One of the evenings in Santa Fe began with a stop at the Gruet Winery Tasting Room in the historic Hotel St. Francis. (If you want to sound knowledgeable , Gruet is pronounced Gru-AY, in the French manner.) The Gruet family is from the Champagne-Ardenne region of France; they came to New Mexico in 1984 and began making mostly sparkling wine, using the traditional methode champenoise. Don’t look down your nose at this; it’s very respectable stuff and often leaves serious wine folks surprised and happy. There’s a nice pinot noir, too.
It’s only about a half block from Gruet to perhaps the first of Santa Fe’s big name restaurants, the Coyote Cafe. Opened in 1987 by Mark Miller, there’s a large second-floor dining room and a cantina with a separate, more casual menu and some outdoor seating. (No reservations there, though.) Miller is no longer associated with it, but the standards remain high, and it stays busy.
Squash blossoms emblems are frequent in Native American jewelry, but it was coincidence (or was it?) that the special appetizer that visit was zucchini squash blossoms stuffed with lobster and goat cheese. Fortunately four of them came out – otherwise there would have been squabbling over dividing these delicious morsels up. Rich, crisp-chewy, they were so light, nevertheless, they almost hovered over the plate. Duck confit tacos, anyone? To die for, certainly, with a sauce of green pumpkin seeds, and caramelized scallions.
Elk tenderloin (above) rubbed with telicherry peppercorns, with morel mushrooms and a fine pan sauce with black truffle was a hit, hearty but only lightly gamy, perfectly rare. Points for the pork chop with green chile mashed potatoes, just tangy, not killer-hot, a black pepper hollandaise, and a cider-based glaze. They make their own excellent ice cream, including a creamy coconut, and we were going to settle for sharing a little of that when temptation overcame and the chocolate sphere arrived. The shiny chocolate orb contains coffee gelato and a crème anglaise sauce is warm enough that the sphere cracks open to reveal the gelato. Plus strawberries and shortbread underneath. Quite a show. The night we were there, the only quibbles were that several tables had entrees arriving at less than optimal serving temperature. The problem was quickly and gracefully rectified, and I’d go back at the drop of a squash blossom.
Another evening, two of us began with a sunset drink on top of La Fonda on the Plaza, their rooftop bar which closes – well, just after sunset. This isn’t a city with a great skyline, but the mountains were nice and the New Mexico sky is pretty stunning most of the time. It’s easy to understand why artists have gravitated here. A fine spot for a preprandial quaff.
After the fine dining of the previous evening, it was time for some just-folks food, like a green chile cheeseburger, which is pretty much the state dish. We headed off the tourist track for Atrisco Cafe, a family-owned business full of locals. The service was warm and easygoing, kids were tumbling over each other in a couple of booths, and the waiter was happy to answer any questions.
Excellent guacamole, chunky, a light hit of heat with it, and fresh, warm chips kicked things off. Happily, they offer menudo every day. It’s more apt to be found on weekends, since folk wisdom says it’s a hangover cure, but there it was. I first tried it many years ago at Ruiz’ on North Lindbergh, the first time I’d eaten tripe. I loved it, the earthy flavor in a rich broth that’s usually made with pork. If you like posole, this will be an easy transition. Atrisco’s version – I just got a cup – comes with the expected chopped white onion, dried Mexican oregano, lime to squeeze in, and either red or green chile sauce. I added a touch of the red and pushed it toward MM. “Here,” I said firmly, “this is what this is supposed to taste like.” And it was.
The cheeseburger was a thick one, juicy and oozing not only the beefy juices but the cheese and pieces of chiles, quite proper. We also had, instead of a burrito, a sopapilla stuffed with thinly sliced roast lamb. Divine; I salivate thinking about it. There was also on the menu a dessert I’d only read about, natillas. Had to try it, couldn’t remember anything about it. “Warm or cold?” asked our young server. “Your choice,” we said. A soft custard arrived, lightly warmed, a little cinnamon on top, less dense than, say, a pudding. Comfort food indeed; this and a really good chicken soup could cure many of the world’s ills.