How to Spice Up a Trip to Santa Fe

The handsome native in the long black braid carefully slit the side of the Fritos bag. She poured freshly made hot chili inside and topped it with grated Longhorn cheese.

She handed the concoction--with napkins and a plastic spoon--over the counter to me and said:

“That’s a Frito pie. You haven’t been in Santa Fe until you’ve had one.”

This was at the Woolworth store by the Santa Fe plaza, one of the great five-and-dime locations in the world.

Take-away Frito pie originated here more than 40 years ago, a local told me. The tradition is to sit on a park bench in the plaza and enjoy the treat. But the chili is spicy with peppers. It’s smart to pick up a cold drink from Woolworth’s soda fountain.

Store Manager Gary Anderson said that the Woolworth chain tried the recipe in other stores but it didn’t catch on.

“You have to be in the right place for it and Santa Fe is the place,” he said with a smile. “In summertime we sell 400 Frito pies a day. In winter, maybe 50 to 100.”

Though Frito pie is an oddball favorite, there is splendid subtlety to the native New Mexican cuisine that thrives in about half of Santa Fe’s plentiful restaurants and cafes.

The fire is there, thanks to fresh salsas of red and green chile peppers, but also a robust earthiness from the good tastes of blue corn tortillas, roasted pinon nuts and a hominy stew called posole.

Even if Santa Fe did not boast lavish history, scenery, art and music, the dining experience--at 7,000 feet--would be reason enough to visit this charmer among state capitals.

New Mexican cooking is based on the chile pepper, but the culinary influences are a mix of Spanish, Mexican and American Indian. Dishes in Santa Fe may be ordered with either red or green chiles. Some who want both say “Christmas.” If you want the milder chiles, ask when you order. On any day the red chiles may be hotter or milder than the green.

My favorite lunch, on a recent day when snow crunched underfoot, was at The Shed in a courtyard off Palace Street, just steps from the Plaza. I ordered No. 11, I think it was, a blue-corn enchilada and a taco in a wondrous sauce. There was nothing on the menu that did not tempt me.

The Shed is a simple huddle of adobe rooms, painted in bold pink and blue and lime green. It is lunch only and no reservations, thus lines can grow long.

A notice to customers is printed on the menu: “We are a very small restaurant. We are not competing with mass-produced food. We are sorry that we are sometimes unable to accommodate you, but we are determined not to permit the wildly increasing demand to affect the quality of our cooking.”

Another splendid destination for New Mexican cuisine is La Tertulia, in a converted convent on Agua Fria, just across from the Santuario de Guadalupe. The many-roomed atmosphere of this family shrine is as remarkable as the chiles rellenos.

Since I was last in Santa Fe, the Pink Adobe, on the Old Santa Fe Trail, has added a nonsmoking dining room to its adobe warren. This room was thick with Santa Fe leaders when I dropped in for lunch. They were at home--and looked it--in their handsome sweaters and open shirts and jeans. They were ordering tamales and Pink Adobe burgers.

Locals also swear by Josie’s Casa de Comida on Marcy Street and Tomasita’s Cafe in the old Denver & Rio Grande railroad station on Guadalupe Street. Both brag of their sopaipillas, those fluffy pillows of fried bread.

Hearty breakfasts are a Santa Fe tradition. The best may be the Santa Fe omelet or a breakfast burrito at Tecolote Cafe on Cerillos Road. For a simpler pastry-and-coffee start I like the Palace Bakery (under the purple Haagen-Dazs sign) across from the Plaza.

On a day when one New Mexican meal is enough, you can break out for elegant pasta or fish at the handsome Santacafe, in a 200-year-old hacienda on Washington Avenue. Or go for a New York steak at The Palace.

The most extraordinary dining experience I had in Santa Fe was on my last night, when friends took me to Vanessie on West San Francisco Street, a relative newcomer known for grilled steak, chicken or fish.

We arrived at 6 p.m. to avoid the crush, and found a place to park not far from the door. The restaurant had a wonderful aroma and fine music. The lighting was subdued.

But what was that blonde doing crouched on the bar? And why was the piano laden with votive candles? As for the upturned chairs . . .

A man came from the next room to greet us. He explained that the restaurant was closed for two nights of refurbishing.

The music was from a workman’s tape. The girl on the bar was polishing the rail.

The aroma that I loved was varnish.