I used to maintain that you officially became part of a community when you attended the funeral of a friend in that place.
A few weeks back, I attended my first Las Cruces funeral.
The service was graveside at dusty, grassless Doña Ana Cemetery, high on a hill in the Chihuahuan Desert, with mountains at the horizon all around. To the east, you could hear the screams and laughter of children on recess at a nearby elementary school. In the distance to the west, you could hear the periodic crowing of a rooster. A dull buzz from traffic on Interstate 25 was barely audible.
Bobby Mitchell's body lay in a plain pine box, the heat of the New Mexican sun blazing down on the casket as well as the guests, which included a young black hipster, an old black Muslim, at least three people in Converse All-Stars (surprisingly none of them were me), some in suits and ties (thankfully none of them were me), people ranging in age from 3 months to 85 years, white, Hispanic, bikers, priests, healthy and infirm. Some tried to catch some shade from the few haggard trees. Wisely, there was an Igloo water cooler set up on a table, with those paper cone cups available.
The service was performed in the B'ha'i faith, the way Bobby Mitchell chose to worship God. It was beautiful, with wonderful prayers and chants. One of his four sons, Nathan, decked out in an ugly green T-shirt, shorts and tennis shoes, played Amazing Grace on the flute. A variety of friends and family spoke of the life of this odd, eclectic man.
The service opened with Nathan reciting one of Bobby's poems, entitled The Question May Now Be Asked:
The question may now be asked;
Are there assholes in heaven?
After all, everybody's got one;
Or been one
At one time or another ...
- Bobby Mitchell, Oct. 15, 1985
Later, someone read a scripture from Abdu'l Baha, which described the afterlife in heaven with the best analogy I'd ever heard. It went like this:
To consider that after the death of the body the spirit perishes, is like imagining that a bird in a cage will be destroyed if the cage is broken, though the bird has nothing to fear from the destruction of the cage. Our body is like the cage, and the spirit is like the bird. ...therefore if the cage becomes broken, the bird will continue and exist: its feelings will be even more powerful, its perceptions greater, and its happiness increased.
I cannot accurately call Bobby Mitchell my friend; we only met on a couple of occasions. But we were (are?) kindred spirits. He founded the Otero County Martin Luther King Jr. Committee and was its first chairman. I have been chair of the same organization since 2003.
Oddly, though, after seeing the people react to him at the funeral, only now do I really feel like I know him. And I'm much better for it.
Friday, November 9, 2007
Saturday, July 21, 2007
Santa Fe vs. Las Cruces: You can have both
As a rule, I avoid attempting to eat any real food at a convenience store. My stomach still turns at memories of microwave burritos from 7-11 in the 1980s. And have you seen those unidentifiable fried things under the heat lamps at Allsups? My blood pressure and cholesterol go up just by walking by the the little glass window on the counter. I've never had the nerve to actually try to eat something at Allsups.
For me, the only real purposes of convenience stores (especially on road trips) are to:
1. use the rest room
2. fill up with gas
3. get an RC Cola (if they have them)
4. get a water (if they don't have RC)
5. grab a Moon Pie or peanut butter cheese crackers (the kind with the unnaturally orange hue) or a banana (usually harder to find in a convenience store than RC Cola)
But here in Las Cruces, I found another genuine reason to visit a convenience store.
It's the Santa Fe Grill inside Pic Quik. And you have your choice of several locations in the area.
I visited based on the recommendation of co-worker Eric Seo. In fact, a fair portion of the Sun-News newsroom seems to subsist on the Santa Fe Grill burrito.
I was skeptical, however, those 7-11 memories still burning in my gut.
Walking in the Pic Quik on Avenida de Mesilla (near the Valley intersection), I felt OK. The store is nice, roomy and airy. I walked over to the Santa Fe Grill, surprised to find, well, an actual grill there.
Working the grill this evening was a young man named Tony. Eric had suggested I try the Mario Brothers burrito. For a while, I thought he was just making up the name, so I'd feel goofy when I ordered it and got a blank stare.
But at Pic Quik, I saw the roster of about 52 burritos, and Mario Brothers was about the most normal-sounding name. The list read about like the list of band names from the Warped Tour. I'm looking forward to trying the Deer Hunter and the Devil's Breath in the future.
Tony was friendly and helpful, and he actually asked me how my day was. Not typical convenience-store employee behavior.
The Mario Brothers burrito is surely no healthier than an Allsups chimichanga, but at least it's fresher.
Tony tossed what seemed like a pound each of ham, bacon, beef, potatoes, and green chile on the grill and started working it, with the tortilla warming on the side.
When the meat was cooked, Tony started gathering it to put on the tortilla. I glanced at the giant mound of meat, then back at the tortilla. I glanced again at the meat, and again at the tortilla. I thought, There's no way he's getting all that meat on that tortilla. He did get it on the tortilla, however, then tried something even more daring.
He lifted the tortilla, meat and all, and carried it over to the other counter to top it with cheese. I just knew he would spill the meat, or the tortilla would break and everything would fall on the floor.
But everything made it safely, as if he'd done it 100 times already that day, which he probably had.
Then he began his boldest move: Trying to fold the tortilla.
Yeah, right, I thought as he began to fold, but fold he did, and almost everything stayed inside. Though I feared that later, when I bit into it, it might explode.
"Do you want salsa?" he asked.
"Yes," I said, and he reached for the small plastic containers of salsa.
"I'll give you three," he said. "That's a big burrito."
Tony does not lie.
When I actually got to eat it, I was even more impressed. Tons of flavor, the right amount of heat, and the salsa was a good complement.
I've heard people brag about Santa Fe Grill cooks at other Pic Quik locations. But as another co-worker, sports editor Teddy Feinberg, said, "Tony's our man!"
I smell a competition coming on ...
Shifting gears a bit, I wanted to follow up on an earlier blog comment about the crazy streets in Las Cruces.
The crazy street situation is exacerbated because, at times, there is little or no indication when a street may suddenly go from four lanes to two, or two lanes to one, or if a lane is a turn-only lane or a straight-only lane. More than once, I've had to go a block or more out of my way because I was forced to turn when I didn't want to, or missed a turn lane and had to go straight.
But here's the thing: Almost everybody in Las Cruces is aware of this, and they are extremely friendly about letting you squeeze in.
Some of the maneuvers I've done here would have gotten me multiple honks and hand gestures in Dallas or LA. But here, every one slows down and waves you in.
Very cool.
And naturally, that stuff is contagious. Now I find myself letting someone in at times normally I would have thought, You have to wait your turn, too, buddy.
The nice traffic behavior seems to contradict something else I've discovered about Las Cruces: People like to curse.
I lived in nearby Alamogordo for 11 years, and I think people in Las Cruces curse about 137 percent more than people in Alamogordo. But they don't do it in an aggressive, nasty way. It's just part of their everyday conversation. In fact, I don't think I've seen anyone in Las Cruces yet who wasn't smiling or happy when they cursed. They do it in professional settings, public settings, private settings, just about anywhere.
Obviously, I know there are times when people in Las Cruces — as everywhere — curse in violent anger. I have not witnessed that yet here, but that's not what I'm talking about anyway, dammit. Unfortunately, that stuff is contagious, too.
It's just a freaking observation that people in Las Cruces seem to really enjoy their cursing. Hell, yeah!
For me, the only real purposes of convenience stores (especially on road trips) are to:
1. use the rest room
2. fill up with gas
3. get an RC Cola (if they have them)
4. get a water (if they don't have RC)
5. grab a Moon Pie or peanut butter cheese crackers (the kind with the unnaturally orange hue) or a banana (usually harder to find in a convenience store than RC Cola)
But here in Las Cruces, I found another genuine reason to visit a convenience store.
It's the Santa Fe Grill inside Pic Quik. And you have your choice of several locations in the area.
I visited based on the recommendation of co-worker Eric Seo. In fact, a fair portion of the Sun-News newsroom seems to subsist on the Santa Fe Grill burrito.
I was skeptical, however, those 7-11 memories still burning in my gut.
Walking in the Pic Quik on Avenida de Mesilla (near the Valley intersection), I felt OK. The store is nice, roomy and airy. I walked over to the Santa Fe Grill, surprised to find, well, an actual grill there.
Working the grill this evening was a young man named Tony. Eric had suggested I try the Mario Brothers burrito. For a while, I thought he was just making up the name, so I'd feel goofy when I ordered it and got a blank stare.
But at Pic Quik, I saw the roster of about 52 burritos, and Mario Brothers was about the most normal-sounding name. The list read about like the list of band names from the Warped Tour. I'm looking forward to trying the Deer Hunter and the Devil's Breath in the future.
Tony was friendly and helpful, and he actually asked me how my day was. Not typical convenience-store employee behavior.
The Mario Brothers burrito is surely no healthier than an Allsups chimichanga, but at least it's fresher.
Tony tossed what seemed like a pound each of ham, bacon, beef, potatoes, and green chile on the grill and started working it, with the tortilla warming on the side.
When the meat was cooked, Tony started gathering it to put on the tortilla. I glanced at the giant mound of meat, then back at the tortilla. I glanced again at the meat, and again at the tortilla. I thought, There's no way he's getting all that meat on that tortilla. He did get it on the tortilla, however, then tried something even more daring.
He lifted the tortilla, meat and all, and carried it over to the other counter to top it with cheese. I just knew he would spill the meat, or the tortilla would break and everything would fall on the floor.
But everything made it safely, as if he'd done it 100 times already that day, which he probably had.
Then he began his boldest move: Trying to fold the tortilla.
Yeah, right, I thought as he began to fold, but fold he did, and almost everything stayed inside. Though I feared that later, when I bit into it, it might explode.
"Do you want salsa?" he asked.
"Yes," I said, and he reached for the small plastic containers of salsa.
"I'll give you three," he said. "That's a big burrito."
Tony does not lie.
When I actually got to eat it, I was even more impressed. Tons of flavor, the right amount of heat, and the salsa was a good complement.
I've heard people brag about Santa Fe Grill cooks at other Pic Quik locations. But as another co-worker, sports editor Teddy Feinberg, said, "Tony's our man!"
I smell a competition coming on ...
Shifting gears a bit, I wanted to follow up on an earlier blog comment about the crazy streets in Las Cruces.
The crazy street situation is exacerbated because, at times, there is little or no indication when a street may suddenly go from four lanes to two, or two lanes to one, or if a lane is a turn-only lane or a straight-only lane. More than once, I've had to go a block or more out of my way because I was forced to turn when I didn't want to, or missed a turn lane and had to go straight.
But here's the thing: Almost everybody in Las Cruces is aware of this, and they are extremely friendly about letting you squeeze in.
Some of the maneuvers I've done here would have gotten me multiple honks and hand gestures in Dallas or LA. But here, every one slows down and waves you in.
Very cool.
And naturally, that stuff is contagious. Now I find myself letting someone in at times normally I would have thought, You have to wait your turn, too, buddy.
The nice traffic behavior seems to contradict something else I've discovered about Las Cruces: People like to curse.
I lived in nearby Alamogordo for 11 years, and I think people in Las Cruces curse about 137 percent more than people in Alamogordo. But they don't do it in an aggressive, nasty way. It's just part of their everyday conversation. In fact, I don't think I've seen anyone in Las Cruces yet who wasn't smiling or happy when they cursed. They do it in professional settings, public settings, private settings, just about anywhere.
Obviously, I know there are times when people in Las Cruces — as everywhere — curse in violent anger. I have not witnessed that yet here, but that's not what I'm talking about anyway, dammit. Unfortunately, that stuff is contagious, too.
It's just a freaking observation that people in Las Cruces seem to really enjoy their cursing. Hell, yeah!
Tuesday, June 5, 2007
The desert conceals more than it reveals
(EDITOR'S NOTE: Some passages may not be suitable for those in the middle of eating a meal)
When you are in search of the crosses, you first have to find Las Cruces. If you're traveling, there are four primary routes.
You can come from El Paso on I-10. You can come in from Deming, from the west, on I-10. You can come in from the north on I-25. Or, you can come from the east on U.S. 70.
After living in Alamogordo for 11 years, I'm most familiar with the route from the east. Even more so now, since I'm commuting every day.
Until I started driving U.S. 70 on a daily basis, I didn't realize how much wildlife you can encounter on the route.
For years I've noticed the hawks that perch on the telephone poles in the late afternoon/early evening. If you're heading east the ideal number of minutes before sunset, it seems like there's a hawk on every other pole.
They appear to be checking the ground for a wayward ground squirrel or some other tasty desert meal. Or, since I've never actually seen one diving after anything, maybe that's just their favorite time to hang out.
Either way, they are beautiful, majestic birds.
Sometimes, from a distance, you'll think it's a hawk but it turns out to be a crow.
Lately, I've noticed a trend of much smaller, yellow-breasted birds chasing crows five times their size. The little guys are the aggressors, chasing the hawks up, down and all around.
And while there's lots of wildlife floating gracefully above, there's also lots of less mobile wildlife right on the ground. I'm referring, of course, to roadkill.
Aaaah, roadkill. The roadkill on U.S. 70 provides pretty much a living (well, actually, dead) textbook of desert animal life.
The most noticeable example is the coyote. On any given day, there will be three or four coyotes, or parts of coyotes, strewn about the highway. Currently, there's one that's been there about three weeks. In that time, the coyote has desiccated from a normal, bloated dead coyote to one that's about as thick as a piece of cardboard. Yet all of his body parts are intact and contiguous.
He's so thin now, I fully expect in the next day or two a gust of wind to lift him up, and send him flying through the air like a Frisbee.
Predictably, perhaps, I almost never see a roadrunner.
I'm sure most of the dead coyotes don't actually get hit by cars. More likely, they've come up with some elaborate scheme to capture a roadrunner (probably with a product from Acme), and it backfires, killing the coyote while the roadrunner speeds blissfully away. Meep-meep.
But I digress.
The aforementioned ground squirrel shows up as roadkill from time to time, as does the mighty rattlesnake.
One day I saw a squashed ground squirrel, and about four feet to the left was a squashed rattler. I wondered if the rattle snake was chasing the critter for a light snack, when both were hit by tires of the same vehicle.
I don't know if the driver got his 2-for-1 intentionally, but if so, he probably should have let the little ground squirrel go. He was probably going to get it from the rattler's brother later anyway.
The most disappointing roadkills are the small rabbits. Something about seeing that little cottontail that kind of breaks your heart.
Occasionally I'll see a tarantula, but most of the time, they've managed to escape with their eight legs intact.
Aside from dead animals, there's lots of other nature to see. Right now the yuccas are in full bloom, and when you look across White Sands Missile Range you can see hundreds of them. When the light is just right, they seem to be glowing.
In addition to the coolest state flag, New Mexico, with the yucca, also has the coolest state flower.
There are also hundreds of the supposedly endangered prickly poppy plants.
I was traveling recently with my parents, from Phoenix to Alamogordo. All the way from Las Cruces, my mom would look at any patch of light colored dirt and ask, "Is that the White Sands?" I said, "Mom, when you see the White Sands, you'll KNOW it."
And indeed, they are the whitest dunes you could imagine. White Sands National Monument is one of three places I've been where I felt like I were on another planet.
The clouds can also be incredible, particularly when you're cresting the San Augustin Pass (going in either direction), and you can look across the whole range, and the sky seems utterly immense. It's great for watching rainbows and lightning strikes.
Still, it's hard to beat the animals. The ones that are still alive, I mean.
And I don't mean the little boy I saw recently. His family had pulled their van over to the side of the road, and the little boy was joyously and unabashedly peeing skyward into the desert. With the wind.
What I mean most are the oryx.
Used to be I'd see the beautiful oryx frequently on U.S. 70. But the past four or five years, they've stayed mostly in hiding. I almost never see them.
However, they have a tendency to be summon spirits, appearing only when conjured.
Twice in the past year, people who were making the trip with me said before the trip, "I hope we see an oryx. I've never seen one."
I said, in both cases, "No chance. They stay away from the road these days."
"I think we'll see one," they said.
In both cases, when we actually made the trip, sure enough, about midway, there appeared a flock of six oryx.
If you haven't seen them, these horse-sized deer-like creatures have towering horns and striking black, white and tan markings.
There's another really cool animal, at least it's named for an animal. It's the F-117A Nighthawk, more commonly known as the Stealth fighter. If you don't know, it's a jet based at Holloman Air Force Base. It looks more like the Batplane than a typical aircraft.
A couple of weeks ago, I was cruising down 70 just west of Holloman. I noticed the car ahead of me made a brief, quick swerve before correcting. As I was wondering what had happened, my vehicle was enveloped in a sudden shadow, right before I heard the crushing, vibrating, Who-concert-volume whoosh of jet exhaust. I looked up to my left to see the Nighthawk pulling up and preparing to land at the base. It felt like it was only 20 feet above my vehicle.
And true to its nickname, the Stealth had approached so stealthily, I did not even see it until it was literally right on top of me.
Sadly, the Nighthawks are yet another endangered species. The Air Force has decided to retire them, and they'll all be out of commission by the end of next year.
But, as much as I love seeing the oryx and the Nighthawk, there's another animal I find even more stunning, more fascinating.
I've only seen one once, at dusk, when the setting sun was producing the purple-hued alpenglow on the Organ and Sacramento Mountains.
I saw the animal leap from the side of the road back into the desert.
Sure, the light was a little tricky, but the animal was unmistakable.
The rare, benevolent and beautiful jackalope.
He paused when he got into the desert and, I swear, he looked me right in the eye. A glint of sunlight bounced off his left antler.
I know you may not believe in jackalopes, but I'm pretty sure they exist.
When you are in search of the crosses, you first have to find Las Cruces. If you're traveling, there are four primary routes.
You can come from El Paso on I-10. You can come in from Deming, from the west, on I-10. You can come in from the north on I-25. Or, you can come from the east on U.S. 70.
After living in Alamogordo for 11 years, I'm most familiar with the route from the east. Even more so now, since I'm commuting every day.
Until I started driving U.S. 70 on a daily basis, I didn't realize how much wildlife you can encounter on the route.
For years I've noticed the hawks that perch on the telephone poles in the late afternoon/early evening. If you're heading east the ideal number of minutes before sunset, it seems like there's a hawk on every other pole.
They appear to be checking the ground for a wayward ground squirrel or some other tasty desert meal. Or, since I've never actually seen one diving after anything, maybe that's just their favorite time to hang out.
Either way, they are beautiful, majestic birds.
Sometimes, from a distance, you'll think it's a hawk but it turns out to be a crow.
Lately, I've noticed a trend of much smaller, yellow-breasted birds chasing crows five times their size. The little guys are the aggressors, chasing the hawks up, down and all around.
And while there's lots of wildlife floating gracefully above, there's also lots of less mobile wildlife right on the ground. I'm referring, of course, to roadkill.
Aaaah, roadkill. The roadkill on U.S. 70 provides pretty much a living (well, actually, dead) textbook of desert animal life.
The most noticeable example is the coyote. On any given day, there will be three or four coyotes, or parts of coyotes, strewn about the highway. Currently, there's one that's been there about three weeks. In that time, the coyote has desiccated from a normal, bloated dead coyote to one that's about as thick as a piece of cardboard. Yet all of his body parts are intact and contiguous.
He's so thin now, I fully expect in the next day or two a gust of wind to lift him up, and send him flying through the air like a Frisbee.
Predictably, perhaps, I almost never see a roadrunner.
I'm sure most of the dead coyotes don't actually get hit by cars. More likely, they've come up with some elaborate scheme to capture a roadrunner (probably with a product from Acme), and it backfires, killing the coyote while the roadrunner speeds blissfully away. Meep-meep.
But I digress.
The aforementioned ground squirrel shows up as roadkill from time to time, as does the mighty rattlesnake.
One day I saw a squashed ground squirrel, and about four feet to the left was a squashed rattler. I wondered if the rattle snake was chasing the critter for a light snack, when both were hit by tires of the same vehicle.
I don't know if the driver got his 2-for-1 intentionally, but if so, he probably should have let the little ground squirrel go. He was probably going to get it from the rattler's brother later anyway.
The most disappointing roadkills are the small rabbits. Something about seeing that little cottontail that kind of breaks your heart.
Occasionally I'll see a tarantula, but most of the time, they've managed to escape with their eight legs intact.
Aside from dead animals, there's lots of other nature to see. Right now the yuccas are in full bloom, and when you look across White Sands Missile Range you can see hundreds of them. When the light is just right, they seem to be glowing.
In addition to the coolest state flag, New Mexico, with the yucca, also has the coolest state flower.
There are also hundreds of the supposedly endangered prickly poppy plants.
I was traveling recently with my parents, from Phoenix to Alamogordo. All the way from Las Cruces, my mom would look at any patch of light colored dirt and ask, "Is that the White Sands?" I said, "Mom, when you see the White Sands, you'll KNOW it."
And indeed, they are the whitest dunes you could imagine. White Sands National Monument is one of three places I've been where I felt like I were on another planet.
The clouds can also be incredible, particularly when you're cresting the San Augustin Pass (going in either direction), and you can look across the whole range, and the sky seems utterly immense. It's great for watching rainbows and lightning strikes.
Still, it's hard to beat the animals. The ones that are still alive, I mean.
And I don't mean the little boy I saw recently. His family had pulled their van over to the side of the road, and the little boy was joyously and unabashedly peeing skyward into the desert. With the wind.
What I mean most are the oryx.
Used to be I'd see the beautiful oryx frequently on U.S. 70. But the past four or five years, they've stayed mostly in hiding. I almost never see them.
However, they have a tendency to be summon spirits, appearing only when conjured.
Twice in the past year, people who were making the trip with me said before the trip, "I hope we see an oryx. I've never seen one."
I said, in both cases, "No chance. They stay away from the road these days."
"I think we'll see one," they said.
In both cases, when we actually made the trip, sure enough, about midway, there appeared a flock of six oryx.
If you haven't seen them, these horse-sized deer-like creatures have towering horns and striking black, white and tan markings.
There's another really cool animal, at least it's named for an animal. It's the F-117A Nighthawk, more commonly known as the Stealth fighter. If you don't know, it's a jet based at Holloman Air Force Base. It looks more like the Batplane than a typical aircraft.
A couple of weeks ago, I was cruising down 70 just west of Holloman. I noticed the car ahead of me made a brief, quick swerve before correcting. As I was wondering what had happened, my vehicle was enveloped in a sudden shadow, right before I heard the crushing, vibrating, Who-concert-volume whoosh of jet exhaust. I looked up to my left to see the Nighthawk pulling up and preparing to land at the base. It felt like it was only 20 feet above my vehicle.
And true to its nickname, the Stealth had approached so stealthily, I did not even see it until it was literally right on top of me.
Sadly, the Nighthawks are yet another endangered species. The Air Force has decided to retire them, and they'll all be out of commission by the end of next year.
But, as much as I love seeing the oryx and the Nighthawk, there's another animal I find even more stunning, more fascinating.
I've only seen one once, at dusk, when the setting sun was producing the purple-hued alpenglow on the Organ and Sacramento Mountains.
I saw the animal leap from the side of the road back into the desert.
Sure, the light was a little tricky, but the animal was unmistakable.
The rare, benevolent and beautiful jackalope.
He paused when he got into the desert and, I swear, he looked me right in the eye. A glint of sunlight bounced off his left antler.
I know you may not believe in jackalopes, but I'm pretty sure they exist.
Wednesday, May 2, 2007
The streets may not be lined with gold, but it's as if they're lined with green chile — close enough
As many of you know, Inc. magazine recently ranked Las Cruces as the No. 9 small city in the nation for doing business.
So you would expect to find some entrepreneurs here, right?
Well, in the past week, without really trying, I encountered two such entrepreneurs.
One is Richard Cole who, along with partner Bob Baur, owns and operates the Toucan Market at 1701 University in the Pan Am Plaza.
The other gave me his name simply as José, and he owns and operates El Vaquero, basically a mobile burrito stand.
While the two businesses are pretty much on opposite ends of the spectrum in terms of scope and scale, they are both taking advantage of the things putting Las Cruces No. 9 on that list.
Both are providing a service, working to find their niche among our diverse and growing population, and then working to keep customers satisfied while hoping to find new ones.
For Cole and Baur, they're providing things they could not previously find as grocery shoppers in Las Cruces.
"Natural foods, organic foods, gourmet foods," Cole said. "That's our niche."
Yeah, you can find Heinz ketchup and Campbell's soup at Toucan Market, but that's not what's featured. What's featured are the items you can't find other places, including their own Toucan brands of soups and ketchup. They have hundreds of different cheeses.
And did you know there are gluten-free beers?
Neither did I.
But you can find them at Toucan, along with a lot of other unique beers, and lots and lots of wines.
Cole tends to hang out in the back part of the store, near the beer and wine and liquor. I barely had a chance to talk with him between his time spent helping people with wine and beverage selections. He's knowledgeable on the subject, customers sought him out, and he was attentive and helpful.
The other staff were equally friendly and helpful, something Cole said is a focus of the store and its employees.
I discovered El Vaquero on Holman Road just north of U.S. 70 for breakfast one morning. José works out of a big, orange, boxy stepvan. The menu is limited — breakfast burritos, regular burritos, and hamburguesas.
That morning I had the brisket burrito for $2.65. He made it there on the spot, and it was big and tasty. There was another guy standing outside the truck eating a brisket burrito, and when he finished, he ordered another one. It was that good.
Mine stayed with me all day, in more ways than one. Next I'll have to try one of his green chile cheeseburgers.
José has been doing this for a few months, at least that's what I gathered from our limited conversation. His English was better than my Spanish (mi español es muy mal), but we did not exactly have a meaningful discourse. I understood enough to know that if I go back to Holman Road in the next few days, before 5 p.m., I can try out that hamburguesa chile verde con queso.
Speaking of green chile cheeseburgers, I recently made the three-minute walk from the Sun-News office to Day's Hamburgers for a late lunch consisting of a double Great Day with cheese and green chiles, and some fries. The sign says Day's has been around since 1932 and, for all I know, they may still be using some of the original grease. Thank God 75 years of technology has not managed to kill the classic greasy burger.
Like all great green chile cheeseburgers, the Great Day is less a meal and more an experience. These are old school burgers. The faint of heart (figuratively and literally) need not apply. No flame broiling here. Just plain fried on a griddle. Probably enough cholesterol to fuel a battleship for a few miles.
But when you're eating at Day's, you put your dietary concerns on the shelf for a few hours.
About three-quarters through, I began to hallucinate, overwhelmed with the wonderful flavor and the sheer quantity of the food. I'm sure, technically, it was some sort of blood-sugar overload, but I'll call it a state of green chile burger bliss. It was like the time when Bart and Milhouse drank the all-syrup Squishee at the Kwik-E-Mart.
A couple of days later, I read this in the Sun-News:
"Meditation for World Peace will take place from noon to 1 p.m. Tuesdays through June 26 at 116 W. Las Cruces Ave. (directly across from Day's hamburgers). Cultivate a calm, happy mind through the practice of meditation."
I don't think it's a coincidence the meditation is right across from Day's.
I cultivated that same calm, happy mind through the snarfing down of the double Great Day.
Perhaps the meditators know that, and figure they can find some new recruits already mentally and spiritually prepared.
I also think the Great Day helps promote world peace. I know I couldn't think violent thoughts after eating my burger. I also was so stuffed, I couldn't move quickly enough to do anything non-peaceful. I also was pretty dang close to falling asleep.
What I have not found so blissful are the streets of Las Cruces. While living in Alamogordo the past 11 years, I've made dozens of trips to Las Cruces. And generally I can get around to all the main drags.
But when you live here, and you go in and out of all the little different stores and shopping centers, you realize how many streets there are, and how none of them are perpendicular, and none of them go in a straight line, and half of them are one way, and a quarter of them go in circles, and some of them change names mid-stream for no apparent reason.
You're on one road, and you drive halfway across town, and you look up and you've unintentionally wound up back on the road where you started.
It's the thoroughfare equivalent to Doc Watson singing the bluegrass classic "I'm My Own Grandpa."
And the roads and buildings are deceptive.
A road that looks like a back alley for 50 feet could suddenly turn into a major arterial. And a road that looks like it will take you across town will suddenly turn into a dead end.
And a place that looks like an abandoned building could have a great store or restaurant.
I had lunch at International Delights at 1245 El Paseo last week. A very cool place, but I would never have found it without someone else's guidance. It's tucked into the corner of a shopping center, and even when you're right upon it, you have to look closely.
You go through the patio (a great area for dining al fresco) and once inside, you find a wonderfully appointed restaurant with all sorts of unique fare. If you're into coffee and wi-fi, this is the place for you, complete with late-night hours.
Lots of Greek and Middle Eastern food made fresh for your plate. You can buy many of the items for your own kitchen from a small area of the restaurant devoted to a grocery store.
I was not too adventurous with the menu that day and went with the tuna sandwich on pita, with the cream of green chile soup.
If you haven't guessed by now, I''m a sucker for all things green chile.
Richard Coltharp is special sections editor for the Sun-News. He can be reached at rcoltharp@lcsun-news.com. Perhaps not surprisingly, Richard has regular appointments with a gastroenterologist.
So you would expect to find some entrepreneurs here, right?
Well, in the past week, without really trying, I encountered two such entrepreneurs.
One is Richard Cole who, along with partner Bob Baur, owns and operates the Toucan Market at 1701 University in the Pan Am Plaza.
The other gave me his name simply as José, and he owns and operates El Vaquero, basically a mobile burrito stand.
While the two businesses are pretty much on opposite ends of the spectrum in terms of scope and scale, they are both taking advantage of the things putting Las Cruces No. 9 on that list.
Both are providing a service, working to find their niche among our diverse and growing population, and then working to keep customers satisfied while hoping to find new ones.
For Cole and Baur, they're providing things they could not previously find as grocery shoppers in Las Cruces.
"Natural foods, organic foods, gourmet foods," Cole said. "That's our niche."
Yeah, you can find Heinz ketchup and Campbell's soup at Toucan Market, but that's not what's featured. What's featured are the items you can't find other places, including their own Toucan brands of soups and ketchup. They have hundreds of different cheeses.
And did you know there are gluten-free beers?
Neither did I.
But you can find them at Toucan, along with a lot of other unique beers, and lots and lots of wines.
Cole tends to hang out in the back part of the store, near the beer and wine and liquor. I barely had a chance to talk with him between his time spent helping people with wine and beverage selections. He's knowledgeable on the subject, customers sought him out, and he was attentive and helpful.
The other staff were equally friendly and helpful, something Cole said is a focus of the store and its employees.
I discovered El Vaquero on Holman Road just north of U.S. 70 for breakfast one morning. José works out of a big, orange, boxy stepvan. The menu is limited — breakfast burritos, regular burritos, and hamburguesas.
That morning I had the brisket burrito for $2.65. He made it there on the spot, and it was big and tasty. There was another guy standing outside the truck eating a brisket burrito, and when he finished, he ordered another one. It was that good.
Mine stayed with me all day, in more ways than one. Next I'll have to try one of his green chile cheeseburgers.
José has been doing this for a few months, at least that's what I gathered from our limited conversation. His English was better than my Spanish (mi español es muy mal), but we did not exactly have a meaningful discourse. I understood enough to know that if I go back to Holman Road in the next few days, before 5 p.m., I can try out that hamburguesa chile verde con queso.
Speaking of green chile cheeseburgers, I recently made the three-minute walk from the Sun-News office to Day's Hamburgers for a late lunch consisting of a double Great Day with cheese and green chiles, and some fries. The sign says Day's has been around since 1932 and, for all I know, they may still be using some of the original grease. Thank God 75 years of technology has not managed to kill the classic greasy burger.
Like all great green chile cheeseburgers, the Great Day is less a meal and more an experience. These are old school burgers. The faint of heart (figuratively and literally) need not apply. No flame broiling here. Just plain fried on a griddle. Probably enough cholesterol to fuel a battleship for a few miles.
But when you're eating at Day's, you put your dietary concerns on the shelf for a few hours.
About three-quarters through, I began to hallucinate, overwhelmed with the wonderful flavor and the sheer quantity of the food. I'm sure, technically, it was some sort of blood-sugar overload, but I'll call it a state of green chile burger bliss. It was like the time when Bart and Milhouse drank the all-syrup Squishee at the Kwik-E-Mart.
A couple of days later, I read this in the Sun-News:
"Meditation for World Peace will take place from noon to 1 p.m. Tuesdays through June 26 at 116 W. Las Cruces Ave. (directly across from Day's hamburgers). Cultivate a calm, happy mind through the practice of meditation."
I don't think it's a coincidence the meditation is right across from Day's.
I cultivated that same calm, happy mind through the snarfing down of the double Great Day.
Perhaps the meditators know that, and figure they can find some new recruits already mentally and spiritually prepared.
I also think the Great Day helps promote world peace. I know I couldn't think violent thoughts after eating my burger. I also was so stuffed, I couldn't move quickly enough to do anything non-peaceful. I also was pretty dang close to falling asleep.
What I have not found so blissful are the streets of Las Cruces. While living in Alamogordo the past 11 years, I've made dozens of trips to Las Cruces. And generally I can get around to all the main drags.
But when you live here, and you go in and out of all the little different stores and shopping centers, you realize how many streets there are, and how none of them are perpendicular, and none of them go in a straight line, and half of them are one way, and a quarter of them go in circles, and some of them change names mid-stream for no apparent reason.
You're on one road, and you drive halfway across town, and you look up and you've unintentionally wound up back on the road where you started.
It's the thoroughfare equivalent to Doc Watson singing the bluegrass classic "I'm My Own Grandpa."
And the roads and buildings are deceptive.
A road that looks like a back alley for 50 feet could suddenly turn into a major arterial. And a road that looks like it will take you across town will suddenly turn into a dead end.
And a place that looks like an abandoned building could have a great store or restaurant.
I had lunch at International Delights at 1245 El Paseo last week. A very cool place, but I would never have found it without someone else's guidance. It's tucked into the corner of a shopping center, and even when you're right upon it, you have to look closely.
You go through the patio (a great area for dining al fresco) and once inside, you find a wonderfully appointed restaurant with all sorts of unique fare. If you're into coffee and wi-fi, this is the place for you, complete with late-night hours.
Lots of Greek and Middle Eastern food made fresh for your plate. You can buy many of the items for your own kitchen from a small area of the restaurant devoted to a grocery store.
I was not too adventurous with the menu that day and went with the tuna sandwich on pita, with the cream of green chile soup.
If you haven't guessed by now, I''m a sucker for all things green chile.
Richard Coltharp is special sections editor for the Sun-News. He can be reached at rcoltharp@lcsun-news.com. Perhaps not surprisingly, Richard has regular appointments with a gastroenterologist.
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
City Barber Shop Offers Slice of Wrigleyville
EDITOR’S NOTE: This is the first entry in a blog called In Search of the Crosses. I’ve always been fascinated with the quirky, interesting people and places that give cities a unique local color and flavor. Having lived in Alamogordo for 11 years, I’ve got some familiarity with Las Cruces, but I’m looking forward to finding the lesser known things, the hidden gems, that really make this area what it is. Over the course of time, I’ll bombard you with opinions on local barbecue rib dinners, red-chile-cheese-and-onion enchiladas and, of course, green chile cheeseburgers. If you haven’t guessed, I’m a big fan of eating. I already have a favorite area restaurant — Chope’s in LaMesa, which is heaven for good green chiles when they die. But I have at least a passing interest in non-gastronomical things as well.
Friday, April 20, was a great day for finding some local color. With perfect weather at lunchtime, I walked from the Sun-News office to the downtown mall. There I found some live music from a five-piece group called Siempre. They entertained me and about 40 others while I downed a chile relleno plate from Antonio’s Restaurant.
The band was a lot of fun, featuring an excellent lead guitarist (and a boy, about 4, in cowboy boots with his own unplugged guitar).
The chile rellenos were just as good. The proprietress at Antonio’s would not tell me what comprised the delicious cream sauce they put on top (a family secret recipe), but she did tell me they used Monterey Jack cheese inside, and sometimes Asadero.
For my money, a chile relleno HAS to have a white cheese. I usually prefer mozzarella, but the Jack and Asadero work quite nicely as well.
But the highlight of my Friday was a visit to City Barber Shop at 1201 N. Main.
There are places you can go to get your hair styled, or “done.” Most of them have names that are hair-related. For example, most cities in America will have a shop called The Mane Event, or Shear Magic. As an aficionado of bad puns, I always have fun spotting these places.
But if you’re a guy, and you want to get your hair “cut,” you go to a good, old-fashioned barber shop. This is one thing modern technology or overseas outsourcing have not been able to replace. Thank God.
I know there are several real barber shops in Las Cruces, complete with the classic red, white and blue pole, but I was convinced to try City because of the Cubs flag flying out front. The Cubs have long been my favorite National League team, and I’ve made a handful of pilgrimages to Chicago’s Wrigley Field, the temple of baseball.
My favorite American League team is the Tigers. (How a kid raised in Oklahoma grew up rooting for the Cubs and Tigers is subject matter for a later blog for people who are extremely bored or insomniacs.)
City Barber Shop looks small from the outside, and I was expecting to find a quiet two- or three-chair operation.
Man, was I wrong.
The first clue was the wall-to-wall crew waiting for a cut. They have a sign-in sheet to keep track of everyone, and they need it.
The second clue was the four chairs. A later peek around the corner revealed a second room with three more chairs. A seven-chair shop. Floyd the barber from the Andy Griffith Show would have had a heart attack.
The Cubs flag was no fluke. Two of the barbers Friday were wearing Cubs T-shirts (Zach Mirabal’s read, “Chicks Dig the Long Ball”). Cubs memorabilia was plastered over almost every wall, with a little bit of NMSU Aggies, Pittsburgh Steelers, Las Cruces Bulldawgs, Mayfield Trojans and Oñate Knights stuff thrown in to fill in the gaps.
Also on the wall was a 3-foot-by-4-foot painting of the late Henry Mirabal, Zach’s grandfather and the patriarch and founder of City Barber Shop.
Henry’s son Steve also cuts hair in the shop, which will have its 50th anniversary next year.
And despite long waits, everyone in the shop Friday was having a great time.
It also seemed like just about everyone knew at least one other person in the shop, either a barber, a customer, or both.
Imagine how high spirits would have been if the Cubs had not lost earlier in the day to St. Louis.
Friday afternoon must be Shorties Haircut Day; there were several 2-, 3-, and 4-year-old boys getting cuts. Barbers Vince and Russell were having a particularly tough time trimming the hair of a couple of reluctant tots, even when the boys’ moms were squeezing their heads to keep them still.
While waiting, I got to sit in a quite comfortable Low Rider chair, and got to read — what
else? — a Cubs spring training program.
My turn came, and Bruno was my barber. I asked him if it was a requirement to be a Cubs fan before you got hired. He said it was not, but that it was hard not to become a Cubs fan once you started working there.
Bruno was friendly and shared with me some of the history of the Barber Shop. He also gave me a great haircut.
There was a time when I judged a haircut by two criteria: How cheap was it, and How quick was it.
During my college days at beautiful Oklahoma State University, “Whisperin’” Richard Danel ran the Varsity Barber Shop in Stillwater. He would typically cut your hair in seven minutes, and the price back then (from 1981-85) was $4.50. You’d usually pay with a five, and he’d always give you your change in the form of a 50-cent piece.
I would normally grow my hair as long as I could stand it, then go visit Whisperin’ Richard and have him cut it as short as I could stand it.
As a result, I probably less than 15 haircuts during a four-year college career, which means I spent less than $70 for haircuts over that time.
If I had been able to keep up that pace, it would have taken me an amazing 20 years to spend $400 — the same amount presidential candidate John Edwards spent on ONE haircut recently.
But I digress.
City Barber Shop can’t match Whisperin’ Richard on either time (I spent more than an hour there — 30 minutes waiting and 30 minutes getting cut), or price (though $12 in 2007 prices is probably fairly comparable to $4.50 in 1985 dollars, and still a hell of a lot less than $400).
But the atmosphere and the experience at City made the time and the price well worth it.
Next time, maybe I’ll time my haircut with a Cubs game, so I can watch a few innings on one of their multiple TVs while I’m there.
On second thought, it may be better to go when they can focus on my haircut and not the Cubbies.
Richard Coltharp is special sections editor for the Sun-News. He can be reached at rcoltharp@lcsun-news.com. The above photo was taken BEFORE his haircut.
Friday, April 20, was a great day for finding some local color. With perfect weather at lunchtime, I walked from the Sun-News office to the downtown mall. There I found some live music from a five-piece group called Siempre. They entertained me and about 40 others while I downed a chile relleno plate from Antonio’s Restaurant.
The band was a lot of fun, featuring an excellent lead guitarist (and a boy, about 4, in cowboy boots with his own unplugged guitar).
The chile rellenos were just as good. The proprietress at Antonio’s would not tell me what comprised the delicious cream sauce they put on top (a family secret recipe), but she did tell me they used Monterey Jack cheese inside, and sometimes Asadero.
For my money, a chile relleno HAS to have a white cheese. I usually prefer mozzarella, but the Jack and Asadero work quite nicely as well.
But the highlight of my Friday was a visit to City Barber Shop at 1201 N. Main.
There are places you can go to get your hair styled, or “done.” Most of them have names that are hair-related. For example, most cities in America will have a shop called The Mane Event, or Shear Magic. As an aficionado of bad puns, I always have fun spotting these places.
But if you’re a guy, and you want to get your hair “cut,” you go to a good, old-fashioned barber shop. This is one thing modern technology or overseas outsourcing have not been able to replace. Thank God.
I know there are several real barber shops in Las Cruces, complete with the classic red, white and blue pole, but I was convinced to try City because of the Cubs flag flying out front. The Cubs have long been my favorite National League team, and I’ve made a handful of pilgrimages to Chicago’s Wrigley Field, the temple of baseball.
My favorite American League team is the Tigers. (How a kid raised in Oklahoma grew up rooting for the Cubs and Tigers is subject matter for a later blog for people who are extremely bored or insomniacs.)
City Barber Shop looks small from the outside, and I was expecting to find a quiet two- or three-chair operation.
Man, was I wrong.
The first clue was the wall-to-wall crew waiting for a cut. They have a sign-in sheet to keep track of everyone, and they need it.
The second clue was the four chairs. A later peek around the corner revealed a second room with three more chairs. A seven-chair shop. Floyd the barber from the Andy Griffith Show would have had a heart attack.
The Cubs flag was no fluke. Two of the barbers Friday were wearing Cubs T-shirts (Zach Mirabal’s read, “Chicks Dig the Long Ball”). Cubs memorabilia was plastered over almost every wall, with a little bit of NMSU Aggies, Pittsburgh Steelers, Las Cruces Bulldawgs, Mayfield Trojans and Oñate Knights stuff thrown in to fill in the gaps.
Also on the wall was a 3-foot-by-4-foot painting of the late Henry Mirabal, Zach’s grandfather and the patriarch and founder of City Barber Shop.
Henry’s son Steve also cuts hair in the shop, which will have its 50th anniversary next year.
And despite long waits, everyone in the shop Friday was having a great time.
It also seemed like just about everyone knew at least one other person in the shop, either a barber, a customer, or both.
Imagine how high spirits would have been if the Cubs had not lost earlier in the day to St. Louis.
Friday afternoon must be Shorties Haircut Day; there were several 2-, 3-, and 4-year-old boys getting cuts. Barbers Vince and Russell were having a particularly tough time trimming the hair of a couple of reluctant tots, even when the boys’ moms were squeezing their heads to keep them still.
While waiting, I got to sit in a quite comfortable Low Rider chair, and got to read — what
else? — a Cubs spring training program.
My turn came, and Bruno was my barber. I asked him if it was a requirement to be a Cubs fan before you got hired. He said it was not, but that it was hard not to become a Cubs fan once you started working there.
Bruno was friendly and shared with me some of the history of the Barber Shop. He also gave me a great haircut.
There was a time when I judged a haircut by two criteria: How cheap was it, and How quick was it.
During my college days at beautiful Oklahoma State University, “Whisperin’” Richard Danel ran the Varsity Barber Shop in Stillwater. He would typically cut your hair in seven minutes, and the price back then (from 1981-85) was $4.50. You’d usually pay with a five, and he’d always give you your change in the form of a 50-cent piece.
I would normally grow my hair as long as I could stand it, then go visit Whisperin’ Richard and have him cut it as short as I could stand it.
As a result, I probably less than 15 haircuts during a four-year college career, which means I spent less than $70 for haircuts over that time.
If I had been able to keep up that pace, it would have taken me an amazing 20 years to spend $400 — the same amount presidential candidate John Edwards spent on ONE haircut recently.
But I digress.
City Barber Shop can’t match Whisperin’ Richard on either time (I spent more than an hour there — 30 minutes waiting and 30 minutes getting cut), or price (though $12 in 2007 prices is probably fairly comparable to $4.50 in 1985 dollars, and still a hell of a lot less than $400).
But the atmosphere and the experience at City made the time and the price well worth it.
Next time, maybe I’ll time my haircut with a Cubs game, so I can watch a few innings on one of their multiple TVs while I’m there.
On second thought, it may be better to go when they can focus on my haircut and not the Cubbies.
Richard Coltharp is special sections editor for the Sun-News. He can be reached at rcoltharp@lcsun-news.com. The above photo was taken BEFORE his haircut.
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