The Heat Is On

"Roasting requires experience," he says. "Roasting is an art. And I consider our roasters to be master roasters."

Master roasters?
Oh, John could talk forever. There's the type of plastic bags used to carry roasted pods from the chile shack to the kitchen ("Use the clear commercial bags. Don't trust the kind you use at home"), the best way to tell if the chile is hot ("Cut it open and look for the yellow vein running from the seed ball to the tip. The deeper yellow the vein, the hotter the pod") and the dangers of price-gouging ("Between $16 and $18 a bushel is a fair price").

As for the difference between Hatch and Pueblo chile, well, it's a chicken-and-the-egg-type deal. Hatch is the trademarked, patented Chile Capital of the World. The Hatch area (notice John does not say "Hatch chile") produces a fine pod. But for John's money, chile from the Pueblo area is the best he's tasted. In the end, it all comes down to personal opinion.

"I guess you can say it's like beer," he says. "Which is better? Bud or Bud Lite?"

"Bud," Buffalo concludes.

It used to be so simple.
You drive back from Federal Boulevard with your sack of Pueblo XXX-Hot, careful to use the proper name ("Barker chile, not Pueblo chile"). You poke a hole in the clear commercial plastic chile bag, as you were instructed, and let the evenly roasted pods breathe a little.

At home, you drop your bushel ("That's exactly four pecks") onto the kitchen counter and begin the process of bagging and storing, remembering to never rinse the pods under cold water ("Honey, you wash away all the flavor"). You freeze most of it ("Leave the skins on") and simmer the rest with a little garlic and tomato.

Then you brew a pot of Starbucks Gold Coast, reach in the fridge for a pack of store-bought tortillas, lean on the counter with your chile sandwich and prepare for next season.

Hatch is just a town...