A Cookbook for All Seasons - Sunny receives a Spanish lesson from a next door neighbor.

A decade ago when I migrated from the Midwest to Las Cruces, the first regional cookbook I purchased was Seasoned with Sun [The Junior League of El Paso, Inc., 1988].  It's packed with chile facts, tips and lore, colorful southwest history and photography, and both familiar and unusual Mexican recipes - "recipes from the corner of Texas and Old Mexico."  Some dishes are tailored for chile cheechakos - recipes flavored with gentle chiles, and others, for chileheads - dishes dressed with fiery pods.
 
The Sun introduced me to a mouth-watering Mexican dish - salpicon [recipe below], which I now prepare often, especially if I'm expecting a dinner crowd. Salpicon features flavorful brisket, slow-cooked in a jumble of fresh veggies and then soaked in a marinade highlighted with cilantro and the lusty chipolte pepper.  Once the tender meat slab has basked in its spicy juices, it's shredded and then cradled in a warm tortilla laden with guacamole, sour cream and Jack cheese. Served with a cold Tecate shot with lime, salpicon is a stunner.

When I first spotted the cilantro and chipolte ingredients in the recipe, the seasonings were unfamiliar to me.  Conveniently, the Sun includes a brief and enlightening  food glossary, which I devoured, fascinated by the peculiar terminology. Cilantro is described as the "leaves of the coriander plant, resembling parsley. Same as Chinese parsley," and chile chipotle as "a very hot, red pepper about the size of a small jalapeno, available canned."  Unfortunately, the glossary didn't include a pronunciation guide (more on that later).

Armed with the cookbook  I headed to a nearby grocery store to search for the exotics.  Bunches of the leafy bright green cilantro herb were stacked high next the parsley in the produce department. I became hooked on cilantro's lively, pungent aroma after one whiff. (I now grow it, using the herb to add a distinctive flavor to both American and Mexican dishes.)

The canned chipolte was difficult to locate, however.  "Do you carry the chipotle pepper," I asked the grocery clerk, pronouncing it "Chi  POT  el."

"Sorry, we don't carry such an item," I was told each time I ventured to a different grocery store.
 
One day I mentioned my plight to a neighbor, a Cruces native. "I have a Mexican recipe I'm dying to try but I can't find the "Chi POT el" pepper it asks for. Do you know where I can get it? It's suppose to be about the size of a jalapeno and it comes canned."

"Hmm, I've never heard of it," she said, obviously puzzled. "Who gave you the recipe?"

I pulled the cookbook from the pantry shelf and flipped to the dog eared page.  "See," I said pointing to the salpicon ingredient roster.

 "Ohh," she giggled.  "You'll never find it if you keep pronouncing and describing it the way you have.  It's pronounced chee-POHT-lay and the chile doesn't only look like a jalapeno, it IS a jalapeño...a dried, smoked jalapeno."

 "That's, okay," she said, observing my embarrassment.  "What made you think it just 'looked like a jalapeño'?," she continued.   I showed her the definition.  "Well, it's still one of my favorite cookbooks," she offered.  Mine too.
 
Having the pronunciation down pat didn't help me find the pepper any sooner, however.  At the time, Skaggs, now named Jewel Osco, was the only grocery chain in town that stocked it. (But nowadays, the perky pepper has become trendy and is found in most markets canned in adobo sauce, a dark-red flavorsome sauce of Mexican origin made with ground chiles, herbs and vinegar.) 

Medium hot on the heat index, the chipolte is used to complement a variety of dishes, mainly soups, salsas and sauces.  Mark Miller of Santa Fe's Coyote Café describes the pepper emotionally in The Great Chile Book (Ten Speed Press, 1991): "smoky and sweet in flavor with tobacco and chocolate tones, a Brazil nut finish and a subtle, deep rounded heat."

About 20% of the total production of jalapeños is processed into chipoltes. There are several varieties, including the powerful, smoky-flavored "tipico," found in Mexico, and "morita," common in the United States.

SALPICON (serves 15)

3 pounds brisket
2 onions, 1 halved, 1 chopped
l large carrot, quartered
1 stalk celery, quartered
2 cloves garlic
1 cup chopped fresh cilantro
1 (12-ounce) can whole tomatoes
Salt and pepper to taste
1 large tomato, chopped
1 (4-ounce) can chile chipolte, drained and chopped (reserve liquid)
1/4 cup light olive oil
1/4 cup vinegar
1/2 pound Monterey Jack cheese, cut in 1/2-inch cubes
2 large avocados, sliced lengthwise

Place brisket in a heavy pot and cover with water.  Add halved onion, carrot, celery, garlic, 1/2 cup cilantro, canned tomatoes, salt and pepper. Cover and cook in oven approximately 4 hours at 325 degrees until very tender. Remove from liquid, cool slightly and shred thoroughly with a fork. In a large bowl, combine shredded beef, chopped onion, chopped tomato, remaining cilantro, chile chipotle and liquid to taste, oil, vinegar, salt and pepper.  Let cool in refrigerator for at least 4 hours. Before serving, toss with cheese and turn into a decorative bowl. Garnish with sliced avocado. Serve with warm corn or flour tortillas, pinto beans and guacamole or tossed green salad.