive-through taco from somebody’s grandmother standing over a pot that has been simmering since morning.

    Before the Southwest, I did not understand that distance.

    My earliest knowledge of tamales came from a can.

    Hormel tamales.

    Wrapped in paper.

    Yes, paper.

    Whenever I tell people this, I have to stop and explain because they look at me as if I have confessed that my family ate soup with a fork.

    But they existed.

    You opened the can, slid out a stack of soft cylinders covered in sauce, and peeled the paper from each one. There was no corn husk. No assembly line of aunties around a kitchen table. No family recipe guarded more carefully than a Social Security number.

    Just a can.

    And paper.

    I ate them without complaint because children rarely question the borders of the world they inherit. If the can said tamales, then tamales were what they were.

    We believe many things simply because no one has yet taken us somewhere better.

    Arizona was my first real experience with Mexican food—not the idea of it, not the national chain interpretation, but food connected to people, place, heat, memory, and migration.

    The flavors were brighter than I expected. The chiles carried more than pain. The tortillas were not merely edible plates designed to keep your hands clean. They had texture. Warmth. A life before they reached the table.

    I began to understand that salsa was not just a thing in a jar.

    This felt important.

    Some salsa announced itself with tomatoes and freshness. Some arrived dark and smoky. Some offered a gentle handshake before setting fire to the furniture.

    You learned to respect them all.

    Then there was Texas.

    I had Mexican food there too, although Tex-Mex is its own country with its own laws. Cheese appears to hold elected office. Cumin has voting rights. Plates arrive carrying enough food to make you reconsider whatever plans you had for the afternoon.

    It is not lesser.

    It is simply itself.

    That distinction matters because we have a habit in this country of flattening other people’s food. We take cuisines with regions, histories, arguments, migrations, and generations of memory, then place them beneath one convenient name.

    Mexican food.

    As if Mexico were not an enormous nation.

    As if the border had not moved.

    As if families had not carried recipes across it.

    As if Indigenous traditions, Spanish colonization, African influence, geography, poverty, ingenuity, and survival had not all left fingerprints on the plate.

    Then I came to New Mexico.

    New Mexican food is also its own thing.

    People unfamiliar with it sometimes mistake that statement for regional pride.

    It is regional pride.

    But it is also true.

    Here, chile isn’t merely something added to food. Chile is a declaration of citizenship. Red or green is not a casual question. It is an inquiry into your character.

    “Christmas” is an acceptable answer, though it can feel like refusing to choose sides in a family argument.

    After enough years of eating this way, something happens.

    Your standards change.

    Not because you become sophisticated. I remain a man who can remember canned tamales with something dangerously close to affection. We should never become so refined that we start lying about where we came from.

    But experience widens the world.

    You learn the difference between heat and flavor. You learn that a dish can be spicy without being cruel. You learn the difference between a freshly made tortilla and one that came off a factory line.

    You learn that food tastes different when it belongs where it is being served.

    That may be why I hesitate when someone outside the Southwest asks if I want Mexican food.

    I know they are being hospitable.

    I also know someone in the kitchen might be preparing to place shredded lettuce, cold tomatoes, and orange cheese inside a hard shell, then charge eighteen dollars for the experience.

    I can’t do it.

    Not when I know what is waiting for me back home.

    This is one of the quieter ways a place claims you.

    We often think of home as the place where we were born, where our family lives, or where we made our oldest memories. But sometimes home is also the place that taught us what something is supposed to taste like.

    I did not grow up in the Southwest.

    I came here carrying other foods, other memories, other definitions. I came from a world where tamales emerged from a can wearing little paper coats.

    The Southwest did not erase that boy.

    It fed him.

    Phoenix introduced him to something larger. Texas showed him another variation. Albuquerque gave him red chile, green chile, stacked enchiladas, warm sopaipillas, and the understanding that cuisine is not a fixed object. It is a living record of who remained, who arrived, what survived, and what people learned to make together.

    Food does that.

    It enters through the mouth and quietly rearranges the heart.

    So when I travel, and someone asks whether I want Mexican food, my refusal may sound arrogant.

    It is not meant that way.

    It is the caution of a man who has seen too much.

    I have smelled chile roasting beneath the New Mexico sky. I have eaten tortillas that arrived warm and soft, carrying the small imperfections that reveal the presence of human hands. I have watched people debate red and green with the seriousness normally reserved for theology and football.

    There are some disappointments a person should avoid when he can.

    I would rather eat what the place I am visiting does well. Give me its neighborhood restaurant. Its old diner. Its beloved sandwich. Give me the dish the locals defend when outsiders make jokes about it.

    I will meet that place through its own food.

    Then, when I return to Albuquerque, I will order my enchiladas.

    Maybe Christmas.

    And I will think, with gratitude, of the strange journey that carried me from Taco Bell, through the canned tamales wrapped in paper, and into a life where I know better.

    Not better than other people.

    Just better than to order Mexican food too far from home.

    Kyle J. Hayes

    kylehayesblog.com

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    Resources for Hard Times

    If you’re looking for practical help, food support, or community resources, you can visit the Salt, Ink & Soul Resources Page.

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  • It’s the Fair. It’s OK to Eat the Green Chile Cheeseburger.

    It’s the Fair. It’s OK to Eat the Green Chile Cheeseburger.

    The New Mexico State Fair starts this week.

    I have been a few times over the years.

    Mostly for the food.

    I suppose there are rides. Animals. Exhibits. Competitions. Probably all sorts of wholesome things happening that I should pretend are the reason I went.

    But there is food.

    And every year, right around this time, I start paying attention to the news to see who won the competition for the best green chile cheeseburger.

    If the winner is somewhere close enough, I might even think about paying them a visit.

    I say think about it because apparently I have reached the age where driving across town for a cheeseburger requires some consideration.

    But a good green chile cheeseburger can make a convincing argument.

    This year, though, I have been cooking a lot more.

    And eating better.

    So I had an idea.

    Maybe I could make my own green chile cheeseburger.

    A healthy green chile cheeseburger.

    I sat with that idea for a minute.

    And realized it made me feel roughly the same way I feel when somebody says healthy soul food.

    I understand what they mean.

    I appreciate the intention.

    But sometimes I don’t want cauliflower pretending it is something it isn’t.

    We eat some foods because they nourish the body.

    We eat some foods because they nourish something else.

    And sometimes the healthiest relationship you can have with food is knowing the difference.

    I don’t eat green chile cheeseburgers every day.

    I don’t even eat them every week.

    So if I am going to have one during State Fair season, I don’t particularly want a turkey patty hiding beneath a lettuce wrap while I convince myself I am having the same experience.

    I want beef.

    I want cheese.

    I want a toasted bun.

    And I want enough roasted New Mexico green chile that there is absolutely no question about where this burger came from.

    One won’t hurt.

    It’s the fair.

    So rather than trying to make the healthiest green chile cheeseburger I could, I decided to make the best one I could.

    That started with the beef.

    The Salt, Ink & Soul Green Chile Cheeseburger

    Makes 4 burgers

    For the Burgers

    • 1 pound ground beef, preferably 80/20 or 85/15
    • 4 hamburger buns
    • 4 slices American cheese, Monterey Jack, or your favorite melting cheese
    • 1 cup roasted, peeled, and chopped New Mexico green chile
    • 1 medium onion, sliced
    • Lettuce, optional
    • Tomato slices, optional

    Spicy-But-Not-Hot Burger Seasoning

    • 1 teaspoon kosher salt
    • ¾ teaspoon garlic powder
    • ½ teaspoon onion powder
    • ½ teaspoon mild New Mexico red chile powder
    • ½ teaspoon smoked paprika
    • ¼ teaspoon ground cumin
    • ¼ teaspoon coarse black pepper
    • ¼ teaspoon dried Mexican oregano, crushed between your fingers
    • ½ teaspoon Worcestershire sauce

    The name is deliberate.

    I want the beef seasoned.

    I want some warmth.

    I want that combination of chile, smoke, cumin, and oregano working underneath everything else.

    What I don’t want is so much heat that I can’t taste the green chile.

    There is a difference between spicy and hot.

    This burger is spicy.

    The green chile decides how hot things get.

    Make the Burgers

    Put the ground beef in a bowl and add the Worcestershire sauce. Mix it very gently with your hands, just enough to distribute it.

    Divide the beef into four equal portions and form them into patties about 4 ounces each.

    Don’t work the meat too much.

    This is a hamburger, not a stress ball.

    Combine the salt, garlic powder, onion powder, red chile powder, smoked paprika, cumin, black pepper, and oregano in a small bowl.

    Season both sides of the patties generously.

    Heat a cast-iron skillet or griddle over medium-high to high heat.

    When the surface is hot, add the burgers.

    Leave them alone long enough to develop a good brown crust before flipping.

    While the burgers cook, sauté the sliced onion until softened and browned around the edges.

    During the last minute or two of cooking, pile roasted green chile onto each burger.

    Then add the cheese.

    Let it melt down over the chile and the edges of the beef.

    That little bit of excess is important.

    Lightly toast the buns in the skillet.

    They should pick up just enough beef drippings to remind you that we abandoned the healthy-burger idea several paragraphs ago.

    Build It

    I would keep this fairly simple.

    Bottom bun.

    Lettuce and tomato, if you want them.

    Burger.

    Green chile.

    Melted cheese.

    Grilled onions.

    Top bun.

    You can add mustard if you like. Maybe a little mayo.

    But don’t bury it in sauce.

    A green chile cheeseburger should taste like beef, chile, and cheese.

    Everything else is supporting cast.

    One Won’t Hurt

    Something strange about the way we sometimes approach eating better.

    Once we decide to take care of ourselves, we begin treating every indulgence like evidence against us.

    The cheeseburger becomes a failure.

    The slice of cake becomes a confession.

    The meal we enjoyed becomes something we believe we have to make up for tomorrow.

    I don’t think I want to live that way.

    Eating better most days matters.

    Moving your body matters.

    Taking care of yourself matters.

    But so does sitting down with something delicious and allowing it to simply be delicious.

    No guilt.

    No negotiation.

    No cauliflower standing nearby waiting for an audition.

    The State Fair comes once a year.

    Green chile season doesn’t last forever.

    And if you don’t eat like this every day, then maybe every once in a while the healthier decision isn’t figuring out how to remove everything that makes a cheeseburger a cheeseburger.

    Maybe you just make a really good one.

    Season the beef.

    Roast the chile.

    Melt the cheese.

    Toast the bun.

    Sit down.

    And eat.

    It’s the fair.

    Kyle J. Hayes

    kylehayesblog.com

    Please like, comment, and share

    Resources for Hard Times

    If you’re looking for practical help, food support, or community resources, you can visit the Salt, Ink & Soul Resources Page.

    👉 Resources for Hard Times