You, of course, are a rose— But were always a rose.

My roses here in Denver are all starting to open up at the moment, even the shy ones. They have so far escaped two week’s worth of severe weather including tornados and golf-ball size hail that have just skirted us. The weather has been so damp and cold that my roses have been coming out plant by plant instead of all at once as they usually do.

My interest in roses leans toward the antique and fragrant, I have a lot of polyanthas. In the backyard in a raised bed we have Leda or Painted Damask, a pale damask rose edged in magenta that just blooms in spring; Therese Bugnet a beautiful clove-scented pink rose bush that blooms profusely all summer on prickleless stems, Reine de Violette a very violet-fragrant magenta rose, and Alfred de Dalmas a deep pink repeat-blooming moss rose, even the leaves and stems are fragrant on this plant. Scattered around elsewhere in the back is Dainty Bess; a rambler Albertine by the backgate; pale pink tall climber New Dawn on the back fence paired with the clematis Etoile Violette; and Basye’s Blueberry which is really taking off this year after two years of subdued growth.

In the front of the house on a sideyard I have the white English rose Glamis Castle just opening now, it was badly tramatized by freeze this winter; Marbree a rose-colored marbled Portland rose (marbling almost looks as though raindrops had fallen and stained it where they touched the petals); a mystery rose that I believe may be the Gallica named Tricolore (I sent for Tricolore de Flandres a striped rose, but when it flowered it was not that); lavender Florence de Lattre; the Chestnut Rose; Altissimo, a vibrant red rose; and a potted tree rose Ballerina. Some newcomers from last year are the Red Meidiland rose and a Burgundy Iceberg.

All my roses are own-root stock, which means if they die back badly, the same plant comes out from the roots, not something else. For a long time I have been ordering roses from http://www.vintagegardens.com/ and http://www.heirloomroses.com/ with now and then an excursion to http://www.waysidegardens.com/ with great success. However this is more difficult when I am not here for extended periods as it is hard to predict when ordered roses will arrive sometimes. Since one of the landscape roses Improved Blaze, the only one with grafted roots, died off this winter I am waiting for the arrival of Sweet Afton, my first tea rose, to put in its place. The really difficult part is that I have run out of space to put in yet more roses. There are so many wonderful roses to choose at in 100 Old Roses for the American Garden by Clair Martin which I refer to like a bible, that I go through flagging pages and then in a couple of weeks re-flag them. Someday I would like to have a really big garden that would accommodate 50 rose bushes. That would be a lot of work, maybe I should be content with the ones I already have.

The road to hell is paved with good intentions, Part 1

One of the evil fates that befell us earlier this year occurred on our drive south from San Diego to Santa Rosalia with my friend the Brainy Blonde. At the time we were sightseeing our way down Baja, just past Cataviña. The Blonde was in the car perusing the map when she came across a place called Coco’s Corner, a pit stop for Baja 1000 revelers. With a name like this she said, this is a must see place. So off we turned from the paved safety of Mexico Transpeninsular Highway 1 onto the Chapala-San Felipe dirt road in search of Coco’s Corner. On the map it appeared to be only 16 or so klicks down the road, but what a road! Esperando was equal to the adventure; for some time now he had been curious about this road as a possible truck route for bringing goods from up north down to the mine, but no one from the mine had really driven it yet to see what was there.

Somehow when the Blonde and Esperando get the bit in their teeth about these road things, I always end up in the thick of it. When we lived in southern Peru and she visited, they decided we needed to go to the little village Pucara, a ceramic center out in the middle of nowhere, to buy a certain kind of clay bull that adorns local roofs. The thinking was that we could buy one for cheaper than they sell for in Cuzco. We took a bus from Juliaca, packed like sardines as the bus floundered and skittered across a plain that was about 3 feet deep in mud from recent rains. The passengers audibly moaned at each turn as the bus wallowed and lurched along almost spilling onto its side with all of us in it. We passed 18-wheelers buried up to their axles, beached like whales. If ever a pilot deserved applause for getting his passengers to safety that bus driver was the man! We finally did make it to Pucara without mishap, but never found a bull--they sent them all to Cuzco. These are the kind of irresponsible people I profess to be attracted to—the kind without a lick of common sense (sadly, I have enough common sense to make up for them both.)

But back to Baja. We were initially lulled into a false sense of security, after all this was a known road. Initially although rocky, it was level and rather wide as we took off from the highway. Three miles in it narrowed some, then we went over a rise and the rocks became more pointy, the road more hilly and we started to see dead tires mixed in with the cactus, actually lots of dead tires. This is a road that eats tires, I said (but they ignored me). On we went, up hills, around curves, and down gullies—no other cars in sight. Esperando pulled over in the next flat place to fulfill a biological urge and that’s when he noticed our tire was flat. We were now about 15 klicks off the highway, essentially out in the middle of nowhere. Esperando sent the Blonde and me off in search of big flat rocks to stabilize the vehicle while he dug the jack out from under the seat. At just about that point from out of nowhere, the only other car that would probably appear for the next three days showed up with a couple of nice looking strong young men who stopped to ask if he needed help. I was so happy—ah no, says Esperando with macho finesse, I think we have everything under control. So off they drove leaving us in a cloud of dust while my jaw dropped wide enough for any fly.

Esperando laid on his side in the dirt and started jacking the truck up; and every twist of the cheesy bottle jack sliced his forearm open so he was bleeding freely all over his clothes and the ground. I was still looking for better rocks when The Blonde came to find me to tell me he needed medical attention. Once he had the truck jacked up and started trying to remove the tire it wouldn’t budge, but the truck fell off the jack with his exertions. He re-jacked the vehicle up while I held my breath and wondered how many days the water would hold out. The minutes stretched into an hour, then more, as Esperando and the tire slow danced beside the jack, and finally the tire released its hold on the lugs. Yeah! We were in business again! We wouldn’t collectively become ghosts wandering the desert like La Llorona leaving a pile of bleached skeletons to decorate the local cactus/tire garden after all!

They say God looks after fools and little children. Instead of turning back to the highway, two of our party voted to continue the quest for Coco’s Corner (as you might guess, the abstaining one is she with the extra measure of common sense.) Over each subsequent hill and across every rise the view was the same, more desert and no Coco's Corner. Finally Esperando decided that with no spare it was truly time to turn back.

We spent the night in Guerrero Negro. The Malarrimo Restaurant where we ate is a favorite haunt of the Baja 1000 crowd with a collection of autographed hot-shit wine bottles from famous wineries and drivers, and decal stickers the driving crowd has plastered all over the restaurant's windows and walls—including one that says, ‘Coco’s Corner!’ The next morning when Esperando found a llanteria (tire store) it turned out the tire was toast, it had a 4-inch slit in it.

Join me here in October as we drive this road again, this time all the way to San Felipe. Then we will be properly prepared with a hi-lift jack, at least 3 spare tires, and lots of water—and if we find Coco’s Corner I will send The Blonde a photo!

How to eat a tamale, really!

Tamales Santa Rosalia Style shown below

It surprised me to know a lot of my readers want to know how to eat a tamale. If you want to know what to eat with a tamale, click on this entry. Otherwise herein I will tell you exactly how to eat a tamale since it strikes me that there might be people out there in the world that have never seen, much less eaten a tamale. How sad! Or having been presented with one, they didn’t have some perceived etiquette down pat. I can’t keep them in suspense any longer.

Tamales are an ancient food. They were probably invented by the Mexican people (as in Aztecs or Mesoamericans) and now days follow a southerly flow from the southwest USA through Mexico down to Central and South America. No one knows for sure when or who invented the tamale, but we do know tamales have been written about since pre-Columbian days. In the 1550's, the Aztecs served the Spaniards tamales during their visits to Mexico. The tamale changes its name, appearance and flavor in each country until it gets to Chile where it loses any resemblance to a real tamale but just becomes a lump of masa without any filling. This story is not about those other tamales, but about the ones you find in Mexico and the southwest USA.

Tamales are a labor of love. They are generally made in larger batches of say 12 dozen or more if someone is selling them, or 3 to 6 dozen if made for one's family. They seem to cost about the same if you buy them from someone no matter what country you live in. In Mexico, they are the food of choice for any fiesta, celebration or holiday, but are available everywhere in the Mexican-American world all year long if you ask around. In the US if you are buying tamales you generally buy a dozen at a time, but in Mexico they are not sold by the dozen; you can buy any number without regard to dozens. I don’t know why.

I grew up in Carlsbad, New Mexico, where my mother bought tamales from Manuela who took orders and made up batches for her devotees in her own home. Here in Colorado we can get delicious tamales, the hottest spiciest ones I’ve ever eaten that are sold by some Latin women from their coolers outside the Mexican super markets on Federal Blvd.; in Taos, New Mexico, Abe’s Cantina and Cocina in Arroyo Seco has the best tamales in the world because of their unparalleled masa. Eat a tamale in El Paso, Texas or Tucson, Arizona and it will be different yet again. In Santa Rosalia the tamales have two olives in them (watch out for the pits!) as they do often once you cross the border and keep on going south. US tamales tend to be spicier, those in Mexico more bland but tasty.

It usually takes about 2 whole days to make them with helpers. No one would make them by themselves--they would be crazy, it is so much work. At least two or three or more people are involved in an assembly production of these delectable morsels. Often the tamale filling is made the day ahead from the pig’s head, beef ribs or roasts, and of both dark and light meat of the chicken. The meats are not mixed together; you would buy pork (mine and Esperando's favorites), beef or chicken tamales. Regionally there are sweet tamales with no meat or tamales cooked in banana leaves, but they fall outside of scope of my treatise. The meat is boiled until it falls off the bones and then whatever seasoning, such as red or green chile sauce, or broth with spices is added to it so that you have a rather saucy wet filling. Masa (a dough) is made from nixtamal (very finely ground corn meal) mixed with lard and some of the broth from the meat. The masa is spread to about ½ inch upon corn husks that have first been soaked in hot water. Next a generous spoonful of filling is placed on the masa and it is rolled up cigarette style, so the filling is encased in the masa, and the husks keep it all wrapped together, the ends of the husks are folded over or tied with strips of husk. The tamales are carefully packed into a large pot to steam for 2 hours or more.

But how do you eat them you ask? That is the best and easiest part. The tamales have already been cooked when you purchase them, so you steam them covered in a basket for 7-10 minutes or so, it doesn’t take long, just a little longer if they have been frozen. Or, you can microwave a tamale on high for 1 minute. Take them out—be careful they are really hot! Unroll the husk carefully so the tamale stays whole. Throw the husk away, sliding the tamale onto your plate (or move the husk to the side of your plate if there is no where to toss it) and eat it with a fork. Some people like to pour red or green chile sauce or salsa on top, but if they are great tamales that is not necessary. There are plenty of bad or so-so tamales out there, but nothing can beat the taste of a great tamale. For those wanting to know even more Gourmet Sleuth has alot more details.