Where the Real Ends and the Fake Begins

Rabbit Sausage at La Boca, Santa Fe

The first thing we noticed pulling into Santa Fe was that every building looked the same, and surprisingly, it looked kind of great. Pueblo-style motels, pueblo-style strip malls, even a pueblo-Burger King.  It was a whole city of curved-edged walls in a terracotta palette to match the surrounding salmon and copper colored desert . 

Walking to dinner that night through the narrow, well-preserved streets of downtown, John and I passed by the windows of softly lit galleries, jewelry stores (heavy on turquoise and silver), and Southwestern-themed restaurants with the obligatory cactus in the cover art.  The almost full moon, a band playing in the distance on the square, it was all perfectly pleasant.  It was just…. “You know,” John said, looking down the cobble stoned street ahead, “it is hard to tell where the real ends and the fake begins.”

Our dinner that night was not any version of Southwestern cuisine but rather one influenced by a distant cousin across the ocean.  La Boca, a Spanish tapas restaurant, sits just north of Santa Fe’s main square.  The menu held some familiar tapas that were at the same time very local.  Patatas bravas, for instance, were made from locally grown fingerlings, skin left on and fried, then served with a sauce made sherry vinegar.  The gambas ajillo, another tapas staple, here felt fresh with the additional of local chiles served in a garlic broth instead of the usual oil bath. 

On a tip from an REI salesperson in Albuquerque, the next morning we woke early to head to the Pecos Wilderness, a part of Santa Fe few non-locals ever see.  Minutes after our car left the town square we were climbing out of the pink desert dotted with scrub and cacti and into a lush, conifer-filled forest. 

Gambas ajillo at La Boca

The 14 mile round trip to Lake Katherine is supposedly one of the most popular hikes in the area but for whatever reason, we were almost alone that day (save for one grumpy couple who tried to talk us out of the hike, convinced we would never make it back before the afternoon thunderstorm rolled in).  The trail rose in sharp ups and knee-busting downs until were emerged above the tree line, snow still visible in some shady patches. At the saddle we gazed to the horizon- on one side was the uninhabited wilderness stretching as far as the eye could see.  On the other Santa Fe, its dotted adobe structures almost disappearing into hillsides. 

Lake Katherine hike, Pecos Wilderness near Santa Fe

 We made it to the crystalline lake and back in time for a quick dinner at a restaurant frequented by locals and tourists alike.  At the bar we were surrounded by regulars who hadn’t seen each other in weeks or years, catching up on deceased spouses, new homes, and where they “winter”.  We might have lingered longer over our green chile enchiladas to see what the OCD woman sitting next to us would do next- she who pulled up a chair only after disinfecting it, the menu, and the bar with wipes.  But our time rubbing elbows with the locals would be short that night as we had an opera to get to.

Perched on a mesa, the Santa Fe Opera is one of the most unusual, stunning music venues I’ve seen.  The permanent tented structure seems designed to showcase the surrounding environment as much as the world-class singers who pass through the space. 

The night’s performance, Carmen, was a favorite.  But as Carmen seduced soldiers and men smuggled goods over the border, not even Escamillo’s sequined green toreador costume could compete for our attention with the thunderstorm that raged just beyond the tent walls.  Lightening cut gashes through midnight blue sky, thunder boomed over the orchestra, wind gusted through audience causing well-heeled women wearing too little clothing to huddle against their partners for warmth.  There was action on the stage that night, but the real drama was playing out in the night sky. 

Given its tourism draw, that Santa Fe felt a bit manufactured was not surprising.  Taos, on the other hand was a place that fired my imagination with thoughts of famous artists and writers.  Surely a place that once hosted such literary greats such as D. H. Laurence and Aldous Huxley, not to mention dozens of painters and photographers, had to have a palpable magic.  I was eager to have a bit of that fairy dust rub off on me.

Famous sign of the historic Taos Inn

Instead I found myself the next day looking at Google Maps and saying to John, “We can’t possibly be only a mile from our hotel.”  The hotel where we would be staying, the historic Taos Inn, was supposed to be across from the town square.  From where we were on the main road into town, all we could see were fast food chains, discount stores, and strip malls in none of the faux architecture of Santa Fe, just your standard, depressing suburban sprawl. 

To our relief on arrival, the hotel had some charm.  Each room was unique, decorated with art and furniture from different artisans working in the area.  The hotel bar, with nightly music and some of the best margaritas that have ever crossed my lips, was clearly the epicenter of Taos nightlife. 

But it turns out those were the only advantages of staying in what Taos calls its “downtown”.  An exploration of the main square turned up little more than a sad collection of junk-filled gift shops and more “Southwestern Art” galleries.  Finding a place to get a decent cup of coffee and read the paper was only possible thanks to a small café inside a hotel.  And the only restaurant with “local” cuisine was about as Southwestern as something you might find in Omaha.

What we needed, we discovered, was to head north, past downtown, as if we were leaving.  We needed a hearty Fourth of July, pre-hike breakfast the next morning and we found what we were looking for at the Bear Claw Café, a mile north from our hotel. Breakfast burritos with eggs, potatoes and bacon; blue corn pancakes; scones; food came out of that kitchen fast and furious for people of all ages and sizes looking to get fortified for a big day ahead. 

List of local suppliers at The Love Apple, Taos

The night before, up the road from the Bear Claw, we had discovered the Love Apple- a farm-to-table restaurant listing so many vendors on a blackboard that if I would have sworn I was in San Francisco or Portland, not New Mexico.  A bit further north, we found a hippie-dippie coffee shop called The Spot, a quirky mostly locals joint featuring slow service for great coffee and bathroom walls lined with art work where tin cans became canvases for space aliens and mythical creatures. It was the kind of coffee shop I could see stopping by each day for my morning tea in the unlikely event we ever moved to Taos.

The further we traveled from the center of town, the more Taos became a place where we felt comfortable.  But then food is only one part of understanding a place, and Taos still seemed a bit blurry around the edges.

Hiking to Mt. Wheeler, New Mexico

We drove north toward the Taos Ski Village nestled in the imposing mountain range jutting up from the desert floor.  We were destined for Mt. Wheeler, at 13,200 feet, the tallest peak in New Mexico. All along our hike we met people- Native American families, Bavarian tourists, a man who had last hiked the to the peak 30 years earlier and vowed to come back, as well as local hikers.  The final two thousand foot ascent was a strenuous push through a scree field with uncertain footing, screaming calves, and burning lungs.  Along the way up people would pass us on their descent saying, “you have this”,  “almost there”, “keep going, it is worth it”.

I don’t know what D. H. Lawrence and Aldous Huxley saw in Taos that inspired them.  I saw a town that is like a drive-through window, that does little to encourage you to stop, get out, and walk around.  But a bit out of town, on a mountain, we shared moments with people not unlike ourselves.  We tagged the top then shared it forward, encouraging our fellow hikers on the way down. 

At the bottom, we raised a glass and toasted with the Bavarians and other fellow hikers at the brauhaus near the base of the trail.  The beer was frosty, the mountain air crisp and clear, and our legs exhausted.  This was real. For me, Taos had finally come into focus. 

Every good hike deserves a beer. 

La Boca
72 W Marcy St, Santa Fe, NM 87501, United States

Bear Claw Bakery and Cafe
228 Paseo Del Pueblo Norte, Taos, NM 87571, United States 

The Love Apple
803 Paseo Del Pueblo Norte, Taos, NM 87571, United States

The Spot
 900 Paseo Del Pueblo Norte, Taos, NM 87571, United States
 
Amy Powell is a food and travel writer currently on her honeymoon, en route to a new home in Hong Kong. She is a graduate of Cornell University's School of Hotel Administration and the French Culinary Institute. Follow her on Twitter @amymariepowell

When the Layover is Just the Beginning

I thought our night in Albuquerque was going to be one of those means-to-an-end stops.  The “means” being a late night arrival from the East Coast, needing a bed on which to put our heads and a restaurant to fill our bellies the next day before we hit the road.  The “end” being those more desirable, storied parts of New Mexico- Santa Fe, Taos- for which we were destined.

As with so many times when I have had no expectations, a city managed to surprise me. 

John had booked the Hotel Andaluz with little more to go on than their claim to be the only boutique hotel in Albuquerque.  Driving through the rather desolate streets of downtown, in the shadow of large, chain hotels, it was a bit of a shock (and a relief) to walk into serene interior of the Andaluz, complete with intricate wood paneling seemingly lifted of the walls of some Moorish hacienda in Spain.

It turned out the Andaluz is the only historic hotel still standing in Albuquerque.  After a recent $30 million renovation it is unique in an otherwise sea of standard room offerings.  Though just steps from the Convention Center and the somewhat seedy nightlife of Central Avenue, the Andaluz had the charm more often found in boutique hotel-rich cities like San Francisco and Miami.  Further, at only $100 for the room, the Andaluz would turn out to be the best hotel deal in our three week American West Road Trip.

By the time we checked in, the hotel’s restaurant, run by one of New Mexico’s most well respected chefs, had long since closed.  But the pleasant woman at the front desk recommended a nearby bar she claimed to hang out at herself on her nights off. 

Crowd lining up to order at the counter at Frontier.

Even though it was past midnight on a Monday, The Anodyne did not make us feel unwelcome.  There were still enough people milling about, playing pool, or nursing a beer from one of the thirty-plus taps that we felt right at home.  The bar doesn’t serve food but we had heard there were chips and salsa available, apparently all gone by the time we arrived.   Unperturbed, we ordered a Macallan each and called that dinner.

Even before the hotel clerk recommended Anodyne, it turns out we had already heard the best tip we would have from a local.  The employee at Thrifty Car Rental, a friendly girl with white-blond hair dip-dyed Smurf-blue, had given us the full run down at the counter on all her favorite things to do in the area.  Frontier, she insisted, was the place to go if we wanted a taste of “real” Southwestern cuisine. 

Frontier was the sort of restaurant we would have driven right by without a second look if not for the recommendation.  The red and white barn exterior, not to mention its location directly across from the university, seemed more Waffle House than Beacon of Authentic Southwestern Cuisine.

Chicken enchiladas with chopped green chiles. 

I realized with one bite of my chicken enchiladas buried under a mountain of chopped New Mexican green chiles with just the smallest sprinkle of melted cheddar, that all these years I had been eating enchiladas the wrong way.  As for John’s adovada soft tacos, I had never before heard of that particular way of marinating pork in a red chile sauce.  The heat on both was just right- the slow tingling that develops over time without burying the flavors of the sweet marinade, savory pulled meats, and salty chips on the side.

It was hard to imagine we would eat better Southwestern food after Frontier, and that was our very first meal in New Mexico.  There would be more excellent meals as we took the high road out of town to Santa Fe and then on to Taos. But that first amazing meal, on the recommendation of a total stranger, was a good reminder than on a road trip, sometimes the “means” was the “end” you were looking for all along.

Hotel Andaluz
125 2nd St NW Albuquerque, NM, 87102888 734 8503

Anodyne
409 Central NW, Albuquerque, NM 87102

Frontier
2400 Central Ave SE, Albuquerque, NM 87106

Amy Powell is a food and travel writer currently on her honeymoon, en route to a new home in Hong Kong. She is a graduate of Cornell University's School of Hotel Administration and the French Culinary Institute. Follow her on Twitter @amymariepowell