Regional Specialties: Only Partly about the Food

I have often been mystified by different areas’ regional specialties. Cider and donuts in Michigan, while tasty, seems like cider and donuts everywhere. Blue Bells ice cream tastes like grocery store ice cream to me, even though it’s Texas’ pride and joy. In and Out hamburgers are pretty good, but not better than other California fast food burgers. Why all the hype? ​

Then, last week in Hillsboro, New Mexico, a waitress opened my eyes. Their local speciality, Hatch chili, comes in red, green, or you can get both if you say “Christmas.” The waitress, who I later learned is one of the owners, overheard me asking my friend to explain Hatch chili to me. Said waitress jumped in and explained that the region around Hatch, NM, has a chili terroir just like France has wine terroir. The soil content and climate make the chili grown there unique. She then explained the difference between green (less ripened) and red (fully ripened). Her eyes grew fierce as she talked. The meal was excellent. ​

The cafe, the only one in town, was a perfect balance of local color and delicious food.

The difference between Hatch chili and other no-name chili is very slight to me. But after I heard a local person explain why Hatch chili is so special, with reasons both aesthetic and scientific, I began to see her point. It doesn’t matter if the difference is slight to me, it matters that the product is special. It is special to the region because it is truly unique.

When I ate Hatch chili in a restaurant where it was served with pride, I changed my mind about local specialties. It’s not only that the product itself that is wonderful, it’s the way the community rallies around it and enjoys it that is wonderful. Food is not sensitive to politics, religion, or socio-economic class.

​Everybody who can get Hatch chili served up fresh can participate in the knowledge that their area has created something good, something locally grown and produced, something that unifies the community.

​Everybody in Texas, from the liberal commie leftist to the Tea Party flag-waver, can cool off with Blue Bell.

And an In n Out burger joint hosts surfers, the after-church crowd, and Hells Angels with no problem.

​They don’t have to get all Kumbaya and hold hands in the restaurant. It’s enough that they are enjoying the same thing.

So next time I go to a new area and the natives ask if I’ve eaten their local delicacy, I’m going to look for the thing that brings their community together. It’s not a Best Thing Yvonne Ever Ate Contest, it’s a celebration that the community exists in spite of its differences.

​(There is one local delicacy that I would take a bullet for, and that’s Texas barbeque. It is simply the best, and if I ever have the misfortune to go to death row and be offered a last meal by the warden, I’ll ask him to get me some Texas bbq.)