Where to eat in Carlsbad, New Mexico

Hermana and I drove down to Carlsbad, NM to visit our Mother recently. We spent all of our time eating out, then napping and then trying to decide which restaurant to devote our attention to next. We made some surprisingly new finds and repeated old best ones—people in Carlsbad have some clever dining options now that have not always been there.

Our first night we went to the No Whiner Diner. The name by itself is enough to turn me off, but the food is actually very fresh and appealing with a diner sort of aspect, lots of options (including great salads for dieters), even though they don’t serve liquor. The thing about Carlsbad according to my cousin is that the townspeople fall into two groups: those that drink and those that oppose drinking. Every restaurant in Carlsbad has to decide which group they plan to appeal to because teetotalers and lushes avoid each other’s restaurants on principle.

The next morning as my sister and I walked down the hall to my Mother's room, we sadly discovered our Mother’s dining companion fallen on the floor in her room with a badly broken knee; she was taken off to Lubbock for surgery that couldn't be done in Carlsbad. That sort of dampened our mood to eat breakfast in the independent care dining room that day, so we hustled off to the Blue House Bakery and Cafe, a darling coffee shop and bakery with amazing artwork, excellent food and a convivial atmosphere on North Canyon Road. My sister parked in front of the vacant lot next door to the Blue House and pointed out to me that this was where my Mother had first lived as a child. Two Cyprus trees had overgrown either side of a single concrete step which was all that remained of where the house had stood, and the vacant lot next to that was where a beloved family pet, Star Puppy, was buried. I always asked my Mother to tell me Star Puppy stories over and over again when I was little.

Best place to meet and mingle with friendly locals--a must do!

That evening we had reservations at the Stock Exchange Steakhouse, one of the more pricey places. I wish they would put a new front door on the restaurant; the existing one is plywood painted a flat black and kind of sets the tone for the poor interior design in the restaurant. The facility is owned by a caterer and the food is imaginative and unique, even though the menu is somewhat limited. All of us were impressed with the fine food (and me the wine list); the desserts were exceptional. The dining furniture is beautiful, but although the restaurant is expensively decorated it is a claustrophobic space inside. A beautiful old bar dominates the end of the room, but has been effaced by the black ceiling and dark red-brown walls that take over the room and press you down. I believe they had the best food, but the interior made all of us very uncomfortable.

Thursday came and lunch was held at The Little Teapot, a very girlie spot in an old Carlsbad house, cater-corner from the Blue House. Inside the home was decorated with ladies hats, teapots and floral china, and a beautiful framed wedding dress from the ‘50s complete with pearls, handbag and photo of the bride and groom. The groom’s dinner jacket was framed on the other wall. The food was fresh and not too much, and all the meals were served on beautiful pieces of mismatched china. It was a cute place and was popular enough that a children’s birthday party was underway upstairs.

For dinner we drove 30 minutes distant to Artesia to an Italian restaurant called Piccolino which got good reviews on Trip Advisor. It turned out to be sort of your red-checkered tablecloth kind of Italian restaurant and didn’t make any claims to being fancy, though it was housed in a cute old brick building and was attractive inside. The portions were quite generous and the menu very comprehensive. I would definitely go back again. I wondered who the Italian counterpart of the establishment was since the staff seemed all to be of Mexican descent though giving the impression of being part of a large family who owned it. There were lots of unique menu items that hinted at a very Italian cook. Artesia is an oil-and-gas town, a tiny town of about 15,000 but embellished with some very impressive large-scale bronze sculptures of horsemen and cattle along the main street and highway through town.

Bronze sculpture, El Vaquero, in downtown Artesia

The next day, Friday, was our last day to enjoy each other’s company as Hermana and I would leave bright and early the next morning to catch up with Esperando in the Albuquerque Airport. I can never understand how times flies by so quickly. I convinced Hermana that we had to go to San Jose, the Mexican part of Carlsbad, to eat at Rojas Mexican Grill and Restaurant, the best Mexican restaurant in town. Their red chile sauce for chips and for enchiladas is fabulous, hot and spicy. The Mexican American citizens of Carlsbad lay claim to many generations of residence here all the way back to the Spanish occupation of Mexico; they are not ‘wetbacks’.

Our last night’s dinner was saved for the Trinity Grill and Hotel. This historic property was constructed in 1892 as the First National Bank. It once served as home to the first newspaper and headquarters of the Carlsbad Irrigation District where my grandfather had his office as Project Manager of the U.S. Reclamation Project. For my Mother, my sister and me, it evokes nostalgia of times past and some emotional claim that we have on Carlsbad as our birthplace. However it is also a wonderful place to eat, full of light and elegant interior spaces. The food is always good, the Maitre D’ knows my Mother and delights in escorting her to a table, and somehow it just always feels like home.

The old bank building these days houses Trinity, a B&B and hotel.

Family Memoirs

Confederation Bridge traveling north to New Brunswick

When we went to visit our friends in Prince Edward Island last week instead of taking the ferry back to Nova Scotia to go to the airport in Halifax, we drove back over the Confederation Bridge which crosses the Northumberland Strait to connect PEI to New Brunswick. The bridge is 8 miles long, the longest in the world crossing ice-covered water (although being mid-summer it wasn’t icy), and endures as one of Canada’s top engineering achievements of the 20th century.

Watch out for mooses crossing the road!

My mother has always told me that some of our ancestors came from New Brunswick. In fact, they reputedly left American soil during the Revolution because they wanted to remain Loyalists. The truth of the matter is that many of them landed in New Brunswick to start with. When we started driving it began to rain pretty good, and once we crossed into New Brunswick it was pouring down steadily making the dark gloomy piney forests bordering the road look primitive, vaporish and threatening, so the opposite of tidy manicured Prince Edward Island. Here and there on the highway signs warning of wildlife crossings featured the black silhouette of a moose. I wondered what life was like back in the 1700’s when my forebears lived in that God forsaken place. And then, I thought maybe it would have been the same in Maine where other family settled back then. Rushing into my mind came the silly little tune that I learned long ago when I was 12 and taking piano lessons. It goes like this: “Hear the Indians in the forest, creeping, creeping. They will not disturb you if you are sleeping, sleeping.” The thought of the woods being full of Indians sort of made my scalp prickle, and it didn't sound like a very comforting lullaby.

Historic American Buildings Survey Print of Old Photo Showing Remains of Junkins Garrison (Built about 1700 in Maine.) The Tozier Garrison may have been something like this.

As we drove along I googled “Richard Tozier” on my Blackberry whose name I knew as one of my ancestors. He lived in Salmon Falls, Maine and was murdered by the Indians there in 1675 during the French and Indian wars. My mother has a copy of a pencil drawing of Tozier Garrison, a blockhouse that he constructed after one Indian attack. It was in country just such as this that he lived and died. His story has always captured my imagination, and the account goes like this:

“September 24th, 1675, the Indians first attacked the settlements near Saco, and then proceeded towards the Piscataqua River, intending to make an assault upon any defenseless place. The first place to be assailed was the dwelling house of Mr. Richard Tozier. It was situated one hundred and fifty rods above the mills and garrison at Salmon Falls. Tozier and sixteen men in the neighborhood had gone with Wincoln, captain of the town company, to defend or relieve the distressed inhabitants of Saco, and left his household unguarded, consisting of fifteen persons, all women and children. The attack was led on by Andrew, of Saco, and Hopehood, of Kennebec, two of the bravest warriors in their tribes. A girl of eighteen discovered their approach, shut and stood against the door until the others escaped to the next house, which was better secured. The Indians chopped the door to pieces, knocked her down, leaving her for dead and pursued the rest. Two children who could not get over the fence were captured. The unknown heroine recovered.


In October the garrison was attacked again. A letter addressed to two gentlemen at Dover communicates the distress of that place. 'To Richard Waldron and Lieutenant Coffin: These are to inform you that the Indians are just now engaging us with at least one hundred men and have already slain four of our men, Richard Tozier, James Berry, Isaac Bottes and Tozier's son, and burned Benoni Hodsdon's house. Sirs, if ever you have any love for us, show yourselves with men to help us, or else we are in great danger of being slain, unless our God wonderfully appears for our deliverance. They that cannot fight let them pray.'

Richard's son Richard, Jr., was captured, but returned after some Months Restraint.' Lieutenant Roger Plaisted, one of the signers of the above letter, was killed in the attempt to rescue his friend's body. Richard Tozier, Jr. returning from captivity, inherited the house and lands of his father where he lived many years with his wife, Elizabeth. Tradition gives two Canadian captivities to Richard and three to Elizabeth his wife.

It is said that the Indians came once while she was boiling (lye) soap and she, throwing it upon them, caused their retreat. Again, dressed in man's clothes with gun in hand she acted as sentry while the men were in the fields. Of her last capture the Genealogy says that when Richard saw the Indians coming he told his wife she must do the best she could; he preferred death to another captivity. If she were taken he would redeem her if he lived. So covering himself with a feather bed he ran out of the back door to the frozen river. The ice was thin and he broke through. The Indians seeing the hole and the bed believed him drowned and did not follow. They pillaged and burned the house, carrying off Elizabeth and all its inmates. Meantime Tozier was watching from the river's bank."

Hear the Indians in the forest, creeping, creeping . . .