Grace In Motion

Many a woman from grandmother to mother to daughter, and on and on, has known this truth:
only cook it if you mean it.

It holds more power than you might think.

If you cook it, you do it for you, because you must absolutely have it.
But be careful.
If it passes the lips of the male persuasion, be aware, he’s yours.

Whether you choose beef or pork, or if you’re so inclined, chicken in a pinch, it always starts the way so many things do:
sauté the onions.

When they’re softened, but not yet caramelized, add the minced garlic.
Watch it closely, do not let it burn, then add your meat.

And now… the real magic.
Dare I say it?

I don’t know if I’m ready to unleash such truth on this already chaotic world.

Roasted New Mexican green chiles.
Anaheims, mostly.
But no pepper can be contained by its history, before it was picked, before it was harvested, before it was roasted and brought home, bagged and frozen.

Picked up in September.
Enjoyed all winter, spring, summer, until the next harvest comes again.

Green chile.

Simmered on the stove, softened, coming together with salt and pepper.
Let each batch speak its own history—herstory.

Pure magic.
An aphrodisiac.

A marriage of flavors, held together, faithful…
until the very, very end.