This afternoon I was driving down north 4th and it hit me. The real reason I live in New Mexico.
For several weeks now, at the Walmart on Coors Bypass there's been caution tape around a wall of shopping carts, and off in the corner a propane tank and a blackened metal cage.
But today, there was the aroma of fresh roasted green chile. I'd venture to say that there are few, if any, other locales in the U.S. that have a comparable aroma announcing a season. You don't smell the leaves turning red in the northeast. Maybe you smell the grunions running at Cabrillo Beach, but it's not much different than any other day of the year.
I think I love the smell of fresh roasted chile more than I love eating them even. Ai DIos Mio!
If someone could only bottle that scent! I've often toyed with the idea of just buying a bag and driving around with it in my trunk, enjoying the slowly released fragrance, that smoky goodness with the tantalizing tang of scorched capsaicin.
It's certainly a good roasting that does it. After the heady dose of Hatch Perfume, I was compelled to swing by Spinn's for a Green Chile burger. Instead of roasted chile, I was treated to a barely warmed and peeled firebrand. Feh!
Forget your chamomile or valerian or hops, le sublime odeur de chili vert is the ultimate comfort scent. Maybe if I was to stuff my pillow with the stuff my dreams would be sweeter (and