To me, life is about color. Colorful objects. Colorful tastes. Colorful people.
This is one of the many reasons that New Mexico forever owns much of my heart.
The Mesilla Valley offers a small fertile desert oasis as the Rio Grande snakes around the foothills of the Rocky Mountains’ southern tip.
Although the yield wilts before the acre yield of an Iowa cornfield, onions and chile fields decorate the sandy landscape.
This colorful shot — including the Shamrock-wearing, pimp-resembling presumably Mr. Mackie — shows vibrant purple-and-yellow onion bags stuffed with dried chiles, now red.
Color. These products put colorful food upon the plate and colorful taste upon the tongue.
Ah, the Land of Enchantment.
I'm a cognitive scientist and communication scholar who manages a psychophysiology lab at Texas Tech. I teach courses about the cognitive processing of media messages and research methods.
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I use dried chili pretty much every day in my cooking. FTW.
And, Harsha, when you live in New Mexico, you are forced to reconcile that “chile” are the peppers and “chili” is that hamburger concoction from Texas.
Associated Press is unmoved. They say all are “chili.”
Silly New Yorkers.
I used to love it when they would start roasting chilli’s on every street corner. I miss that smell.
My head wants to explode when I people talking about chile and spelling it chili…Stoopid AP
What’s a New Mexican gonna do, Carm? The rest of the nation is against us on this one.