Apothecary Lounge, Street Food Institute, Mary Francis Cheeseman, Chocolate Maven Bakery & Cafe, and Eliza Esparza
EDIBLE DISPATCH
A Taco, a Tamal, and Queso Asado in Mexico City by Briana Olson
IN THE WILD
Mushroom Foraging in the Winter? by Anna Marija Helt
FERMENTI'S PARADOX
The Color of Magic by Robin Babb
FARMER'S
THE BITE
Ginesis: A Tale of Two Gins by Tom Hudgens
EDIBLE INGREDIENT
Roasted Butternut Squash Soft-Serve Ice Cream
COOKING FRESH
The Eye-Catching Hues of Winter by Stephanie Cameron
LAST BITE Zero Amaro
COLOR: STANDING OUT OR
IN? by Christie Green
DESERT DYEING by Ungelbah Dávila
DINNER PALETTE
Photos by Stephanie Cameron
Beetroot uttapam at Paper Dosa, photo by Stephanie Cameron.
Pomegranates, photo by Stephanie Cameron.
Colors
The official state question may be “Red or green?,” but white is the color of the heirloom corn that drew an Albuquerque native into the milling business. Gold is the shade of the chamisa- and marigold-based dye that a Santa Fe artist shares with us, and ruby is the hue of the amaro that one of the state’s award-winning distillers named for a woman who, in New Mexico, would have been known as a healer, a curandera.
“Nutritious” was not a criterion when we invited six local chefs each to create a dish centered around a single color, but the results (like the recipes in this issue) are inevitably as flavonoid-rich as they are beautiful. Unbidden, all six created plates that showcase not only the culinary talent in our state but the diversity that exists simply within the natural range of blue, of yellow, of green.
In this issue of edible New Mexico, we celebrate local producers and makers—chefs, artists, growers, millers, master distillers, and even pollinators—who cultivate beauty. With farmer Zoey Fink, we meet members of a flower collective whose work to grow a supply chain for local blooms is also work to support local bees. We follow Christie Green as she contends with the ways, visible and invisible, that climate change is altering the pigments and hues of our plant and animal kin. Ungelbah Dávila talks with two distinctive artists about plant-based dyes—their appeal, and their sometimes troubled relationship with the demands of markets. From green corn to red beets to yellow sunflowers, we are presented with a vision that color represents health, whether in the wild, on the farm, or on the plate.
More than 4,500 species of plants and animals make their homes in New Mexico’s thirty-three terrestrial habitats, and at least 125 are endemic, meaning they are so adapted to their place that they exist nowhere else. Take the checkerspot butterfly, who feeds on violet penstemon in the Sacramento mountains, or the faintly pink Gypsum Townsend’s aster, visited by native bees. And, just as the spectrum of local landscapes is more vast than meets the human eye, more layered than the aesthetic of any single artist, and more variable than can be encompassed via the shorthand of “high desert,” so is the spectrum of our foodshed and culture. In that spirit, we hope these pages bring light and reflection to your table this season.
p.s. This year, Edible Communities recognized our storytelling, connection to community, and local engagement by presenting edible New Mexico with their Publication of the Year award.
Briana Olson, Editor
Robin Babb, Associate Editor
Stephanie and Walt Cameron, Publishers
PUBLISHERS
Bite Size Media, LLC
Stephanie and Walt Cameron
EDITOR
Briana Olson
ASSOCIATE EDITOR
Robin Babb
COPY EDITORS
Marie Landau and Margaret Marti
DESIGN AND LAYOUT
Stephanie Cameron
PHOTO EDITOR
Stephanie Cameron
EVENT COORDINATOR
Natalie Donnelly
PUBLISHING ASSISTANT
Cristina Grumblatt
CONTACT US info@ediblenm.com ediblenm.com
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Bite Size Media, LLC publishes edible New Mexico six times a year. We distribute throughout New Mexico and nationally by subscription. Subscriptions are $32 annually. Subscribe online at ediblenm.com/subscribe
ROBIN BABB is the associate editor of edible New Mexico and The Bite. Previously, she was the food editor at the Weekly Alibi (RIP). She’s an MFA student in creative writing at the University of New Mexico. She lives in Albuquerque with a cat named Chicken and a dog named Birdie.
STEPHANIE CAMERON was raised in Albuquerque and earned a degree in fine arts at the University of New Mexico. She is the art director, head photographer, recipe tester, marketing guru, publisher, and owner of edible New Mexico and The Bite
UNGELBAH DÁVILA lives in Valencia County with her daughter, animals, and flowers. She is a writer, photographer, and digital Indigenous storyteller.
ZOEY FINK was born and raised in Albuquerque, where she and her husband manage Farm Shark and raise their son. Their operation grows diversified vegetables for restaurants and for their pickles, hot sauce, and pop-up dining events. Fink is often found running along ditch banks, building bouquets, and cooking for loved ones.
CHRISTIE GREEN catalyzes connection through food. She is a mother, hunter, writer, and landscape architect. Green is the proprietress of the wild-inspired fashion collection, christie nell
designs, and author of Moonlight Elk: One Woman’s Hunt for Food and Freedom. Find her @radiclelandscape.
ANNA MARIJA HELT is a writer, microbiologist, and practicing herbalist in the Four Corners area. Through Osadha Natural Health and other organizations, she engages people with the natural world for their own well-being and that of the planet.
TOM HUDGENS has followed multiple career tracks over the decades, including writing, professional cooking, and college academic support. The author of The Commonsense Kitchen and The Deep Springs Cookbook, he recently worked as Los Poblanos’ event chef. He now works as a donor engagement officer at the University of New Mexico Foundation, and cooks dinner at home from scratch almost every night.
NINA KATZ is a food writer living in Albuquerque. They would like to see Froyo come back in a big way.
BRIANA OLSON is a writer and the editor of edible New Mexico and The Bite. She lives in Albuquerque.
ALLISON RAMIREZ has been a private chef; food and wine event coordinator; café owner in Da Nang, Vietnam; and food photographer. She speaks English, Japanese, and Spanish. Ramirez lives in Santa Fe with her husband and dog daughter.
Absinthe service at As Above, So Below Distillery, photo by Allison Ramirez. Story on page 26.
Environmentally Packaged Fresh and Nutritious Food ALBUQUERQUE
La Montañita Co-op–Nob Hill & Rio Grande Lowe’s Market on Lomas
Moses Kountry Natural Foods • Silver Street Market
Triangle Market in Sandia Crest Sandia National Labs
UPC at UNM • UNM Hospital in Cafe Ristra Presbyterian Rust Hospital • Presbyterian Cooper Center INTEL- Rio Rancho Nusenda Corporate Office Skarsgard Farms • Fancies Modern Market in Corrales
Books on the Bosque
UNM Campus - Mercado, SRC, Cafe Lobo SANTA FE
La Montañita Co-op Kaunes Market
Eldorado Supermart at the Agora Christus St Vincent Hospital
Pojoaque SuperMarket • Santa Fe Food King
Ohori’s Coffee Roasters • Ten Thousand Waves
LOS ALAMOS
Los Alamos Cooperative Market
Los Alamos National Laboratory
ESPAÑOLA
Center Market • Presbyterian Hospital
Espanola Food King
ANGEL FIRE
LOWES
TAOS
Cid’s Market
GALLUP
La Montañita Co-op
Fine International Vegetarian and Vegan grab and go including ready to serve complete meals.
CATERING
Corporate Catering Available
Delivery Statewide Call
VEGETARIAN KITCHEN
LOCAL HEROES
LOCAL HEROES
presenting 5-Minute Fridays, an edible New Mexico podcast
An edible Local Hero is an exceptional individual, business, or organization making a positive impact on New Mexico’s food systems. These honorees nurture our communities through food, service, and socially and environmentally sustainable business practices. Edible New Mexico readers nominate and vote for their favorite local chefs, growers, artisans, advocates, and other food professionals in two dozen categories. Winners of the Olla and Spotlight Awards are nominated by readers and selected by the edible team.
Starting in fall 2024, for each issue of edible, we are featuring a handful of the winners in our podcast: 5-Minute Fridays. Each issue
5-Minute
includes a taste of our conversations with Local Heroes and links to the episodes. We launched this podcast to get fresh perspectives on the people doing good food work in New Mexico.
5-Minute Fridays highlights edible New Mexico’s Local Heroes. Every Friday, we share food stories served up with a side of levity—and no, no episode is actually five minutes. We have a blast while discovering new ways to think about and understand the food and drink that lands on our tables and getting to know the people who put it there.
Subscribe for big ideas and little actions that impact our foodshed at ediblenm.com/podcast
Episode 5: "A Balance Between Taste and Presentation"
We check in with the creative minds behind Albuquerque’s Apothecary Lounge. Not only are the bar’s 360-degree views of the city stunning, but their creative cocktails are fanciful and tasty. Featuring Jake Larragoite, the hotel’s director of food and beverage, and lead server Nora Garcia.
Episode 6: "A Street Food Revolution"
Street Food Institute has been helping launch food entrepreneurs around the state since 2014, and they are preparing for a big move in late 2024 to the historic Barelas neighborhood. In this episode, we chat about the tenacity and growth of this mighty nonprofit. Featuring executive director Tina Garcia-Shams.
Episode 7:
"Every Cocktail Is a Journey"
What makes a great cocktail bar? The vibes, the drinks, and, of course, the bartender. Mary Francis Cheeseman has been serving customers in Albuquerque at The Copper Lounge and Los Conejos for four years. As a certified sommelier, she brings a unique expertise to her role as a bartender and storyteller.
Episode 8: "Joy and Good Food Make the World Go Round"
This thirty-year-old production bakery where every pastry and pie is handmade is just getting started. In addition to being found on grocer’s shelves around the state and running a café in Santa Fe, the Chocolate Maven Bakery & Cafe has opened a hot new night spot. Featuring husband-and-wife team and owners Dharm Skotting-Segal and Cassie Ramos and their daughter Harirai Khalsa.
Episode 9: "Potatoes on Pizza? Heck Ya!"
Eliza Esparza is the badass chef leading the team at Farina Pizzeria & Wine Bar. She has worked at Farina for fourteen years and built a team that she calls family. A wizard with pizza, she also cures and smokes meats, ferments veggies, and does everything from scratch in her kitchen.
FRIDAYS Eliza Esparza
COCKTAIL PROGRAM: Apothecary Lounge
A Conversation with Jake Larragoite, Director of Food and Beverage, and Nora Garcia, Lead Server
“I
n everything we do, we try to put our best foot forward and create an experience for people. We know that we are really unique in that we have this gorgeous 360-degree view of the city. People are out there taking pictures of the sunsets, but I also want them to take pictures of our food and drinks and create this experience so they will return again and again.”
Photo by Stephanie Cameron.
photo:
NONPROFIT: Street Food Institue
A Conversation with Tina Garcia-Shams, Executive Director
“W
e have been operating under the radar a bit and just doing the work, but there is a lot to what we do, and we continue to evolve. With our new space in Barelas, we want to be a very active space. It’s really important for us to feel part of the neighborhood and for them to feel part of what we’re doing here.”
Tina Garcia-Shams, executive director; Emily Birch, operations director / event coordinator; and Julian Griego, executive chef / instructor; photo by Stephanie Cameron.
SPOTLIGHT AWARD: FRONT OF HOUSE
Mary Francis Cheeseman
A Conversation with Mary Francis Cheeseman, Bartender
“I
think of hospitality as making memories and these special moments, and it is really taste and smell that take us there. We need to put a lot of care into our cocktails, food, and overall hospitality experience because that is what will make an impression, keep our customers coming back for more, and build a bond of trust.”
Photo by Stephanie Cameron.
‘Chimayó
Tradition Salsa’: Your Secret Ingredient to Mastering New Mexico Cuisine
Imagine unlocking the secrets of centuries-old culinary traditions with a single jar. That’s what you get with Chimayó Tradition Salsa, a taste so rich and authentic, it transforms every meal into an exploration of New Mexico’s most cherished flavors.
Our salsa isn’t just another ingredient; it’s a journey into the centuries-old tradition of our infamous chiles.
These chiles, harvested in the heart of New Mexico, bring not just heat but a depth of taste that takes your dishes from good to unforgettable.
Here’s what Sarah, one of our valued customers, had to say: “Discovering Chimayó Tradition Salsa was a revelation. The depth of flavor is incredible—you can taste the sun-soaked chile with every bite. It’s not just a salsa; It’s a piece of New Mexico.”
With Chimayó Tradition Salsa, each jar celebrates our dedication to real, down-to-earth flavors and the art of traditional salsa making. It’s about getting friends and family together, sharing meals that are not just served but truly savored.
Find us at your favorite grocery store in the 'local products' section or visit us online at CiboloJunctionSalsa.com.
A Conversation with Harirai Khalsa, Cassie Ramos, and Dharm Skotting-Segal
“W
e have had a team since the early days of starting our business in our garage, and they have become our culture. Having people who grew up with us, started in their teens, and now have children of their own—that is our ethos—taking care of the people who work for us.”
BAKERY: Chocolate Maven Bakery & Cafe
Photo by Stephanie Cameron.
Pig + Fig Cafe
Comfort food for everyone
Open for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.
Come visit us!
11 Sherwood Blvd, White Rock, NM 87547
In-house dining, patio dining or carryout available
Hours
Monday - Friday, 7am - 7pm
Saturday, 7am - 2pm
Closed Sundays
Come visit us!
1789 Central Ave #1, Los Alamos, NM 87544
In-house dining, patio dining or carryout available
Hours
Monday - Saturday, 7am - 7pm
Sunday, 7am - 3pm
Seasonal hand-crafted comfort food, unique wines, local beers and craft cocktails
Come visit us!
3801 Arkansas Ave Suite G, Los Alamos, NM 87544
Hours
Tuesday - Friday, 11am - 8pm
Saturday, 2pm - 8pm
Sunday, 10am - 2pm
Closed Mondays
CHEF, ALBUQUERQUE: Eliza Esparza
A Conversation with Eliza Esparza, Head Chef, Farina Pizzeria
“I
have worked very hard to create a comfortable environment here at Farina. I try to make it fun and motivate my team. In the fourteen years I have been here, I have met so many people; building those relationships has been one of my most favorite things here.”
Photo by Stephanie Cameron.
Recently recognized as a truly exceptional stay with two MICHELIN Keys, we are proud to offer luxurious accommodations, warm hospitality and a one-of-a-kind New Mexican experience. Enjoy the season with us or give a gift that celebrates the beauty of the farm, the flavors of the season and the essence of the Rio Grande Valley.
HISTORIC INN Give the gift of boutique accommodations, unique amenities and awardwinning hospitality to loved ones near and far.
CAMPO Share the memorable gift of field-to-fork dining in a spectacular setting.
HACIENDA SPA Visit the spa to purchase gift certificates for serene seasonal treatments or shop our specialty skincare products.
FARM SHOP Explore or visit us online for signature lavender apothecary products, Farm Foods and inspired gifts. A season of generosity and joy. Visit lospoblanos.com for reservations, gift cards and more.
A Taco, a Tamal, and Queso Asado in Mexico City
Words and Photos by Briana Olson
Infinite experiences are possible in Mexico City, or as author Juan Villoro has called it, Chilangópolis. Sometimes I daydream about embarking on a taco pilgrimage that zigzags across colonias, stopping only at street vendors and places so small that most patrons eat standing up. For our trip there last year, though, my partner and I decided to skip most of the street food and all the white tablecloths. We cataloged chilaquiles and chocolate and aguachile, stopped into diners and fondas, taquerias and mezcalerias, sampled guacamole with chapulines and even a pizza with chile cuaresmeño. These are three standouts.
Queso Asado, EL HIDALGUENSE
El Hidalguense’s main attraction is the barbacoa. The lamb is raised on the owners’ family farm in Hidalgo, pit roasted with maguey, ordered by weight (trust me, half a kilo is not too much for two people), chopped to order on one of the stoutest cutting boards I’ve ever seen, and served encased in charred agave, with freshly made blue corn tortillas, fresh and fiery salsas, and other taco accoutrements. (Note that ordering tacos individually will rob you of this experience.) But the queso asado also proves that the rustic can be spectacular; we tried the huasteco style, which is cured with chipotle, grilled, dressed with sesame sauce, and delivered on a bed of creamy beans. I’ve been craving it ever since.
Tamal de Frijol, TAMALES MADRE
I hesitated outside Tamales Madre: Was this the right place? Yes, there was the masa, in a huge mixer that lives tucked into the wall of blond cabinets at the far end of the room; there were the ears of heirloom corn, piled on the single communal table; and there, lined along the single shelf on an otherwise unadorned white wall, bookended with jars of spices, were some of the telltale tomes, including Jorge Gaviria’s Masa. The calm of the staff, methodically preparing a startlingly green agua fresca and a vat of vibrant red sauce, amplified the sanctuary-like vibes. Each offering on the meat-optional, refreshingly plant-forward menu helps make the case for native corn; I’m partial to the tamal de frijol, steamed with hoja santa and served with sweet, tangy caldillo de jitomate.
Taco de Mole Verde, TAQUERÍA EL JAROCHO
While this trip did not reach the level of taco pilgrimage, I mapped enough taquerias that, on one occasion, we were compelled to eat lunch twice, with only a two-block stroll between. One of my favorite tacos was at the no-frills Taquería El Jarocho, which started as a tortilleria in Roma Norte in 1947 and is now known for its tacos campechanos and its cazuelas filled with a myriad of guisados. Whenever I think of the pork in mole verde—beautiful, nutty, bright, creamy—sandwiched between two house-made tortillas, I wonder why green mole is so rare on the New Mexican side of the border.
Taco de mole verde.
Tamal de frijol.
Queso asado.
Trajinera ride on Lake Xochimilco
San Bartolo cooking demonstration
visit an organic mezcal distillery
February 15–23, 2025 | Oaxaca, Puebla, and Mexico City
groups.goaheadtours.com/tours/ediblenm2025 | 3 spots remain | reserve by December 1
Spots are limited. Scan this QR code to save yours and view full itinerary.
MUSHROOM FORAGING IN THE WINTER?
By Anna Marija Helt
What’s a mushroom-loving forager to do when the monsoon season is long past? Hunt for cold-weather mushrooms, of course. While the season is not nearly as bountiful as summer, winter foraging is a great excuse to get outdoors and may pay off with some tasty mushrooms for the kitchen.
The aptly named “winter mushrooms” (Flammulina velutipes and Flammulina populicola) make “antifreeze” that protects them from freezing temperatures and is being studied in food preservation. Winter mushrooms grow on dying or dead hardwoods such as aspen, cottonwood, and Siberian elm. When growing beneath the bark, they resemble their grocery store kin, enoki mushrooms: long, thin, pale, and topped with tiny caps. But when growing out of cracks in the bark, they’re much stouter, with a sticky orangish-toreddish-brown cap and creamy-white-to-yellow gills beneath. The young stalks range from ivory to orangish brown, developing a dark brown or black velvety layer from the base upward as they mature.
The velvety texture is critical for identification of these mushrooms, as the stalks of a dangerous look-alike, deadly galerina (Galerina marginata), also darken with age—but they are smooth or fibrous rather than velvety. While deadly galerina stalks have a ring around them and winter mushrooms don’t, the ring wears away too easily to be a reliable identifier.
Spore coloration also differs between winter mushrooms (white) and galerinas (rusty brown). Since individual spores are too tiny to see, making a spore print is a critical identification step, especially when learning a new mushroom. To spore print a mushroom, remove the stalk and place the cap gill-side-down on aluminum foil. Wet the cap with a drop of water to trigger spore release, cover it with a bowl, and let it sit overnight. Deadly galerinas can grow right next to winter mushrooms, so spore printing every single mushroom is essential to ensuring that you identify any inadvertently gathered galerinas. When examining the spore print, that of winter mushrooms will be white. If the print is
Wood ears (Auricularia americana), photo by Iwona Podlasińska.
Photo by Eric O'Connell
brownish, the mushrooms could be galerina or another toxic species. If no spore print is produced, toss the mushrooms. It’s not worth the risk.
Wood ears (Auricularia americana)—formerly called Auricularia auricula, a European species—grow on dead or dying conifers. They tolerate weather extremes and, when dried out, can revive with some precipitation or snow melt. Wood ears lack a stalk and resemble, well, an ear. The “inner” ear is a translucent reddish brown while the “outside” can be frosty looking from a coating of fine hairs. Wood ears are tough and rubbery. You can bend them and they won’t snap. Look-alikes belonging to certain Peziza species are more brittle and are easily snapped. Peziza species—not recommended for the kitchen because of largely unknown edibility—also tend to be cup shaped, while wood ears are more irregularly shaped and develop folds or wrinkles as they grow. Here is a specific case where spore prints won’t help with identification unless you own a microscope. Wood ear spore prints are white, as are those of many Peziza species.
You may have eaten wood ears without knowing it. They’re the crunchy brown bits in moo shu pork and hot and sour soup, and are often used in Chinese dumplings.
The most familiar mushrooms on this list, oyster mushrooms, continue the theme of cool-weather mushrooms that grow on wood, with two types common in New Mexico. The lung oyster (Pleurotus pulmonarius) is what you’ll look for in cool weather and it grows on dead or dying cottonwoods, while aspen oysters (Pleurotis populinus) grow
on aspens and cottonwoods and are less likely to be found in winter. Typically growing in shelflike clusters, both mushrooms range from oyster shell to lung to kidney shaped, with whitish to cream-colored gills beneath. The mushroom’s upper surface can have a greasy sheen and ranges from whitish, especially for aspen oysters, to beige to pinkish or grayish brown. When present, the stubby stalk has gills running down it and is usually off center. The spores of lung oysters appear pale lilac if the spore print is heavy enough. A lighter spore print will be whitish, as will the spore print of aspen oysters.
By the way, oyster mushrooms are carnivorous. Despite being stationary, they paralyze and eat tiny worms called nematodes. Think of it as extra protein in your mushrooms.
As with any wild mushroom, do not eat winter, wood ear, or oyster mushrooms without painstaking and well-informed identification. Have at least two local guidebooks for reference, and reach out to the New Mexico Mycological Society (nmms.wildapricot.org) for assistance with identification. If you’re a novice forager, tag along with an experienced mushroom hunter. Learn when and specifically where the mushroom grows, and be familiar with all regional look-alikes. Above all, eat only mushrooms that you’ve identified with absolute certainty.
Not keen on foraging? No worries. Cultivated oyster and enoki mushrooms, along with dried wood ear mushrooms, are available at many grocery stores and Asian markets, and can be used just the same in these satisfying recipes.
Left and top right: Winter mushrooms. Bottom left: Winter mushroom spore print (white on black construction paper). Bottom right: Galerina spore prints (rusty brown on white paper). Photos by Anna Marija Helt.
EGG DROP SOUP WITH WOOD EARS AND WINTER MUSHROOMS
Wood ears add texture and absorb the flavor of whatever dish they're in, while winter mushrooms have a pleasant nutty and buttery flavor.
1/2 cup fresh (or rehydrated) wood ears, sliced in 1/4-inch strips
1/2 cup fresh winter mushroom caps, sliced in quarters
4 cups chicken or turkey stock
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon sugar
2 teaspoons tamari
1 teaspoon fresh chives, chopped
1/2 teaspoon toasted sesame oil
1 teaspoon fish sauce
1/2 teaspoon fresh ginger, grated
1/4 teaspoon ground white or black pepper
2 tablespoons arrowroot powder
3 eggs
Combine wood ears, winter mushrooms, salt, sugar, tamari, half of the chopped chives, and stock. Bring to a boil in a stockpot, then reduce heat and simmer for 10 minutes. Add sesame oil, fish sauce, pepper, and ginger.
Slowly stir in arrowroot powder. Taste and adjust seasoning as desired. Lightly beat the eggs in a separate bowl and slowly drizzle into the pot while stirring.
Ladle into four bowls and top with the remaining chives.
SIMPLE OYSTER DRY SAUTÉ
Dry sautéing oyster mushrooms produces a delicious nutty flavor and a meaty texture. With this technique, the initial cooking is done without oil, with the mushroom slices in a single layer so that they don't steam.
1/2 pound fresh oyster mushrooms, lightly brushed to remove debris and sliced into halves or thirds
1/2 teaspoon salt
2 teaspoons extra-virgin olive oil
1 teaspoon softened butter
1/4 teaspoon black or white pepper
Fresh parsley, chopped, for garnish
Preheat a medium-to-large sauté pan on medium high.
Add a single layer of mushroom slices to the dry pan and sprinkle lightly with salt. Cook until mushrooms dehydrate a bit and start to curl up and lightly brown.
Remove from pan and repeat process with remaining slices.
After dry sautéing all the slices, return them to the pan and add olive oil, butter, and pepper. Cook for another 3–4 minutes.
Serve, garnished with parsley, as a side dish, or use to top a pasta or risotto.
THE EXCELLENCE OF EUROPEAN D.O. CAVA AND JAMÓN CONSORCIOSERRANO
Crafted in Spain, perfected by time
In a world that often prioritizes speed over substance, there remains proof that good things, and excellent taste, take time. D.O. Cava and Jamón ConsorcioSerrano are two such treasures, each representing a unique blend of Spanish tradition and taste created with time and perfected over centuries.
Cava has earned its place among the world’s finest sparkling wines, yet it remains wonderfully versatile. Whether paired with a simple salad, a casual meal or a celebratory toast, Cava brings a touch of elegance to every occasion. What makes Cava de Guarda Superior unique is that it is produced using the traditional method where secondary fermentation occurs in the bottle.
This meticulous process, lasting a minimum of 18 months, is carefully overseen by the D.O. Cava regulatory body, ensuring that each bottle upholds the highest standards of quality and authenticity. Made from organic vineyards that are over 10 years old, Cava de Guarda Superior reveals its craftsmanship with every pour. As the delicate, harmonious bubbles rise to the surface, you can truly appreciate the time and care it took to perfect them!
Similarly, Jamón ConsorcioSerrano is more than just a drycured ham. This exquisite product is made using traditional curing
methods which takes a minimum of 12 months to deliver a delicate and rich flavor. Each production is upheld to the rigorous standards of the Consorcio del Jamón Serrano Español, which ensures that every piece of Jamón ConsorcioSerrano bearing the seal is of exceptional quality. Like Cava, Jamón ConsorcioSerrano is not merely an accompaniment to festive tables; it is a versatile delight that can elevate everyday meals with its complex flavors and delicate texture.
Both Cava and Jamón ConsorcioSerrano are perfect examples of how time-honored craftsmanship, underpinned by the European Union’s commitment to quality and tradition, creates products that are unmatched in their category. They are not just crafted in Spain; they are perfected by time, offering a taste of excellence that is both accessible and extraordinary. Whether enjoyed on a special occasion or as part of your daily life, Cava and Jamón ConsorcioSerrano bring the best of Europe to your table.
Learn more on our website
The Color of Magic
AS ABOVE, SO BELOW DISTILLERY MAKES SPIRITS THAT DELIGHT THE EYE AS MUCH AS THE TONGUE
By Robin Babb · Photos by Allison Ramirez
Perhaps even more than with food, the visual element of drinks is a crucial part of our enjoyment of them. There’s a reason, after all, that cocktails are usually served in clear glasses rather than opaque cups. The addition of a big cube of ice, a glittering salt rim, or a twirl of citrus peel go a long way toward elevating a drink from good to exceptional. Although we’re (thankfully) no longer in the early 2000s trend of chemical-neon-hued party drinks, a colorful cocktail is still delightful—and few people know this better than Caley Shoemaker, cofounder and master distiller of As Above, So Below Distillery.
Since their founding, the Santa Fe distillery (which previously went by the name Altar Spirits) has focused on making spirits with an eye toward the ritual significance of drink and old folk medicine traditions. This historical connection is made very clear with their red amaro, which Shoemaker chose to name Aradia—a reference to a figure originally documented in a nineteenth-century book called Aradia, or the Gospel of the Witches. In it, Aradia is described as the daughter of the goddess Diana and a sort of teacher for local witches in rural Italy.
The White Rabbit, Caley Shoemaker's take on the white Negroni.
“My understanding is that it’s based on a true story of a woman who used to travel the Italian countryside teaching peasants herbalism,” says Shoemaker. “And because she was teaching peasants how to treat themselves medically—well, the church didn’t really like that much. And so she was branded a witch.” Using the name of an Italian healing woman for the distillery’s amaro—which, at its origin, was an Italian medicinal preparation—just seemed to “tie it all together.”
The connection to witchiness both past and present is written all over As Above, So Below—from the name of the distillery itself (a saying found in several occult texts and illustrated in the Magician tarot card), to the labels on their bottles, to the beautiful concoctions made at the bar, all glittering like gems and fragrant with herbs and botanicals. The lovely reddish-pink Aradia gets its color from black carrot concentrate—an herbal (and vegan) alternative to both the traditional dye made from cochineal bugs and the now typical synthetic dye used in commercial amaros. Distilled with fresh and dried citrus peels and a dense recipe of roots and botanicals such as gentian, angelica, wild cherry bark, Turkey rhubarb root, and licorice, Aradia tastes sweet, lush, and herbaceous—indeed, like something the village wisewoman might prescribe you.
“I want[ed] to draw that citrus flavor down into a deeper earthy flavor. So you still get a really lovely Negroni, but you also get these lovely earthy baking spice notes,” says Shoemaker.
There is magic to be found as well in As Above’s absinthe verte, with its iridescent green hue and its delirious mythology. The drink of choice for the writers and artists of the belle epoque—and, several generations later, of American goths with a penchant for the dramatique—absinthe was illegal in the States until 2007 because of ideas that the chemical constituents of the wormwood used to make it caused hallucinations. Despite these ideas being (mostly) disproven, the “Green Fairy” has retained some of its mysterious allure in the present day, as the plethora of paraphernalia used in its serving attests.
Shoemaker, who clearly loves a good folktale, says of absinthe, “My favorite of the many stories . . . is that a pair of sisters started making it in Switzerland, and then a French doctor found the recipe, thought it was fantastic, and started promoting it back in France. And that’s how it sort of got this French [reputation].”
The absinthe verte has many of the same components of the Aradia, with the crucial addition of wormwood, as well as anise and hyssop. It is also a very high proof—hence the tradition of serving it poured over a sugar cube on a slotted spoon and diluting it with a little water or ice. With these additions, the vibrant green from the bottle turns to a pale, slightly cloudy jade color in the glass. It is hard, indeed, not to think of it as magical.
It very well might be magical. Shoemaker distills all As Above’s spirits according to cycles of the moon, the same way many growers have historically planted and harvested their crops. The absinthe
Left: The Coven, with absinthe verte and root beer. Middle: Aradia aperitivo liqueur. Right: The Palazzo with Aradia and bourbon.
some final herbal notes. “The day we take the steep out, it comes out this beautiful dark emerald color. And that fades to a light straw green within two or three days,” at which point the color more or less stabilizes. Still, she recommends keeping your bottle out of direct sunlight, as the color will continue to fade over time—it’s the natural result of not using any artificial coloring or stabilizers.
gets its distinctive flavor from sitting on macerations of various botanicals for three full moon cycles, starting, on the first full moon, with the wormwood. “And on the next full moon,” she says, “we add hyssop, cinnamon, angelica, and then all kinds of really lovely anise flavors. We’re talking fennel, anise seed, star anise, we add all those extra botanicals and allow those to macerate for another moon cycle. And then on the third full moon we load it all into the still—botanicals and everything.”
As for the spirit’s legendary green shade, that part happens after distillation is complete. Fresh hyssop and mint are steeped in the absinthe, which picks up some of that chlorophyll green, as well as
Making unique craft spirits like absinthe or Aradia is a bit more commercially viable in New Mexico than in other places because of some liquor laws particular to our state. In short, restaurants can get a discounted liquor license if they exclusively serve New Mexico–made products—which means you’re (blessedly) more likely to find Negronis made with Aradia than Campari or Aperol at many restaurants in the state. Additionally, bars operated by local distilleries, like As Above, So Below’s headquarters at the Santa Fe Railyard, can serve other state-produced spirits in addition to their own. This beneficial economic environment—one where a craft distiller can make direct sales both by the bottle and by the glass, and where restaurants have a financial incentive to serve local spirits—means that Shoemaker has a little more license to experiment.
So what sorts of spirits can we expect from her and As Above in the future? “We’re working on a black amaro right now,” Shoemaker says. “I love this idea of like an alpine amaro with minty, piney notes. . . . We’re in this high-altitude mountain town. A lot of folks don’t think of New Mexico as this beautiful mountainous place, people that aren’t from here. So I like the opportunity to highlight biodiversity in New Mexico.”
545 Camino de la Familia, Santa Fe, aasbdistillery.com
Caley Shoemaker prepares absinthe service at As Above, So Below.
ON THE IMPORTANCE OF
By Zoey Fink
Flowers
Many mornings of the growing season I find myself in the field, clippers in hand and bucket of water nearby, harvesting flowers in the first light of day to capture the radiance of the garden. When I first heard of the New Mexico Flower Collective in 2019, I was working as an advocate for young farmers and was approached to write a letter of support to help get the project off the ground. The collective began as a group of flower farmers who shared a vision for an organization that could support new and existing growers and florists in New Mexico with a farmer-led and -organized local floral market. I offered my enthusiastic support, not only in my role
as farmer and farm advocate but because I feel deeply that flowers equate to joy. The zinnias, gladioli, marigolds, bells of Ireland, and sunflowers grown at my farm draw in pollinators from near and far—just as important, they’re sources from which I cut bouquets to brighten the world around me. A project that cultivated more local flower production and built a market for these beautiful blooms was definitely something I could stand behind!
Since its inception, the women-led collective has grown to include nine member farms located from Aztec to Albuquerque to Anthony. Every Wednesday from June through October, they
Rowan & Wren Flowers, owned by farmer Cynthia Romero and located in the North Valley of Albuquerque, photo by Court Kessler.
operate a market in Albuquerque’s Old Town comprised entirely of local flowers grown by their members: Farm 47, Andante Farm, Yappy Dog Farm, The Harvest Trail, Common Kin Farm, Enchanted Gardens, Lucky Dirt Blossom Farm, Sign of the Dragon Farm, and Rowan & Wren Flowers. Four of the farms are apprentice members, meaning they are new flower growers who are assigned a mentor farmer from the group to help them get hands-on experience. All members volunteer for a few shifts at the flower market, giving growers the chance to connect directly with buyers and hear their feedback and requests.
For apprentice farmer Meg Cummings of Lucky Dirt Blossom Farm, the collective has helped her expand flower production by offering an additional marketing avenue and deepening her understanding of growing flowers in the high desert. In the midst of the pandemic she began gardening in her backyard in the Pacific Northwest, finding comfort in getting her hands dirty and growing food and flowers. When she moved to Albuquerque from Seattle in 2021, she reached out to the Rio Grande Community Farm (RGCF) in an attempt to meet new people and get her hands back in the soil. The next summer, her first in New Mexico, she committed to a one-eighth-acre parcel through the RGCF incubator farm program,
and Lucky Dirt was born. The following summer, she expanded to a quarter acre, where she now grows both vegetables and flowers that she sells through the flower collective, the Rail Yards Market, and a small flower CSA. Cummings has a “love affair with plants” and feels that a farm is “incomplete without both produce and flowers.” Some of her favorite varieties are snapdragons, strawflowers, and dahlias. Wild sunflowers have also become personal favorites since moving to the high desert and seeing their explosions of yellow dance along highways, in the bosque, and among her farm fields. As she wraps up her third growing season in New Mexico, Cummings is eager to spend this winter reflecting on how to balance her microfarm and her day job—she works in health care—and how to continue encouraging Albuquerque florists and consumers to seek out locally grown floral options.
The New Mexico Flower Collective operates through an online shop where buyers can peruse farmers’ inventory and preorder flowers by the bunch. Buyers then come to the market on Wednesdays during a designated pickup window. This year, the collective rented market space within an existing business, Manaña Botanicals, located in Old Town. Market manager Heather Esqueda has been with the collective since March 2023. “It is amazing to see
Top left: Flower bouquet at Farm Shark, photo by Zoey Fink. Top right: Zoey Fink harvesting flowers, photo by Hayley Harper. Bottom: Sign of the Dragon Farm in Estancia with farmer/owner Gwen Dragoo, photos by Court Kessler.
the diverse varieties that this group of farmers bring to the market, and to see buyers who are so committed to sourcing locally,” says Esqueda. On a Wednesday in the middle of September, the market was bursting with blooms: From cosmos to celosia, gomphrena to hibiscus, dinner plate dahlias to Aztec marigolds, I was blown away by the array of options available.
“The collective has brought to light the importance of retraining the Albuquerque floral industry to source locally, instead of relying solely on imports from South America,” Esqueda says. Part of this retraining includes highlighting the seasonality of flowers, the benefits of purchasing directly from local producers, and educating florists (and their clients) on what is available, when. Like the many chefs who have built flexibility into their menus in an effort to source produce locally, florists who highlight local blooms must flex their creative muscles and adapt to the New Mexico growing season. Those who make the commitment to purchase flowers directly from farmers in their community have the power to make a huge impact, both environmentally and for our local agricultural economy.
To give someone a local bouquet is to offer them pure beauty and abundance rooted in the place they call home. Flowers do, of course, serve an essential role: vessels to be pollinated, which then produce seeds and continue the cycle of life. Yet a bundle of flowers is an extravagance that has no particular “use” or “reason” aside from bringing joy to the beholder. In this age where we assign so much worth to things based on their level of productivity and output, the gift of flowers is a welcome reprieve. As Cummings of Lucky Dirt says, “We don’t just need survival; we need beauty so we can thrive and find reason to live well even in times of despair.” Sharing flowers that have been grown locally, supporting the people and pollinators right here at home, brings another component of meaning and depth to a gifted bouquet or locally sourced arrangement.
To find local bouquets, you can reach out to the New Mexico Flower Collective, visit your local growers market, sign up for a flower subscription from Lucky Dirt Blossom Farm or a farmer near you, or order some seeds and start planning a flower patch of your own. Visit nmflowercollective.com for more information on becoming a wholesale buyer or a member farmer.
Left: Meg Cummings of Lucky Dirt Blossom Farm, photo courtesy of Meg Cummings. Right: Jessica Shoemaker-Montoya, farmer/owner of Farm 47 in Albuquerque, photos by Court Kessler.
BORN TO CORN
PRESERVING FOOD AND CULTURE AT SOUTHWEST HERITAGE MILL
By Nina Katz · Photos by Stephanie Cameron
Several varieties of corn at Southwest Heritage Mill.
Albuquerque:
Carlsbad: Bud Board
Cuba: Herrera Cannabis
Hobbs :Bud Board
Las Cruces: Casa Verde, Top Crop
Santa Fe: High Class
Sunland: Dark Matter, Top Crop
Taos: Big Horn Weed Co.
For someone in the business of colorful corn, Felix Mauro Torres’s beginnings were pretty achromatic. Not far from Southwest Heritage Mill, which has been Torres’s project for more than fifteen years, is the North Valley neighborhood where he grew up. Summer after summer, his family grew a hueless heirloom variety there known as White Concha. Originally cultivated in the Española Valley, tall stalks of White Concha corn wave in Torres’s memory like skyscrapers. He recalls their big cobs arching off the leafy green plants. A small number of seed purveyors, such as the MASA Seed Foundation and Native Seeds/SEARCH, still distribute White Concha seed, or Concho, as it is sometimes called. The seed packets feature photos of the white kernels, as stark as chalk on a chalkboard or a sun-bleached cow skull.
Torres, Albuquerque’s only custom corn roaster and miller, credits his passion for “preserving food and culture” to his parents’ annual white corn crop. Starting with his family’s supply of passed-down kernels of White Concha, he learned to grow corn from his father and to cook with it from his mother.
The term “mill” traditionally refers to the place where grain is ground into flour. Torres could run wheat or barley or rye through his machinery, but for nostalgia’s sake, he sticks with corn. Though he now spends almost every day in a large warehouse that houses everything he needs to turn blue corn kernels into blue corn atole,
clean grains of popcorn, and package posole, his first mill was his parents’ kitchen. The first milling machine he ever used was his mother’s Corona Corn Mill table clamp grinder, manufactured and patented by the now defunct Landers, Fray & Clark houseware company of New Britain, Connecticut. Of course, the people of “old” Britain weren’t exactly grinding corn—that would be Torres’s family. His mother was Mexican. After immigrating to New Mexico, where she met Torres’s father, she purchased the Corona Corn Mill, automating the processes previously carried out with molcajetes and metates, and used it in preparation of some of Torres’s favorites— tamales at Christmastime and corn tortillas.
Specializing in colorful corn, Torres processes literally tons of it each month. Various shades of red, blue, and yellow kernels arrive certified non-GMO in heavy bags and leave Southwest Heritage Mill cleaned of weevils and beetles, roasted and/or ground into products like dried red corn posole and blue corn bizcochito mix, or as wholesale grain for craft distilleries. If you’ve ever bought blue corn waffle mix from the Range Café or The Fruit Basket ABQ, you’ve had Torres’s speciality product. Similar to grocery stores like Trader Joe’s, which sell products rebranded with their generic logos through a process known as “white labeling,” many of Southwest Heritage Mill’s products are sold to consumers without their own branding appearing anywhere on the package.
Left: Green corn from Oaxaca. Right: Felix Mauro Torres holding blue cornmeal.
The roots of corn run deep in New Mexico. The state is linked by ancient trade routes to the grain’s birthplace in what is now central Mexico, and Ancestral Puebloan people continued to domesticate corn in its arid canyon enclaves. Of course corn’s dancing tassels look so good against the New Mexican blue skies. In the summer, the sugar-pithed stalks bring us into the garden. In the winter, the nixtamalized kernels gather us in the kitchen for a pot of warm posole.
Torres still has his mother’s well-worn table molino, proudly displayed in his front office. It’s tiny compared to the giant roaster and molino in the back. These are old machines too (Torres’s roaster is 109 years old), but as of now, he has no interest in purchasing new equipment, which can cost tens of thousands of dollars. When his current equipment breaks down, he puts on his repairman hat and fixes the machines he knows inside and out. So far, it’s a system that has worked out for Torres to keep his establishment up and running. He remembers lots of mom-and-pop mills like his scattered across Albuquerque during his childhood. Now, he estimates, there are about four or five in the entire state.
“The reason I do this is because I want to preserve food and culture,” Torres says, with his mother’s mill sitting on the table between us. “I’m doing what I like instead of getting caught up chasing the dollar. If I’m chasing the dollar, then it would feel like a competition
in this small community of grinders. Instead, me and my closest competitor are friends and we will probably be friends for life.”
Torres and his mill have found their niche, and he’s excited to add another shade to his lineup in the near future: green. When people refer to “green corn,” they typically mean one of two things. The first is grain corn—hard when mature—that is harvested early, when the kernels are soft and full of milk, suitable for roasting or stewing into succotash. The second type is literally green corn, with kernels in shades of chartreuse, emerald, and deep forest canopy. This verdant variety, an heirloom reportedly cultivated for thousands of years in southern Mexico, is what Torres is eager to start processing for his customers. He sent me home with a sample of green corn atole, which keeps its color when cooked. I can confirm that green looks (and tastes) great with a drizzle of heavy cream and brown sugar.
Beyond new products like green corn atole and a line of hot sauces he’s developing with an in-town business partner, Torres is excited to keep innovating and growing Southwest Heritage Mill—possibly by bringing on someone he can share the bulk of his responsibilities with. “I don’t want to become a huge company,” Torres remarks, “I just want to become an important one.”
southwestheritagemill.ecwid.com
Left: Fire burning in Torres's Burns Jubilee gas roaster, patented 1915. Right: Torres's first mill, from his mother's kitchen.
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GIFT GUIDE
CALEB KULLMAN STUDIO
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GIFT CERTIFICATES AT FARM & TABLE
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Give the gift of 13 handmade, freshly baked cookies! Farm & Table is celebrating its 13th birthday with a special limited-time cookie subscription beginning in January. Each cookie is crafted with the highest quality ingredients. Shop online at farmandtablenm.com
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Host an intimate Chef's Tasting this winter! Available January to March on Wednesday and Thursday nights. Gather with friends to enjoy an elevated seven-course culinary experience for 4 to 8 guests. Shop online at farmandtablenm.com
KEI & MOLLY TEXTILES
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A pharmacy, gift shop, restaurant, and coffee shop—a truly unique Albuquerque experience! Come by to experience it all, or order our award-winning chile, coffee, and tees online.
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LOS POBLANOS
Shop new seasonal gift sets, lavender apothecary products, farm foods, spirits and more at the Farm Shop, Farm Shop Norte, Town & Ranch, or Shop online at lospoblanos.com
CHICKY'S COFFEE
At Chicky’s Coffee, we always start with quality specialty-grade beans. We spend many hours testroasting to develop the best roast for each coffee. This holiday season we will be offering 10% off all bags of coffee November 29–December 31
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THE NEXT BEST THING TO BEING THERE
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WILD LEAVEN BAKERY
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HEIDI'S JAM FACTORY
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THE BAKEHOUSE OFF THE WHEATEN PATH
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RAIL YARDS MARKET
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OLD MONTICELLO ORGANIC FARM
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In the world of spirits, gin is unique. No other distilled liquor is crafted with botanical aromatics in the way gin is. Starting about twenty-five years ago, the concept of “terroir,” or sense of place, long used in the wine world, began to gain currency in the culinary and cocktail worlds. The idea was soon applied to the crafting of gin, and so began what some have called the “ginnaissance.”
Distillation of botanicals—lavender key among them—has long been a part of Los Poblanos Historic Inn & Organic Farm, but as I learned over the course of many conversations and tastings, it wasn’t until the early days of the pandemic that, brainstorming ways to expand their product business, they began to wonder about making and manufacturing gin.
“Gin made sense because of all the botanicals—all those expressions of the gardens and the fields and the Rio Grande River Valley. Can we throw something in there that’s from the Southwest, that’s from New Mexico,
GINESIS A TALE OF TWO GINS
By Tom Hudgens
that’s from Los Poblanos, that’s evocative of our place?” said executive director Matt Rembe.
In late 2021, Matt assembled a small “gin team” that included two of Los Poblanos’ longest-term employees: Dylan Storment, now the director of wine and spirits, and Jamie Lord, then botanical distiller for their product line. Jamie, an Albuquerque native, had learned the art of botanical distillation from Matt’s father, Armin, in the mid-2010s. To help Jamie gain some background for the project, they sent her to a gin-specific course at the renowned Moonshine University in Louisville, Kentucky.
“She was this great plant distiller,” Matt said of Jamie, “homegrown, just like Dylan, and when we were thinking of doing the gin, I talked to some people: ‘Does she need to know liquor
distillation, if she already knows plant distillation?’ And they were like, ‘That’s so cool, everybody else just comes from the liquor industry or the brewing industry, so to have someone who comes purely from the botanical side is just fascinating.’”
The first stage of developing their gin, Matt said, was tasting other gins and identifying what made them unique. “Dylan started ordering all these craft gins, including London drys, and we just would taste stuff. . . . What really made the light bulb go off with the new western style and sense of place were the Japanese gins. You tasted yuzu, you tasted cherry blossoms.”
Dylan said, “At some point we [wondered], because none of us had ever done this before—what are the components? Is there such a thing as a gin ‘flavor wheel’? And there was! So
that really led to us to take some of the ideas from this generic pathway, and start plugging in our own ideas—what botanicals speak more to New Mexico but maybe are similar. We ended up making our own gin wheel—it was really fun.”
. . .
Early on, they realized they would be making two gins: a botanical-driven new western style and a lavender-distilled gin. I met with Jamie while she was making gin at the distillery, housed (along with a speakeasy-style bar and tasting room) in the capacious Town & Ranch building on Fourth Street in Albuquerque, and she told me she’d produced about ten iterations of each gin over the course of the tasting process.
“The Lavender one was funny because at the tasting meetings, I kept thinking, I don’t want to go too far, because my teacher at Moonshine University was like, ‘Bleh—lavender in gin tastes like soap—you shouldn’t put more than .5 percent in any product.’
And I thought, well, maybe they just aren’t familiar with culinary lavenders, and they don’t know, so I kept adding it very gingerly to the recipes. But the tasting team kept saying there needed to be more lavender, so then I went way farther than I originally wanted to, and I brought it to one of the tasting meetings, and I thought, this is it—this is the one I nailed. Everybody tasted it and they were like, ‘This is really good . . . but what if we doubled the lavender?’”
“So I did, and they were like, ‘Perfect!’ When we first made them, I was all in on the Western Dry—it was my baby. But now that I’ve been tasting them for two years, I’d be hard pressed to pick a favorite—the Lavender is getting up there. And people really love it.”
But the first batch, she said, “was just trying to make really standard gin . . . something junipery.” At that point, she was making it in a 1-liter alembic, one bottle at a time. “And then I just did a
ton of research. I started walking the property at Los Poblanos, seeing what we had, what I thought was interesting,” she said.
I’ll always remember my first undistracted sip of the Western Dry: I immediately had the sensation, without “reaching” for it, that it tasted like New Mexico and Los Poblanos. It has a beautiful range of aromas—juniper is present, but subtle, and where it leaves off, the woodsy aroma of piñon comes in, an unmistakably New Mexican touch. Jamie says, about the piñon, “It’s really weird, right? It softens the alcohol, I think—it kind of smooths it out. The oils of the juniper and the oils of the piñon become one.” There is very subtle lavender, augmented by other florals. There are herbal aromas, perhaps from the rare herb angelica. There is citrus, but mostly from lemon verbena and lemongrass. Jamie says, “I wanted a citrus component but I didn’t really want to use citrus peels; I just thought they were kind of harsh. There is a teeny tiny bit of orange peel. But Christa Obuchowski, our fragrance partner, suggested lemon verbena and I fell completely in love with it. I thought it smelled like lemon custard.”
aromatics, including juniper, rose, lavender, and piñon. The Lavender Gin is made with most of those same aromatics, but in different proportions, and with much more lavender. To say they are delicious is barely scratching the surface—they are uniquely aromatic, complex, well balanced, and very different from each other.
There's more to this story! Get the rest of it, plus recipes for cocktails and a gin-infused amuse bouche, at our sister publication, thebitenm.com
Both gins were released in late 2022. The Western Dry is made with sixteen
EDIBLE INGREDIENT
Butternut Squash
Photo by Stephanie Cameron.
the bounty from our farmers and backyard gardeners. When roasted, squash delivers a sweet and nutty flavor, making it the perfect ingredient in this application. No ice cream maker is required, and roasted squash can be made a day or more ahead to save time. Everyone joining you in holiday celebrations can enjoy this vegan recipe.
1 large butternut squash, peeled and cut into 1-inch cubes (approximately 4–5 cups)
1/2–1 cup coconut milk (light or full fat, your choice)
1 tablespoon cinnamon
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
Pinch of salt
2 tablespoons maple syrup (optional)
Preheat oven to 400°F. Divide the butternut squash between 2 baking sheets lined with parchment paper,
the chunks of frozen squash and add them to a highspeed blender or food processor along with 1/2 cup coconut milk, cinnamon, vanilla, salt, and maple syrup (if using). Blend, pausing frequently to scrape down the sides. Slowly add up to another 1/2 cup coconut milk, if needed, to get a creamy, thick, soft-serve consistency. Be careful not to overblend or you will wind up with soup instead of ice cream.
Note: Blend ice cream just before serving, as it will melt quickly. For fewer than 4 servings, cut the recipe in half or a quarter, and blend each serving when ready.
*Sourcing note: La Montañita Co-op carries carries locally grown squash when in season at all their locations.
The Eye-Catching Hues of Winter
Words and Photos by Stephanie Cameron
Eating the rainbow can brighten cold winter days. As nights come earlier and darker, colorful foods can bring pizzazz to the table, whether it’s set for Monday dinner or for a holiday feast. There’s a reason, of course, that nutritionists have copped the term “rainbow”: Fruits and vegetables get their coloration from phytochemicals and natural bioactive compounds, which, in addition to giving many fruits and veggies their
eye-catching hues, also support good health. Chlorophyll (green), carotenoids (yellow, red, orange), betalains (red, yellow, purple), and flavonoids including anthocyanins (red, blue, purple) and anthoxanthins (yellow, cream, white) create most of the pigments we find in our fruits and vegetables. This edition of Cooking Fresh celebrates this culinary color wheel one dish (or drink) at a time.
Beets, Pearl Couscous, and Fried Rosemary
Pink couscous makes a vibrant centerpiece for a Buddha bowl and can steal the show as a side dish. Any grain can be a blank canvas for this recipe, but pearl couscous really showcases the pink color imparted by the beets. Toss with a grapefruit
Level: Easy; Prep time: 10 minutes; Cook time: 1 hour, 10 minutes; Total time: 1 hour, 20 minutes, plus 15 minutes resting time
Serves 4
4 medium-sized fresh red beets, stems and leaves removed
1/4 cup rosemary leaves
1 cup pearl couscous
1 1/2 cups vegetable broth
1/4 cup extra-virgin olive oil, divided, plus more for drizzling
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
Juice of 1/2 large grapefruit
1 medium shallot, thinly sliced into rings
2 tablespoons red wine vinegar
dressing, add feta or crème fraîche, and top with fried rosemary for an herbaceous crunch. The peak season for beets is generally midsummer through late fall, but they can be cold-stored and enjoyed in winter.
Preheat oven to 425°F. Wrap individual beets in foil and seal tightly. Place on a baking sheet and bake until tender, about 1 hour.
Meanwhile, prepare fried rosemary by heating 2 tablespoons of oil in a small skillet over medium heat. Add rosemary and cook, stirring often, until sizzling subsides, about 15 seconds. Using a slotted spoon, transfer to paper towels and let drain; season with salt.
About 20 minutes before beets finish roasting, prepare the couscous by bringing broth to a boil in a small saucepan. Add couscous and stir. Cover with a tight-fitting lid and reduce heat to simmer for 15 minutes, until couscous is tender and liquid is absorbed. Remove from heat and fluff with a fork. Place lid on and set aside.
Remove beets from oven and let cool slightly before peeling skin off. Chop into 1-inch cubed pieces.
Add beets and couscous (which should still be warm) to a large serving bowl and toss well. The color of the couscous will change to a vibrant pink as you continue mixing.
Add grapefruit juice, shallots, and vinegar; toss to coat. Season with salt, to taste. Let sit for 15 minutes to allow shallots to soften slightly. To serve, drizzle with more oil, toss, and top with fried rosemary.
Pomegranate Upside-Down Blue Corn Bread
This pomegranate upside-down bread is a bit seedy since pomegranates are a bit seedy—but if you love this fruit, you’re used to that. Butterfly pea flowers take the blue corn bread mix to another level of the cerulean hue. The contrast between the
Level: Easy; Prep time: 10 minutes; Cook time: 1 hour, 10 minutes; Total time: 1 hour, 20 minutes, plus 15 minutes resting time
Serves 4
2 tablespoons butter
1/4 cup brown sugar
2 cups pomegranate seeds (arils)
3 cups blue corn bread mix (I used Southwest Heritage Mill’s mix)
2 teaspoons butterfly pea flower powder
1 1/4 cups buttermilk
1/4 cup vegetable oil
2 tablespoons honey
2 eggs
bright red fruit topping and the blue bottom of the corn bread is stunning. Swap in any seasonal fruit for your upside-down top, and serve with a light weeknight dinner of calabacitas or alongside other colorful fare on a holiday table.
In a 10-inch cast-iron skillet, melt butter over medium heat. Remove from heat and swirl butter to coat the entire bottom of the pan. Sprinkle with brown sugar, then spread pomegranate seeds evenly on top of the sugar. Set aside.
Combine blue corn bread mix, butterfly pea powder, buttermilk, oil, and eggs in a large mixing bowl.
Spoon corn bread batter over fruit and spread it evenly from edge to edge. Bake for 35 minutes or until a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean.
Cool for a few minutes. Then run a knife around the edge of the corn bread and place a large plate or platter upside down over the cake pan. Using pot holders to hold the pan to the plate, flip the plate over and lift off the pan, so the bread comes out upside down on the plate.
Purple Sweet Potato and Cabbage Soup
Purple fruits and vegetables are rich in anthocyanins, flavonoids whose potential health benefits range from preventing inflammation to improving heart and brain health. Besides being
1 can white beans (navy or cannellini), drained and rinsed
1 1/2 teaspoon salt
3 1/2 cups water
2 tablespoons toasted sesame seeds, optional
hearty, bright, and delicious, this vibrant purple soup is loaded with anthocyanin-rich veggies (red onion, red cabbage, and purple sweet potatoes). It’s also vegan and gluten free.
Preheat oven to 400°F. Wash sweet potatoes well, pat them dry, place them on a baking sheet, and bake for 30–45 minutes, until soft when pierced with a fork. Let them cool a bit, then peel.
Heat 1–2 tablespoons of grapeseed oil in a large pot over medium heat. Add chopped onion and cabbage and cook for about 5 minutes. Stir in minced garlic, ginger, turmeric, and paprika and cook until fragrant, about 1 minute.
Add sweet potatoes, beans, salt, and water, and bring the soup to a boil. Reduce heat to medium low, cover, and simmer for about 15 minutes. Stir occasionally.
Stir in sesame seeds. Use an immersion blender or transfer to a high-speed blender to puree soup completely. Add more water if soup is too thick for your liking, and adjust seasonings accordingly.
Spinach Crepes with Mushrooms and Greens
Success with crepes is all about heat (and time) management. Start with medium heat, then adjust it down as needed between crepes. This intensity allows the batter to flow across the pan to create a circular shape that sets within a minute.
If the temperature is too hot, the batter will cook too fast and potentially burn. In this recipe, using boiling milk creates a spongy look and texture. You can use any savory filling, but I am going all in on green with more spinach and chard.
In a large skillet, melt butter over medium heat. Add shallots and thyme, and cook until fragrant, about 1 minute. Add garlic and sauté for 30 seconds. Add sliced mushrooms, salt, and black pepper. Sauté until the mushrooms release all their water, about 5–6 minutes.
Add spinach and chard, stir, and cook until wilted, 1–2 minutes. Remove pan from the heat and season with more salt and pepper, to taste. Set aside until crepes are ready.
Crepes
Bring eggs and 1 cup of milk to room temperature, then combine with spinach, sugar, and salt in a blender. Once the mixture is smooth, pour it into a large bowl, sift in flour, add baking soda, and whisk together. In a small saucepan, bring remaining cup of milk to a boil. Add oil to batter and whisk, then add boiling milk and whisk again until bubbly.
Heat a crepe pan (or nonstick or cast-iron skillet) over medium heat for 3 minutes and turn stove down to medium-low. Spray lightly with oil and pour about 1/2 cup of batter onto the pan. Using pot holders as needed, pick up the pan and tilt so the batter spreads out to form a 10-to-12-inch circle. Cook undisturbed for about 90 seconds, until crepe is covered with tiny bubbles, the edges begin to pull up from the pan, and the underside is golden. Using a large, flat spatula or crepe turner, flip the crepe, then cook for 30 seconds (any longer and you will lose the vibrant green color). Place crepe on a plate, rub butter over the top, and make the next crepe, turning the stove down as needed. As you go, continue to stack the crepes, green side up (this will keep the crepes from sticking together). Cover the stack with a kitchen towel until all crepes are cooked.
Assembly
Heat skillet over medium heat and place a crepe golden side up. Fill with the mushroom-spinach mixture (about 1/3 cup) and sprinkle some cheese on top. Fold crepe in half, then into quarters, and remove from pan. Rapidly prepare the rest of the crepes and serve immediately. If needed, finished crepes can be held, covered, in a warm oven (175°F), while preparing the remaining crepes.
Note: Crepes can be made up to one day ahead. Separate each crepe with wax paper or plastic wrap and store, wrapped, in refrigerator. Bring crepes to room temperature before assembling.
Carrot Pie with Pecan Crust
I am a big proponent of showstopper pies. Sure, you can buy a premade crust and some frozen cherries and make a decent pie, but it will be a far cry from what results when you purchase cherries from a local farm, pit them by hand, and pour them into a handmade buttery crust. I am also a fan of playful recipes that dramatize the table’s humbler fruits and vegetables—in this
Level: Intermediate; Prep time: 30 minutes; Cook time: 2 hours; Total time: 2 hours, 30 minutes, plus chilling/cooling time
Serves 8
Candied carrots
3–4 large, straight carrots
2 cups sugar
2 cups water
Cooking spray
Crust
3 cups whole New Mexico pecans
1/4 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/3 cup white sugar
3 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted
Pie filling
6 medium-to-large carrots (2 cups, chopped into 1/2-inch pieces)
2 tablespoons butter, softened
3/4 cup half-and-half
3/4 cup light brown sugar, packed
2 large eggs
1 teaspoon sumac
1 teaspoon pumpkin pie spice
1/2 teaspoon nutmeg, freshly grated
1/2 teaspoon salt
2 teaspoons vanilla
1 tablespoon almond flour
Candied carrots
case, the carrot. It can take eighty days for a carrot to mature from seed, so celebrate the beauties our farmers are selling this fall and winter with this spectacular pie. Prepare candied carrots and pie crust a day ahead to split up the work. To make your own pumpkin pie spice, mix equal parts cinnamon and ginger and half parts nutmeg, cloves, and allspice.
Preheat oven to 225°F. Cover a baking sheet with parchment paper and lightly spray with cooking spray.
Using a vegetable peeler, cut approximately 20 strips from carrots. Strips will get wider as you get closer to the center of the carrot.
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Bring water and sugar to a boil in a small, heavy-duty saucepan. Place carrot strips in water and reduce heat. Simmer carrot strips for 15 minutes. Drain carrots and allow to cool for about 5 minutes (until they can easily be handled). Carefully remove each strip and place it on the prepared baking sheet. Strips can be close together but should not be touching. Bake for 30 minutes.
Remove from oven; carrots will be warm but not too hot to handle. Working quickly, wrap each carrot strip in a spiral around the handle of a wooden spoon. Allow to sit a few seconds, then slip off. Sprinkle with extra sugar if desired.
Allow to cool completely. Store in an airtight container for up to 5 days.
Crust
Pulse whole pecans in a food processor until broken up but not completely ground. Measure 2 1/2 cups of the ground pecans; set aside any extra for another use.
Stir together ground pecans, cinnamon, and sugar. Mix in melted butter. Press the mixture into the bottom and up the sides of a 9-inch, deep-dish-style pie pan. Chill unbaked crust in the refrigerator for 30–45 minutes or overnight.
Pie filling
Preheat oven to 400°F.
Place carrots in a pot of boiling water and simmer until tender, about 25 minutes. Drain the carrots well and gently pat dry with a paper towel.
Add carrots, butter, and half-and-half to a food processor and blend until completely smooth. Then add brown sugar, eggs, spices, salt, vanilla, and flour until they are well combined and smooth.
Pour carrot filling into the chilled pie crust. Bake for 10 minutes, then reduce oven temperature to 350°F and bake for 40 minutes or until the pie is set and a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean.
Cool completely, then refrigerate for at least 1 hour and up to overnight. Before serving, decorate with candied carrot curls.
Marigold-Infused Tequila
This infusion is inspired by Vianney Rodriguez’s recipe for marigoldinfused tequila. Cempasúchil—the Aztec marigold—is the traditional flower used to celebrate Día de Los Muertos. Marigolds are believed to guide the spirits of the dead to their altars using their vibrant color and fragrance. I grow marigolds annually in my garden to ward off pests and harvest them every fall. When the flowers are dried and stored properly, they can last for a very long time, and then their petals can be used in cooking and tea blends. Dried marigolds can also be sourced at specialty herb stores and online. I used Dry Point Distillers’ Slow Desert Agave Spirit, but you can use any silver agave spirit for your infusion.
1 cup organic marigold petals, dried
4 cups tequila
Combine ingredients and allow to infuse for about 4–7 days, tasting for strength. Strain when ready to serve.
Marigold Margarita
3 ounces marigold-infused tequila
3 ounces tonic water
1 ounce Cointreau
1 ounce lime juice
Orange peel, for garnish
Tajín, for garnish
Rim glass with lime juice and Tajín. Add ice and ingredients to a collins glass and stir to combine. Garnish with marigold flower.
Mexican sunflower, photo by Erin Burtch.
COLOR STANDING OUT OR BLENDING IN?
By Christie Green
"We really want the plants to match the color of the window trim,” a client who’s building a new house on the outskirts of Santa Fe tells me. The trim is a deep red. “Maybe roses . . .?” She trails off.
“I like the colors that really pop! You know, something that’s going to stand out against this color of stucco,” another client says, gesturing toward a courtyard wall that emanates a warm, peachy, earthen tone. “You know, something that I can really see, not a pale pink or anything that just blends in.”
Other people request cool blues, purples, and whites or hot pink, fiery orange, and electric yellows as hues to create a wow effect for front entrances, back portal viewsheds, and natural canvases seen through the deliberate frame of windows. In my work as a landscape architect, color is both central and elemental. Color excites and entertains; it signals the spring and summer seasons of bloom and growth, the peak periods of a plant’s life cycle.
Color—hue, saturation, light—pleases, dazzles, and seduces. But even when manifesting as ornament or adornment, color is more than a skin-deep composition. It is a primary source and ingredient from which flows creativity, identity, nuance, and ambience. Personal wardrobe styles, interior decor, and countless forms of artistic expression course through visual art media, with color as currency. In the wild, color is both an innate and chosen tool by which animals identify themselves, their food sources, and one another. Beyond creative expression and outdoor aesthetic, color plays a critical role in plant and animal behavior. This might be most familiar as a bright red male tanager showing off to a pale yellow female or a hummingbird’s attraction to brightly colored
penstemon, but as scientists are now learning, it also includes color adaptations in response to climate change.
We humans are used to manipulating our environment to suit our desires and needs, but how can we learn from the other-than-human world as the earth changes beneath our feet? What do flowers, pollinators, mammals, birds, and other life-forms demonstrate about what’s at risk and how we can adapt? How do we heed the warnings of our plant and animal kin? Can seemingly simple changes in flower and animal colors—even when they occur in parts of the spectrum we can’t see—serve as powerful cues and a call to action?
The autumn 2024 issue of Orion magazine celebrates green as the first color in the spectrum that the human eye seeks out, the one we equate with nature’s healing power, a signifier of shelter, safety, and sustenance. Development and extractive industries deliver daily death blows to habitats and living plant material that embody the color green as photosynthate alchemist, converting—so long as they live—sunlight and atmospheric gases into food and clean air. With Earth.Org reporting that more than 70 percent of the earth’s surface has been altered at the hands of humans, an undercurrent of fear and panic is amplified as the catastrophic disappearance of green becomes palpable; the loss of green symbolizes the loss of our universal source of life. In the Southwest, drought, bark beetles, and fire have hastened the loss of forests and magnified the fragility of riparian woodlands.
As green fades and falters, stirring unrest in humans, a subtle yet equally powerful color change is occurring in the petals of flowering plants. While ultraviolet-blind humans cannot detect the deepening of certain hues, beings including bees, butterflies, hummingbirds, and other pollinators are experiencing a potentially dramatic shift in the appearance of their floral lifelines.
A 2020 article in Current Biology reports on this phenomenon, summarizing recent research on flower color adaptations to climate change and the likely effects on pollinators. For several years, plant ecologist Matthew Koski of Clemson University has been investigating how ultraviolet pigmentation in plants is changing in response to rising temperatures and ozone decline. Curious about the effects of human-induced climate change on petal color, Koski embarked on a study of 1,238 flowers from forty-two different species in plant collections from North America, Europe, and Australia from 1941 to 2017. He and his research team found that, globally, flowers had increased UV-absorbing pigment in their petals by an average of 2 percent annually over the seventy-six-year period. According to a January 2022 article in Evolution, this variation in petal pigmentation is also known as UV-induced pigmentation plasticity. While this shift
in color may seem subtle and perhaps insignificant in the scheme of more obvious climate-induced changes, it represents a radical shift in the relationships between pollinators and the plants on which they depend (and which, in turn, depend on them).
Here in New Mexico, the sixth-fastest-warming state in the nation, with an average increase in temperature of 2.7 degrees since 1970— experienced and sometimes magnified via earlier springs, hotter summers, and inconsistent precipitation—both wild and cultivated plants are increasingly stressed, making them susceptible to pest infestations and disease. Not only are they having to adapt to drought and other environmental conditions, but their very adaptation techniques, like modified petal color, may also compromise their pollinator-attracting abilities.
In some cases, color adaptations might benefit a plant, whether by decreasing pigment to protect its pollen from too much heat or increasing pigment to absorb more ultraviolet rays at high altitudes. But, as Koski and others have noted, increased UV-absorbing pigment in petals will likely make some flowers harder for pollinators to see. Because pollinators prefer flowers with a bull’s-eye pattern, with UV-reflecting petal tips and UV-absorbing pigments near the center of the flower, the loss of contrast between the ray petals and
Green, the earth's photosynthate alchemist, a symbol of life at risk, photo by Christie Green.
Examples of variation in UV floral pigmentation in species with exposed anthers (A–C) and protected anthers (D–F). Darker petal areas possess UV-absorbing compounds whereas lighter areas are UV reflective. B and E display a reduced area of UV-absorbing pigmentation on petals compared to C and F. Source: Current Biology
the nectar- and pollen-rich target will make these preferred species less obvious. Pollinators “might miss the flowers entirely,” said plant biologist Charles Davis of Harvard University, commenting on the implications of Koski’s study for Science
Plant and pollinator survival depend on a reliable, recognizable color palette. Flowers must flaunt conspicuous contrast, a clear target to attract and guide pollinators to the critical core landing and feeding zone, the literal center of plant reproduction and foundation of life on earth.
While flowers’ survival depends on their own physiological strategies to stand out and be seen, other species’ evolutionary color adaptations help them blend into their habitats, camouflaging themselves as stealthy predators seeking prey, and as elusive prey avoiding predators. Animals, like their plant neighbors, evolving in relation to regional environmental fluctuations, provide visual indicators of climate change, warning signals that their home—our home—is in danger.
grama grasses and fallen limbs. Elk tracks zigzagged across drainages and over saddles between slopes, but the snow had melted by 9 am. With the rising sun and warming ambient and ground temperatures, I shed layers of clothing, tucked them into my backpack, and continued, unimpeded, farther into the hunting grounds.
Although I welcomed the relatively easy trekking, I was keenly aware that the fall weather was peculiarly warm and dry, more temperate than “normal” at this 10,900-foot elevation. In seasons past, near-zero temperatures, ice, and layers of snow with hardened crusts from freeze-thaw cycles have challenged my ability to move quietly and efficiently. This year, the daily pilgrimage from low ground to high, cresting saddles between peaks and following deep, contoured drainages, felt like a cakewalk. Could hunting the high ground really be this easy? Would future autumns and winters be as warm or warmer? How would the animals move and adapt? Would they, too, migrate higher up and farther away without the physical challenge of post-holing through snowbanks and scraping away at accumulations of snow and ice to reveal remnant meadow forage and shrub tips to browse?
On a mid-November elk hunt in 2023, near Red Hill at the base of Canjilon Mountain, I headed north into dense spruce timber, excited to have access where thigh-deep snowdrifts had previously prohibited entry. A faint skiff of new snow barely covered wisps of dormant
As I stretched one leg and then the other over a maze of fallen spruce timber, navigating among aspen stands and through clusters of cinquefoils, mountain mahogany, and carpets of bearberry, a flash of white caught my eye. Holding still, slowly raising the binoculars to my eyes, I watched and waited for the white spot to reappear. Had I imagined it or was something that conspicuous really afoot?
Top: White long-tailed weasel with mismatched camouflage, photo by Ann Hough. Bottom left: Snowshoe hare experiencing mismatched camouflage, photo by L. Scott Mills. Bottom right: Brown hare in correct camouflage, photo by Erin Burtch.
There, skittering along the length of a flattened, decomposing fir log, a white weasel busied herself with daily chores. Moving with fluid agility, she hugged the woody apparatus like a balance beam gymnast, stopping intermittently to sit up, scan, and survey her surroundings, then she dropped down, belly low to the tree trunk, and poured herself into a slivered opening beneath a mass of coniferous ground cover. “She’s going to get snatched right up,” I thought to myself, “sticking out like a sore thumb. Guess she didn’t get the memo that winter has yet to come.”
After watching her fastidious busyness for a while longer, I moved upward toward the ridgeline, intending to cross over to the cooler, north-facing slope where elk would likely be headed to bed down for the morning.
A similar experience lingered in my memory from three years ago, bowhunting for rabbit in the Santa Fe National Forest. I’d chosen an easily accessible, close-to-home location for a spontaneous midmorning hunt. In the dark cover of the spruce and Douglas fir mountains, a very white rabbit dashed in front of me, darting across open ground toward the cover of thick understory. She, too, had donned the wrong winter coat, her gray-brown summer fur turned to pure white, a programming error that could cost her her life. Without a backdrop of snow into which she could tuck herself, becoming inconspicuous, making herself safe from the threat of watchful, hungry eyes, the white rabbit was literally a moving target.
Weasels, ptarmigan, and snowshoe hare change their color in response to the photoperiod, or length of daylight hours. This change is involuntary. Unlike us, they can’t reach into the closet and opt for appropriate outerwear that will protect them best on any given day. Reduced daylight triggers hormonal responses that decrease production of dark pigments, allowing the lighter fur to grow in as winter progresses. In spring, increased daylight triggers the opposite response and the animals’ fur and feathers revert to the corresponding seasonal camouflage of beigy browns.
In 2018, researchers investigating seasonal coat and color change in eight species, including hares, weasels, and foxes, found that, as suspected, animals at higher latitudes tend more predictably toward winter white, while those at lower latitudes molt to white or both white and brown. When molting doesn’t correspond to environmental conditions, scientists call this “mismatched camouflage.”
“As snow duration decreases, animals in winter white coats become more conspicuous against snowless ground, increasing mortality,” explain researchers in the Fisheries, Wildlife and Conservation Biology program at North Carolina State University in a March 2019 article in Ecosphere
As a hunter, I use my own adaptive strategies to blend in or stand out. When pursuing spring turkeys, the goal is to conform to the surrounding earth tones and plant shapes and textures. Covered in
Top: Wild North American turkey displaying his large tail fan and the vibrant colors of his waddle and snood, photo by Travis Ferryman. Bottom: Christie Green turkey hunting up by Tres Piedras, photo by Gabriella Marks.
camouflage from head to toe, a sturdy ponderosa trunk at my back helping me hold still, I call gobblers hoping to trick them into believing I’m a lusty hen ready to mate. The juvenile and adult male turkeys magnify their visibility so the hens can see their inflamed pursuit. With their bulging heads changing color on the spot, they appear as emboldened, red-hot beacons with each hurried step my way. Often, however, a real hen spots the hot-to-trot tom and whisks him off before my eyes. His conspicuous flare, like the glitzy glam of colorful flowers, serves to bolster his chances to propagate. His lineage and ability to pass on his genes depend on being seen.
Similarly, though for different reasons, my survival while hunting species like elk and deer requires that I am visible not to the animals but to humans. Donning blaze-orange caps and vests, I make myself noticeable to minimize potentially lethal contact with other hunters. When we cross paths in the field, we can avoid the interference of unexpected encounters and potential for mistaken identification as a moving, viable target.
More than twenty thousand species of bees worldwide and over a thousand species of bees in New Mexico, among Earth’s most important pollinators, in search of nectar- and pollen-rich flora, zero in on the bull’s-eye landing zone centered between showy rays of color-rich petals. How will plants’ shifting pigments affect our pollinator gardens? What are the implications for agricultural crops, for the planet and its peoples and, in particular, for the drought- and
heat-stressed desert Southwest? Will animals be able to adapt their winter coats to match a drier, browner future? How will such changes impact the increasingly precarious dynamics of predator and prey?
“We love birds and bird-watching, and hummingbirds and butterflies! We’d really like to have a place for pollinators,” my landscape clients often tell me with optimistic enthusiasm. “You know, they’ve got to eat too,” some say, generously offering to share garden harvest bounty and prime landscape space with insect, bird, and mammal neighbors. Though some folks tend toward aestheticcentric design preferences, more and more request gardens and landscapes that give back, offering food, habitat, and biodiversity for our other-than-human relatives.
The lilt of spring green, deep cool of indigo, raucous reds, hot pinks, and melty yellows seduce and delight as colorful floral costume. Our eyes and hearts open and soften to nature’s allure. Plant and animal regalia, however, are not exclusively tailored for our pleasure. Their bodies, like indicator species, reflect shifting environmental conditions and challenges, demonstrating how we, too, may learn to adapt. Hope, humanity, and all species’ survival depend on us.
Hummingbird with hummingbird mint, photo by Bernie Duhamel.
DESERT DYEING
By Ungelbah Dávila
In central and northern New Mexico, this has been a wetter year. Rain has visited the state like a debutant, making the rounds from county to county. The sky gives. The earth drinks. Sprouts wiggle from their seeds. The arroyos and acequia banks flourish, and pollinators become giddy on five-foot wildflowers, animals fatten on cattails, and migrating birds gorge on “weed” seeds. Alfalfa fields pulsate with yellow butterflies, signaling for farmers the change in season.
Bumblebees languish in the bosom of yellow flowers, coating their bodies in wintertime pollen. Unpicked apples ripen, drop, and become food for worms, beetles, the earth. As I write, it is harvest time for all those whose nails have spent the hot months encased in dirt, whose brows have borne droplets of mud, whose lips have whispered prayers for one more round of life to bloom from this unyielding desert earth.
Like many great recipes, this story begins with water, and a bit of lore. After months of wearing a pervasive gleam of sweat, I delight in driving up into the cool clouds and drizzle of La Cieneguilla to the home of artist Kathleen McCloud. It’s only a few miles south of Santa Fe, but on this September day it could be a world away from my home in the Rio Grande Valley south of Albuquerque, where, for several years now, only my bravest flowers have decided to grow.
From recipes to natural wonders, water is the main ingredient to life on this planet, for all the reasons we know—all life needs water to hydrate, and without it there would be no food, no medicine, no plants, no trees to purify the atmosphere. But there would also be no beauty. There would be no flowers to soothe the grieving or to celebrate with joy. There would be no shade from the sun, no fruit for the hungry, and no color for the artist.
Golden plant dye brewing, photo by Ungelbah Dávila.
It is within this thirsty desert’s palette that I find McCloud, who has immersed herself in the high-desert landscape since arriving at this homestead in the 1980s. From planting a grove of aspen trees to seeding and tending the bed of Maximilian sunflowers that greet me when I arrive, she has laid down roots in this lovely community along the Santa Fe River, where she continues to create
art and experiment with natural dyes sourced from her garden and community.
We talk of the hues nature provides and I recall being a teenager on a trip with my father to New York City. We were looking out at the Statue of Liberty when a bird, most likely an extra-bodacious pigeon, hopped into my view. I’ll never forget commenting on its purple and
Thirsty Orchard, Kathleen McCloud, 2024. Photo collage with homegrown indigo, acrylic, oil, and silk on BFK Rives paper. Courtesy of GF Contemporary.
blue iridescent feathers and my father saying, “Where do you think artists get their colors?”
Back in La Cieneguilla, the juices of nature color the papers and cloths that pop off the walls of McCloud’s studio. Some present in subtle yellows or light avocado green, others in vibrant gold, reds, and shades of blue.
“I’m just part of this whole ecosystem,” says McCloud. “I’m not like up here, in control. So I wonder, Can I truly be part of it? And part of that was to ask the place where I live and love, ‘What colors would you do? What do you have to say?’ And so that was where the dyeing came in. And then it helped me ground and contain myself within a palette.”
McCloud discovered her passion for the color indigo while working as a restorationist of Navajo rugs in the 1980s. Indigo is named for the genus Indigofera, which encompasses more than 750 tropical species—a handful of which were historically important in producing indigo dyes. One of the plants most commonly used for indigo, she tells me, is Indigofera suffruticosa, which thrives in the southern United States and Central America and is sometimes known as Guatemalan indigo. McCloud feels that indigo-producing plants carry
a healing frequency that she attributes not only to their dye’s color, which is associated with the third-eye chakra, but to the plant itself and the water, minerals, and sunlight that make every plant unique.
In 2012, after a hiatus from using plant dyes, she discovered that a strain of buckwheat whose leaves are a source of indigo dye can grow in New Mexico. Juliana Lopez, former director of horticulture at El Rancho de las Golondrinas, reached out to McCloud to share that they were planting an indigo-producing plant at the ranch.
“We were at some community meeting, and Juliana said how they’d be planting indigo at the garden at the ranch, and would do weaving demos, and my ear just perked up [at hearing] that you can grow indigo in New Mexico,” says McCloud. At those workshops, “we would do a fresh leaf indigo dye bath. That was really important to me, because I live here, and a lot of my artwork is close to home. It was important for me to know I wasn’t just buying powdered indigo in a store, from Asia, but [that there] was a dye that could be sourced here.”
Today, indigo is the prominent color in her artwork, which incorporates dyed silks, found materials, and collage. She begins her Persicaria tinctoria seedlings indoors in late March and transplants them to her garden once the soil is warm and there are no more chances of frost.
Kathleen McCloud in her studio with indigo flower, photos by Ungelbah Dávila.
McCloud also uses pigments from many other flowers and plants from her garden and surroundings—marigolds, madder roots, juniper, sunflowers, and more—to create works on paper, cloth, and canvas. Like silk, these mediums derive from plant and animal fibers, but the story of the environment, she says, can be seen in plant dyes, which come directly from the earth and whose hues differ depending on location, rainfall, pollution, sunlight, and other factors—just like the foods we eat.
And, as with food, some chemistry is involved in the preparation of a good dye. The most common chemical, or mordant, that is mixed in to fix plant dye to a material is potassium aluminum sulfate, a.k.a. alum.
“Like cooking, curiosity and experimentation mixed with good ingredients and basic science go a long way in botanical dyeing,” says McCloud. “It’s very magical. The alchemy is alluring to people, and I think transformative.”
For those curious about using flowers and plants readily available in their gardens or local environment for small-scale projects, McCloud
recommends a book called Navajo Native Dyes by Nonabah G. Bryan. She also finds recipes for natural dyes online at botanicalcolors.com.
The downside to natural dyes is that the elements, especially sunlight, will fade these colors over time. For artists like McCloud, this natural process is part of her aesthetic, but for many textile artists, getting sunfast dyes is crucial in meeting the market’s demands.
For Diné weaver Ephraim “Zefren-M” Anderson, natural dyes are a double-edged sword. The market, they say, wants and will pay more for Navajo textiles that use natural dyes, but the reality of this, they feel, has its challenges to the environment and health of the weaver.
“I’m very hesitant in using natural dyes in my works, because I expect a certain degree of sunfastness to the pieces,” says Anderson. “You can spend a lot of time harvesting different chemicals, because pretty much for all mordants there are natural alternatives available on the reservation. But for a lot of them, you have to change the pH, you have to ferment, you have to cook. All that has positives and negatives—to
Artwork by Ephraim "Zefren-M" Anderson. Colors may fade using fiber blending, with only six colors to create all remaining colors, photo courtesy of Ephraim "Zefren-M" Anderson.
harvest the dye [and mordants] and dye yarn that is going to turn back to the original color within a year or two.”
As they put it, “The sun breaks down those natural dyes and [the color] fades to just a light shade, or it disappears entirely. The only way to make them really sunfast, chemically, now is to use really powerful, dangerous, aquatic-killing mordants in really strong amounts.”
A lot of dyers don’t have the facilities to store and dispose of those chemicals properly, and if just a teaspoon gets into the water supply, Anderson says, “you’ve basically killed the reproductive cycle of all the plants or all the amphibians that will use that water for forever.”
Anderson believes those chemicals can impact the health of artists who use them too. “I used all this dye so much without protection that there was a point where I was starting to feel it in my skin and my breathing,” they say, “and I have burnt my hair to where it would just fall out from following the concentrations of recipes.”
Like Anderson, McCloud worries about the natural dye trend becoming consumptive and fears that those looking to use these pigments, even in their desire to reconnect to or honor nature, might overlook the larger picture of land and water stewardship. She encourages curious new dyers to research which plants are invasive, and use those. Or to use tree branches that are being trimmed anyway. Or to plant intentional flower gardens and harvest blossoms and leaves after the pollinators have gotten what they need. Basically, to dye in sync with one’s environment.
“I think it’s to be aware,” says Anderson. “I would be totally great with natural colors if I wasn’t trying to placate the world market. We’re still slaves to whoever has the money. So we have to get these dyes. We have to play into the romanticism and tell those stories and risk what it is to get those colors.” Ultimately, synthetic and natural dyes both have impacts on Mother Earth, so for an artist like Anderson, choosing which to use, “that’s a hard ethical decision to make.”
Top: Salt clan dress made with acid dyes, dyes from single vats of black, indigo, and red. Bottom: Natural colors of Navajo-Churro wool. Photos courtesy of Ephraim "Zefren-M" Anderson.
Room-III by Ephraim "Zefren-M" Anderson, made with indigo, cochineal, and natural black period materials and no mordants other than the natural fermentation of indigo and cochineal, photo courtesy of Gene Peach Photography.
RECIPE FOR GOLDEN PLANT DYE
By Kathleen McCloud
In late summer after the flowers have peaked, collect them and use them to dye fabric. I use a mix of Maximilian sunflowers, cosmos, marigolds, and chamisa.
First, you need to mordant the fabric; I use alum that I order online. There are other mordants that can be derived from household food scraps, so do a little research. A little alum goes a long way. The general rule is 12 percent of the weight of fabric to be dyed.
Start by soaking the fabric in water. Once thoroughly soaked, take it out and set it aside, saving the water.
For a pound of fiber to be dyed, I use a 5-gallon enamel kettle and 3–4 tablespoons of alum. Here’s how: Add the alum to some hot tap water to dissolve in a small cup reserved for dyeing; once dissolved, add it to the large pot of water and bring to a simmer. Simmer for 30 minutes before adding the fabric or fiber to be dyed; add the fiber and continue simmering for about 40 minutes.
Take out the fabric/fiber and set it aside; your materials are now more receptive to the color. The alum water will keep for a week if you want to store it. The mordanted fabrics can be dried and dyed at a future date.
The day of or day before you’re ready to dye, make your dye bath.
Take dried or fresh flower heads and put them in a nonreactive pot that you will use only for dyeing. Start with less and add more; use less for lightweight fabrics, like silk, and more for cotton or wool. More flowers, deeper color. Fill the pot with clean water (do not use the alum water). I use well water. Use whatever is available—the minerals, fluoride, etc. all potentially influence the dye results. Play around with the variables; the fun is in the experimentation.
Slowly bring to a simmer and steep the flowers for approximately 45 minutes. Take off the heat. I let the materials sit in the vat overnight for stronger shades of yellowy-gold orange (depending on flower mix). To darken or “sadden” the color, try adding rusted metal to your rinse water. Many ways to pop or dim the colors are based on tipping the pH by rinsing the dyed fibers with a teaspoon of ascorbic acid (vitamin C), cream of tartar, or iron via rusty metal.
After the final rinse, hang to dry. Put the boiled flowers in the compost.
Making golden plant dye, photo by Ungelbah Dávila.
Palette
Photos by Stephanie Cameron
In New Mexico, fall’s turn to winter is always a delight for the senses: The smell of roasting green chile haunts the streets, red chile ristras appear at storefronts and along roadsides, and the calls of cranes and geese on their seasonal trek south hang in the air. But it’s the changing colors that are perhaps the most remarkable: The aspens and cottonwoods blaze gold just as the harvest wanes and we settle in for several months of brisk, cozy mornings and landscapes sketched in more subdued shades. As a last huzzah for the colorful bounty of the season and a celebration of local culinary talent, we asked six creative, hardworking chefs from around New Mexico to prepare a unique dish based around a single color, using at least one locally sourced ingredient. We were astounded at what they came up with, and we think you will be too.
Beetroot Dosa
Beetroot dosa with beets from Romero Farms. A thin South Indian crepe made from fermented rice and lentil batter, served with sambar and coconut and tomato chutneys.
PAPER DOSA in SANTA FE | Paulraj Karuppasamy, Chef/Co-owner
CORNER OFFICE in TAOS | Jori Jayne Emde, Chef/Co-Owner
FRIED GREEN TOMATOES
Tomatoes from Umami Gardens with corn-flour batter and fermented carrot tops, served with yogurt aioli, herb oil, gremolata, a nest of baby leeks, and flowering dill on a plate made by Whiskey & Clay. Corn flour, eggs, yogurt, herbs, and produce sourced from local farms including Bell Lane Farm, Copper Pot Farm, Feral Farm, Gonzales Farm, and Camino de Paz.
SENTLI in ALBUQUERQUE | Ernesto Torres Lemus, Chef/Owner
BLUE CORN INFLADITAS
Infladitas with Farm Shark blue corn, filled with black bean puree, blue cheese, and huitlacoche and topped with labneh, radishes, and salsa macha. Produce and beans sourced from La Montañita Co-op; huitlacoche purchased from Irie Mushroom Farm in Oregon, the sole domestic producer of this blue-hued corn fungi.
GRILLED LOCAL CARROTS
Carrots from The Vagabond Farmers, whipped feta, dates, harissa, pistachios, and herb salad.
ARROYO VINO in SANTA FE | Allison Jenkins, Executive Chef
FARMESILLA in LAS CRUCES | Becky Windels, Executive Chef
Farmhouse Vegan Nosh
Chickpea-battered golden oyster mushrooms from Full Circle Mushrooms, corn from Animas Creek Farm, leeks and scallions from Khalsa Family Farms, and shishitos, served with vegan yellow pepper mayo and edible flowers from Valley Farms NM.
WHITE CHOCOLATE ENTREMETS
White cake with a white chocolate cinnamon mousse, peach puree made from Alameda Farms’ peaches, house-made fennel ice cream, and crumbled pistachios from Eagle Ranch Pistachio Groves.
FARM & TABLE in ALBUQUERQUE | Randall Watson, Pastry Chef
Come Explore with Us!
Weekend Glamping Adventure at Vermejo, a Ted Turner Reserve
Friday, Saturday and Sunday, May 30—June 1, 2025
Join the Circles Explorers for an exclusive glamping experience and outdoor adventure at Vermejo, a Ted Turner Reserve—a stunning private nature preserve spanning northern New Mexico and southern Colorado. The 550,000 acre ranch offers a rich array of wildlife, including over 1,200 bison, elk, black bears and mountain lions. The reserve also boasts 19 fishable lakes and more than 30 miles of pristine streams and rivers.
To learn more contact Cara O’Brien, Director of The Circles, at 505.216.0848 or email cara@museumfoundation.org or visit museumfoundation.org/circles-explorers-travel.
ZERO AMARO
Adapted from Hannah Lee Leidy Makes 2 quarts
Level: Easy; Prep time: 5 minutes; Cook time: 1 hour, 5 minutes; Total time: 1 hour, 10 minutes, plus cooling time
Alcohol and time help flavors integrate into amaros, but you can create a nice nonalcoholic amaro by experimenting with different bittering agents and herbs. A significant upside of zero-proof amaro is that it only takes a couple of hours to make, so it is easy to test various herbs and spices, then review them without waiting the month required to infuse botanicals in alcohol. This recipe uses quassia bitterwood and wormwood, but you can use any bittering agent, from cherry tree or cinchona bark to licorice or dandelion root. I also throw in some hibiscus to add color.
In a medium, heavy-bottomed saucepan, add sugar and 1 cup water and cook over low heat, stirring continuously with a wooden spoon until sugar dissolves (approximately 3 minutes). Once the sugar dissolves, add bitterwood and wormwood (or other bittering agents); add all the spices and aromatics except the orange peels. Bring to a boil and then turn down to a simmer.
While stirring, slowly and carefully add 3 cups water. Add orange peels and simmer on low for 1 hour, stirring occasionally. Remove from heat.
Allow mixture to cool completely before straining. If the amaro is too bitter, add some simple syrup to taste. Keep refrigerated for up to one month.
Serve over ice, or use it to expand your nonalcoholic cocktail repertoire. To make a riff on a moscow mule, mix 3 ounces of nonalcoholic amaro and 3/4 ounce fresh lime juice, and top it with ginger beer.
