What's This Blog About?

Pacific Grove is nearly an island - it is in the minds of people who live here - "surrounded" on two sides by the blue cold ocean. In a town that's half water and half land, we're in a specific groove where we love nature but also love to leave and see what the rest of the world is doing. Welcome along!

Wednesday, April 28, 2010

Pie Town, New Mexico




April 25 - Pie Town, New Mexico (backtracking to the beginning of this journey):

Early in the morning before the sun had any idea of arriving in the east, we flew to Phoenix and from there to Albuquerque. The difference between Pacific Grove and the high desert is water. Flash floods and droughts, as well as the constantly arid climate are quickly evident as soon as you step outdoors in the southwest. Spring has been lush and eden-like this year on the California coast; locals here in New Mexico are telling us the same is true here, but at this altitude only slight blushes of green are showing up across high plateaus and on the flanks of hills. The Rio Grande, however, is flowing bank to bank. We crossed it immediately south of Albuquerque, a swollen brown flow of muddy water.

The Coronado Trail paralleled our route west to the Round Valley in eastern Arizona. The conquistador was looking for fabled cities of gold and encountered Apache indians who were trying desperately to defend their pueblos (so called by the Spaniards, a name that has stuck ever since) as well as the Zuni and other local peoples in the 1500s. Up until that time, indigenous people had lived for thousands of years in relative peace. The Spaniards found the area very difficult and disappointing, to say the least, as there were no cities that held vast treasures of gold. Modest amounts compared to what was produced in California eventually were mined in various "rushes" later in history, but enough raw materials were available to keep the Spaniards looking for more.

Yankees from the east began showing up a few centuries later. They were eager to claim land and begin running cattle and used a route called The Santa Fe Trail further north to meet trains that were eventually built to haul cattle to Chicago and points east. It seemed like wide open territory to early settlers, free for the taking, and it still looks that way now. Enthusiasm began at at a fever pitch and gradually fizzled out in the face of marauding Indians and severe natural conditions. Homesteads and shaky-looking ranches with caved-in roofs and raggedy fences can be seen now, dotting the area. For us as travelers in an air-conditioned and comfortable car going 80 mph, it seems mind-bending to imagine plodding through the area in wagons and on horseback. For us, open vistas and vast distances were no problem and "to hell and gone" hardly fit. But, that was the eventual self-description of ranchers back in the day.

History - even though what were were traveling through was mile after mile of juniper-dotted rolling high mesa land - whispering to us from every wash and rocky outcrop. We were headed to eastern Arizona to visit family for a day and a half, and the route we used was Interstate 60. We'd seen Pie Town on our map and decided it would be our first destination. It's where we intended to pick up our contribution to the night’s dinner.

About 30 people (more or less) live at this little bump in the road just west of the Continental Divide at 8,000 or so feet. We rolled up to the front of the Pie-O-Neer Cafe, fronted with a collection pink flamingos and a large welcome sign. The inside was a little oasis of good humor and friendliness that was infectious. The place is one large room with a wood-burning stove made from a 50-gallon steel drum set on its side with a stove pipe going up through the roof. A few booths and tables lined the room on either side and a long formica-covered bar lined the far end. We sat there and looked around at the memorabilia and signs. "The buck never even slows down here" was my favorite.

We chose Chili Stew and were handed a steaming bowl of bits of pork in a savory broth that also held chunks of tender potatoes, green chili and pinto beans. It's a delicious, very local comfort food. Our young pretty waitress turned out to be from Florida by way of New York, happy to have found Pie Town. The owner and her partner also play music with other local musicians (who must be scattered in the hills because not much else was around that we could see) and uses her grandmother's pie crust recipes to produce absolutely perfect pie crust, for which she is justly very proud.

We traded pie lore and recipe wisdom; pie makers feel instant kinship when they discover one another, and she was truly abuzz with happiness. She showed us her grandmother's treasured recipe book, all the way from Illinois, and seemed to have boundless energy as she moved from kitchen to counter table and back.

A traveling jewelry salesman was at the far end of the counter and traded a piece of pie for a necklace. From the taste of the pie and the quality of his jewelry, he got the better end of the bargain. A few local folks arrived who hadn't seen each other for a while. They greeted each other with great warmth and good humor and settled in for conversation around one of the round tables at the other side of the room. There were no TVs, no blaring radio, no intrusion on the calm pace of life. A large shelf - maybe 10 feet long and 5 feet high - held hundreds of well-worn books. It goes without saying that this was a place you are welcome to rest your feet and stay awhile.

At the end of each day, the Pie-O-Neer sends people on their way with piepourri, a five-piece collection of pie slices that were made during the day. Most pies are made from local fruits, but products come from much further away including Oregon and Washington.

They had just pulled a fresh pie from the oven when we arrived and insisted on letting it cool down for a while before we could taste it. New Mexico apple pie. Wow. It's a double-crust pie with two kinds of apples, pine nuts and chile pepper blended with just a hint of sweetness. We bought the whole thing to take with us and finally said good-bye.

Clouds looked like white rabbits running across the blue sky. Austere beauty that struck the heart like mallet quieted us for a while, but we were content. The Land of Enchantment works its magic in many ways, large and small. Tiny little Pie Town charmed us for sure. We'll find our way back again for wonderful pies and genuine heartfelt hospitality.

2 comments:

Anonymous said...

Wow, who but you and Gary could find a place called Pie Town, New Mexico? I think maybe the town wasn't there 'til you jabbed that map with your finger.

Also, I just realized the word yankee means "One who is yanked." Ever thought of that? ss

Anonymous said...

Wrong! The word yankee is a derivative of a term applied by early Dutch colonial settlers to English settlers in Connecticut: Jan Kees, or John Cheese. In time it became Yankees. This per Webster's College Dictionary.