FLAGSTAFF, Ariz. – Coming out of middle America, my understanding of chile
was limited to nondescript hot sauces hermetically sealed in tidy, plastic
fast food pouches. When I came of age and moved to northern Arizona, I met
two women who taught me about cooking up good, spicy chow. One, Juanita
Baca, was Mexican; the other, Joyce Tawayesva, was Hopi. Both ladies have
passed on now, but memories of being in their warm, fragrant kitchens on a
harvest day with the smell of roasting chiles in the air have lingered with
me.

Now I grow my own, and as I write, meaty Anaheims are roasting on the racks
of my oven just like they used to at Juanita’s and Joyce’s. Soon, after
turning the chiles once so both sides get a chance to blister in the
350-degree heat, I’ll pull the puffed pods out by their stems. Then, I’ll
fold a tea towel around them so their own steam can finish the job of
separating tough skin from tender flesh.

If it were back at Joyce’s table in Hopiland, we’d all sit down to eggs,
toast, piki bread (the paper-thin blue corn sensation) and coffee. Then
around the table would come the plate of fresh-roasted chiles that each of
us would peel right there and eat along with our eggs. It was all such a
leisurely affair – breakfast on the mesas.

Then again, there was no rushing at Juanita’s adobe dwelling, either. Her
concoctions fried, up in a well-oiled cast iron skillet, were luscious
dishes to be savored as well. Onions and garlic went in first, then
whatever kind of mashed squash she had on hand and lots of diced chiles.
Once we sat down, she’d take the lid off her large, speckled, navy blue
enamel kettle and proudly pass her thick, homemade tortillas around. Bit by
bit, we’d scoop up the chile-flecked squash with pieces of tortilla and let
the spicy goodness put a glow on our cheeks.

Back then, the Anaheims – the long green chiles used for making rellenos –
seemed quite hot, and I took care to remove all the seeds. These days,
though, I’ve graduated, and my garden contains jalapenos; long, thin
cayenne peppers that turn red right on the plant; some serranos; and even a
test plant this year of the tiny, outrageously hot Thai chiles (which have
been well-received, as long as doled out in moderation).

The pungency – or heat factor – of chiles runs on what’s known as the
Scoville range from zero to 500,000. Innocuous sweet bell peppers are zero,
while the Anaheims range a mild 500 to 2,500. Jalapenos run in the medium
ranges at 2,500 to 8,000, along with serranos at 8,000 to 22,000 and
cayennes (the same as Tabascos) at 30,000 to 50,000 that push on up to more
attention-getting pungencies. Thai chiles, as well, spiral right up there
to ultra-serious blasts of 50,000 to 100,000. If you’re wondering who the
big kids on the block are, check out Scotch bonnets and habaneros, which
top the Scoville list at anywhere from 100,000 to 500,000.

Myself, I’ve yet to make the acquaintance of the supercharged crowd.
Instead, I’m happy roasting and dicing my Anaheims like Joyce and Juanita
taught me, as well as slicing up the smaller jalepenos, cayennes and such,
skins and all.

Most often I find no more energy come dinnertime than to just treat the
chiles like onions and garlic, and toss them into the pan as part of the
base for whatever is taking center stage that night – beans, corn, squash,
potatoes.

Then again, sometimes I get official and pull out a recipe for rellenos.
Rellenos, of course, take Anaheims. Once roasted and peeled (if you don’t
grab some costly canned ones that are already prepared), just split the
chiles down the side, remove the seeds and stem, and fill with sticks of
longhorn cheese cut to fit. A dredging of flour over the chiles, a dip into
egg batter (which ideally, but not necessarily, was made by first whipping
the whites and then folding in the yolks), and then into a pan of oil for
cooking. The trick with rellenos is getting the oil right – hot enough so
that a drop of water skitters away on the surface, but not so hot that the
rellenos cause undue splattering when they hit the grease.

So there you are: Chiles a la Joyce Tawayesva and Juanita Baca. They knew a
good thing when they saw it.