FAMILY FEUD BATTLE CONTINUES - Elisa Romero and her new son-in-law, "Pete" Lucero, competed in the Wine and Chile War Memorial Day Weekend. "Mom" snatched first place but Pete claims, "The judges were wrong. Mine's best."
"I wanted to beat her, I wanted to come in first," groused Pedro "Pete" Lucero. Unbeknownst to Elisa Romero, Pete, her new son-in-law, harbored a burning desire to defeat "Mom" in the salsa competition held during the Wine and Chile War Festival last Memorial Day Weekend.
Since 1996, Elisa has snatched first place for her sassy salsa. But Pete wanted to end to the streak. "I was certain my salsa was better and I thought the judges would too," said Pedro, who placed second. Elisa, who works as a legal secretary assistant at the Reeves Law Firm, was vacationing in California with husband Alonzo as Pedro's personal war raged at the Southern New Mexico State Fair Grounds where the competition was held.
"Darn him, I had no idea that he had entered the contest," Elisa chuckled. Even daughter Joy Ann kept the secret. "I thought it was funny," Joy Ann said. "Mom was certain she as going to win. She couldn't wait for the results to be announced. She phoned us at the fair grounds (on the day of the event) 19 times using MY cell phone," she laughed, pointing a finger at her mother, who acknowledged the accusation with a faint blush.
I traveled to the Romero home one recent weeknight to sample the salsas myself. Alonzo hovered over the kitchen stove, roasting pudgy green chiles on a burner. A delicious, sweet aroma wafted about reminding me that the long awaited chile harvest had arrived. "How would you like a chile burrito?" he asked offering a warmed tortilla bundled with juicy chile torpedoes that peeked from the puffy folds. I smacked my lips in delight.
Elisa soon appeared and we all headed to the dining room where Elisa began pouring a thick pungent sauce from a large plastic tub into a small dish. "I'm not sure where Pete is. He should have been here by now. Maybe he won't show," Elisa said, her mischievous eyes dancing.
"Here, YOU be the judge!" she laughed, offering a bowl of tortilla chips. I plunged a crispy triangle into the dense salsa freckled with green bits. After two bites, my taste buds ignite with a brow sweating chile burn that crawls from the tip of my tongue to the back of my gullet. The next bite spins me into an inebriated-like state. My senses are misaligned until nearly paralyzed. Despite the torment, I continue dipping for more of the pain, more of the pod flavor. I think I grow two inches.
"This is fantastic, terrific" I proclaim, sitting back in my chair to recover from all the chile excitement. Just then, Joy Ann and her eight-year-old stepdaughter Justine arrive. "After all this time, they still argue and tease one another, laughs Joy Ann shaking her head. "Pete says his salsa is the best and that the [Chile War] judges made a mistake."
"He's after me for sure," Elisa said. "Last night Joy Ann was over here and Pete calls and asks her, 'What are you doing over there with the enemy?'"
While we wait for Pete's arrival, Elisa reveals the winning salsa's secret: "I don't measure," she said. The recipe is simple too: tomato sauce, onion, garlic salt, salt and jalapenos, the latter of which she roasts on a comal (a thin, circular "griddle" used to grill tortillas). The skin and stem are removed before "blending the jalapenos to just the right consistency. I don't like it too chunky, nor do I like it soupy," Elisa explained. The seeds are left intact. "If the salsa is too hot, I just add more tomato sauce. Some people use cilantro to make their salsa but I don't. It tastes too 'herby' for me," she adds.
"Now, the truth will come out," Pete proclaimed upon his arrival minutes later. "My salsa's better because I make mine the northern way, he said, opening a container revealing a pungent salsa laced with - guess what - cilantro. Pete, who works in outside sales for Hope Lumber, is a native of Santa Cruz, a small town just east of Espanola.
"Hey, come on Pete, do you want to taste mine?" Elisa teases.
"No thank you, I prefer Second Best."
Pete explained that he entered the contest after "seeing all of Elisa's plaques on the wall. I thought I made a good salsa."
While waiting the judges' decision, Joy Ann and Pete strolled the grounds, sipping wine and enjoying the music. "Elisa kept calling every five minutes - 'Did I win, did I win'?" recounts Pete.
" I was disappointed. I thought I was going to take it," he said. When the phone rang the next time, Joy Ann reported to her mother the results. "And Pete came in second!"
"Pete? Second? I laughed hysterically. I felt really, really good," said Elisa.
"Yeah, so good that we had trouble getting her ego through the door when she got home!" Pete said, smirking.
I eyed the feuding duo as I scooped a dose of Pete's salsa onto a chip, wondering what I'll say if I don't like the potion, or in the event I prefer it to Elisa's blend. I take a nibble, then a second. A wonderful, delicious hot and pungent sensation explodes in my mouth. It's refreshing and earthy... different from Elisa's yet the same fresh pod flavorful goodness that keeps one dipping, and dipping and dipping some more.
Like Elisa, Pete shared only the ingredients, not the portions: stewed and fresh tomatoes, jalapenos, cilantro, garlic, and onion. "I don't roast my jalapenos, I 'blenderize' them."
After learning Pete's "second place ingredients," Elisa says, "Oh, now I know what makes it soooo bad!" she elbows Pete, almost doubling over in laughter.
"I plan on entering again next year," announced Elisa. "I want to fill my walls with plaques. And he can fill his with ribbons."
"Actually," Pete says, "this son-in-law and mother-in-law, north versus south thing has been a lot of fun. I'll enter next year."
"Will you change your recipe?" I ask.
"Yes, I'll roast the jalapenos. That's probably what makes her recipe so good. But I'm gonna keep the cilantro in. Just because I like it."
