Below the surface.

Images from the Albuquerque Aquarium.

about town/abq: Taqueria Mexico.

With all of the fantastic New Mexican food available in Albuquerque, it can be strangely easy not to go the trouble of seeking out any actual Mexican food. Thankfully, my attention was caught by the regular lines that formed outside of Taqueria Mexico, a tiny white shop tattooed with vibrant murals. It's location on Lomas, a street always pulsing with traffic in and out of dowtown, might not give it much atmosphere, but at least it makes it an easy stop for lunch.

We were lucky enough to arrive just as a table was being cleared. As soon as we sat down, more diners arrived, and were forced to wait standing between the formica tables and the lunch counter. The place was so small that our table was not that far from the kitchen-- the smell of which led me to order three tacos: 1 chicken, 1 carne asada, and 1 carne adovada. They arrived spilling out of their soft corn tortillas, with wedges of lime and a fiery dish of salsa on the side. The chicken was ok-- what was I thinking ordering a chicken taco?-- but the carne asada and adovada were delicious. The asada was perfectly grilled, and still juicy; the pork in the adovado was nicely coated in rich chile sauce. It was really too much food-- I ate it all, of course-- but next time I think two tacos would be a well sized order (especially with a glass of cinnamony horchata on the side).

There are a few New Mexican items on the menu, but keep it simple, stick to the tacos, and you'll have a fantastic meal.

Milton's on Central.

The film industry coming to Albuquerque has had strange effects on the city. Parking lots tented up and streets blocked off for shoots. Celebrity sightings in coffeeshops. And offbeat locales suddenly becoming movie sets. Like Milton's Family Restaurant. I had passed the diner often while cruising pass on Central; almost tempted in as I glanced up at its retro '50s signage, but put off by its dim interior and greasy windows. Apparently I wasn't the only one drawn to it, though-- it's interior, unchanged for decades, has made it the perfect set for period films. So with a little motivation from Hollywood, I finally made it in.

We arrived after 7, the cold air already dark with the early sunset of winter. The film industry hasn't drawn any crowds-- the parking lot out back was empty, the diner's interior somehow even emptier. Nor has it left the place with any added gloss-- the mood inside was sombre, with a vague odor that makes you decide to keep it safe when it comes time to order. We passed the college students finishing their meal, the wiry men sipping coffee, and grabbed a discreet booth in the back.

The menu pages stuck-- together, to the table, to our fingers-- so we ordered quickly. A cheeseburger for me-- safe, right?-- with green chili. Bordeaux ordered a milkshake, but the waitress's face gathered up in look of worry. 'You know, before you order, it's just me working the counter tonight, so I can make it for you, but it's gonna be awhile. I just don't want you getting your hopes up, then having to wait, is all.' He ordered a glass of water instead, and she nodded gratefully. She brought our drinks, chilling in the type of goldenrod glasses that probably haven't been made since the early '80s, then disappeared.

We weren't in a hurry-- I don't know why we would have come here if we had-- so we settled in, to observe our setting. It was easy to see how it would be a great movie set, with its flagstone walls, and brown-and-orange vinyl booths. A set of black and white photos of the store's founders hung above the coffee machine, the glass in the picture frames grimy with half a century's accrued grease. The only thing that seemed to have changed in the space were the cheap foil decorations that criss-crossed from window to wall. A passer-by with a loaded camper's backpack drew our attention outside; across the road, a yoga class was just beginning. The yogi and his disciples would disappear over the course of our meal, obscure behind the veil of fogged-up windows.

Our plates arrived at the table, heavy with mounds of food. The burger was actually delicious, really. Well charred meat, strips of smoky green chili, and crisp rings of white onion. But the visit wasn't really about the food, was it?

Meal finished, we took the paper check to the register, where we found no one waiting for us. We looked out through double glass doors, where we saw our waitress-- her sweater gathered tight around her, puffs of smoke alternating with gasps of cold air escaping from her mouth. She came back in, rubbing her arms as she slipped behind the register, and greeting us with a faint smile. We handed over some bills and coins, and slipped a tip in next to the register.

Brrr.

We've had a few light flakes over the past week, but yesterday morning it started snowing, and didn't stop until long after dark. The white stuff piled up over the day, leaving my neighborhood piled with a powdery three inches! I'm guessing readers from colder climates are probably rolling their eyes, but after a year without seasons, it felt great to be back in the cold.

We spent most of the day warm inside, but we did venture out for a walk-- a few blocks over and across the park to the drugstore, where we gathered ingredients for Bordeaux to make candy cane hot chocolate. Yum. Pictured above is Bordeaux in the park, enjoying his first snow fall.

And today? Mostly melted, turning to slush. Oh well...

Lucky Boy.

It's hard not to like Lucky Boy at least a little. The name that sounds like a brand of soy sauce. The sun-bleached pastel pink and yellow of the exterior, the dated neon sign. The interior that looks like it hasn't changed in 30 years-- probably hasn't-- with avocado green tables in the booths, and faux wood-grain walls. And the concept, a mix of Chinese-American chop suey standards and American fast food, is neither 'authentic cuisine', cutting edge fusion. Maybe that's what makes it fun, though. You can order a chili burger with a side of fried rice, a sweet and sour combo, or the unusual 'egg foo young burger', pictured below-- and don't forget to get a vanilla milkshake or a rootbeer on the side.

Lucky Boy-- Located on the corner of Constitution and Carlisle, in Albuquerque, New Mexico.

Pink Pan Dulce.

I don't know if it would work as a party food, but I imagine a big table piled with this Mexican sweet bread would look pretty fantastic. I guess you could dye the topping in another hue, but it would be difficult to beat this electric pink.

And next...

... is all a little unclear. And sorry Bkk, you didn't even make the shortlist. The one thing that's for sure is that I'm ready to be settled down for awhile. After five years of being highly international, I think I'm ready to be domestic...

First Snow of the Season Oatmeal.

Has the theme of my last post suggested what I missed most in Bangkok? Seasons. Ok, we had hot, cool, and wet-- but in Thailand I was missing autumn, winter, spring and summer. In addition to being able to dress for the seasons, or enjoy a change in the weather, I'm happy to be eating seasonally again.

We had our first snow fall this morning (it was light and didn't stick, but it counts!), so I started the day with a warm breakfast. My current favorite breakfast is a bowl of oatmeal, garnished with berries, nuts, and either dark brown sugar or maple syrup. Pictured above is a bowl of oatmeal with walnuts and dried fruit from Flying Star, the Albuquerque Cafe that I mentioned in my last post. It's a great local spot for breakfast, from the above, to delicious muffins, to big plates of huevos rancheros.

What are you eating for breakfast?

Eggnog Cookies and a Celeb Sighting at the Nob Hill Shop & Stroll.

Christmas last year in Bangkok was an odd experience-- lots of lights, Christmas music, and homemade treats, but it all felt strangely disconnected in the tropical clime. So this year, we planned our return to my hometown of Albuquerque, New Mexico with the holidays specifically in mind. So far, it's been great-- we were greeted upon arrival with a chill in the air, my sister has helped Bordeaux with some holiday treat making, and we've even gotten to join in some local festivities.

Last Thursday, we took part in the Nob Hill Shop & Stroll. Nob Hill is Albuquerque's hippest neighborhood, a stretch of Central Road lined with cafes, salons, and boutique shops. For the event, the street was closed down, and pedestrians were free to browse in shops, sample street-stand treats, and enjoy roving musicians (pictured above: mariachis in Santa hats, of course).

After squeezing through the crowds in a few shops we ducked into the Flying Star Cafe, for a rich glass of hot chocolate and a giant eggnog cookie. Coming in from the cold, the decadent treat was the perfect cap to the evening. We also got a little bonus celebrity sighting: Ewan McGregor looking very handsome one table over-- thanks to New Mexico's burgeoning role as a low cost filming locale.

Let it snow.

Growing up in New Mexico, I was accustomed to celebrating Christmas without any snow. Though it was always cold by late December, snow usually fell only a few times a year, rarely stuck, and melted quickly once it had settled on the ground; basically, statistics were against me having a white Christmas. The few rare holidays where we did actually have snow were thus all the more memorable.

Last year, we came absurdly close. I flew home from South Africa a week before Christmas: a long day and night of traveling that had began with an exhausting six hour delay at the Oliver Thambo airport in Johannesburg. After a rushed connection in Washington DC, I was almost stranded in Chicago with the news that the city of Albuquerque had been swallowed in a winter storm. Thankfully, our flight was granted clearance after only a two hour delay. I arrived in Albuquerque long after dark, to find my hometown blanketed in a sugary layer of pristine snow.

By the time Christmas arrived, however, most of the snow had melted- only shallow icy mounds remained, cowering in the shadows of houses and large trees. Christmas passed, and just before New Years another snow storm arrived- even bigger and more devastating than the first. Roads were blocked, businesses closed; I had never seen anything like it. Since our cars were encased in white cocoons on the driveway, we trudged out on foot, exploring the incredible white landscape of the city transformed.

Christmas in New Mexico.

I spoke to my parents this morning; apparently they're getting a snowy winter in Albuquerque this year. Then, an hour later, I took the laundry downstairs, and found that two big packages from home had arrived, filled with Christmas presents. So my thoughts are on home now. Albuquerque, New Mexico is most beautiful in the summer, when the trees are full and green, and the vast blue days give way to sudden, dramatic thunderstorms. But Christmas-time also carries a certain charm. The weather is usually chilly if not snowy, with long freezing nights and bright days of biting cold sun. The city is at its most bare- leafless trees revealing sunbleached streets lined with modest pueblo-style homes. The cafes and boutique shops in Nob Hill provide a great walking street to pick up last minute presents, or to enjoy a Christmas cookie and a cup of coffee. Since my ideas of New Mexico at Christmas are obviously bundled up with a lot of childhood memories, I'm willing to admit I'm being nostalgic. But, in my defense, the city does have a number of local traditions for the holiday that make it special.

The most recognizable of these is the luminarias that appear everywhere around Christmas. Luminarias are brown paper bags, weighed down with sand and lit from inside with tiny votive candles. Toward the end of December, they appear along rooftops (which are traditionally flat, in New Mexico) all around town. Though they're just plain, everyday lunch-bags, they warm up with an unbelievable, orange glow when lit. Last year on Christmas eve, after a dinner of posole and enchiladas, we walked around Old Town. As a big tourist draw, it's always fully decked out for the holidays, and the huddled adobe buildings looked particularly charming in the glow of the luminarias. The massive snowstorm of the previous week had already melted away, and the air was feeling just as dry and crisp as the brown glowing paper itself.

Motel.

The new title banner comes from the above photograph, taken of a beautiful old motel in Northern Arizona. In searching for a new banner for Primitive Culture, I was tempted at first to use an image from Southeast Asia to reflect my current locale, or of Africa to reflect my favorite continent. But there was something about this old motel sign that I loved, so in the end I went with something a little closer to my origins. On my last big American roadtrip, I collected photographs of desert motels from all over California, Nevada, Arizona and New Mexico. Here are some of my favorites.

Gila, Arizona

The two on the left are from Las Vegas, NV, the other is from Hollywood, CA

Amboy, Mojave Desert, CA

Albuquerque, NM

Albuquerque, NM

New Mexico.

At the end of our long roadtrip was home for me, and a final American destination for Bordeaux. New Mexico.
Realizing this was a final chance for domesticity, Bordeaux and I spent much of our time hanging out at home; Bordeaux made dinner for my family, while I cleaned and organized my bedroom. We explored the city in small pieces, having dinner with my mom and sister downtown, and getting coffee among the various Satellite Coffees and Flying Stars. We tried nearly every coffee on menu at Satellite; I settled on the Turkish latte as my favorite, though with it's honey and cardamom flavor, it more closely resembles Bedouin Coffe. In the more than a week we spent there, our only real outing was to the Rio Grande Nature Center, where we were unable to find either beavers or toads at waters edge.
In our last weekend in the United States, we took a trip through Northern New Mexico with my family. We stopped for lunch in Santa Fe, where we waited in line for the amazing New Mexican food at Pascual's. After exploring the lobby at La Fonda, we looked through quirky shops around the Plaza, browsing among stationary and chocolates.
The main goal of our trip was Taos, where we stayed in a small house near the Plaza. We spent a day at Taos Pueblo, which is an odd attraction, seeing people in their homes.
I enjoyed my time in Taos and Santa Fe, and even began to question whether I would be able to live there. I realized that I wasn't drawn to a New Mexico that was familiar, but one that had been invented, built on romantic ideas of Catholic mysticism and Southwestern flavor. I wondered if they only way I could move back to New Mexico would be to reinvent it, to cast it as something exotic. And if so, if that was my connection to New Mexico, what does that say about myself?