MY PRIMO INTRODUCES me to the barber. “So you’re from Embudo?” the barber asks me, the snip of his scissors rhythmically slicing through the slow afternoon. “When I was a kid growing up in Dawson, there was a man that went every year from Embudo to sell his chile, apples, flour, and other products. It was an annual ritual, and in the fall, everyone in the village would be anticipating his arrival on his horse-drawn wagon.” My primo and I listen intently.

The barber’s story wonderfully articulates the relationship between one man selling his produce and the community to which he traveled, almost a hundred miles annually, to deliver products that would sustain the village for another year.

But the barber’s story has a personal relevance more important to me than the concept of bartering traditions. Could the man on the wagon have been my grandfather, who operated a vegetable trade route from Embudo to Cimarrón in the thirties, forties, and early fifties? The barber continues, “The entire village would be waiting for the day when we would see him coming down the road.”

My primo’s eyes gaze at me from under his crinkled forehead, his head held steady by the barber’s hand. “Every fall, upon his return, the kids from the village would run down the road to greet him. Some would jump onto his wagon and ride with him into the village as he laughed and played his harmonica. The other kids would run ahead, announcing his arrival: ‘¡Aquí viene Don Silviares, aquí viene Don Silviares!’ ”

“When I was a kid growing up in Dawson, there was a man that went every year from Embudo to sell his chile, apples, flour, and other products. It was an annual ritual, and in the fall, everyone in the village would be anticipating his arrival on his horse-drawn wagon,” says the barber.

—Levi Romero

As I listen to his story, I can see the cornucopia of bushels filled with apples, pears, melons, and plums, the sacks of green chile, red chile ristras, watermelons, and who knows what else! I imagine the sound of my grandfather’s prized stallion, El Elefante, pulling the wagonload of produce, his sweaty flanks and large hoofs kicking up dust. I hear the clinking and clanking of bridle, harness, and leather in rhythm with my grandfather’s song.

A few years later, at Doña Petra Sanchez’s 80th birthday celebration, Mrs. Sanchez introduces me to her sister and a childhood friend. After the cordial introductions, I ask them where they are from. “We’re from Dawson,” says Mrs. Sanchez’s younger sister. “Oh, I’ve heard the name before, but I can’t recall where Dawson is. Where is it?” I ask.

“You mean, where was it?” she says. “It’s not there any longer,” adds her friend. “Dawson was over by Ratón, but no one lives there anymore. It’s an abandoned mining town.” “Near Ratón?” I ask. “Yes,” she replies. “My grandfather used to sell and barter fruit and vegetables out that way,” I tell her. “Who was your grandfather?” “His name was Silviares Duran. I’ve
been told that the people from Cimarrón and around that area knew him as Don Silviares.”

“Don Silviares?” She ponders the name. “I remember him,” she says, as if a long-distant memory has entered her recollections. “You do?” I ask enthusiastically. “Yes, yes.” She turns to her friend and asks her, “¿Te acuerdas de Don Silviares, aquel hombre que venía todos los años del Embudo a vender fruta?” “Si, me acuerdo bien,” she says. “En mamá le llamava El Verdulero.”

He said that my grandfather and his vegetables were so highly regarded that when a kid from the household would announce that there was someone outside selling fruit and vegetables, they could hear the woman of the house say, “Si es El Verdulero, sí, queremos.”

—Levi Romero

A verdulero is a vegetable grower. They reminisce about Don Silviares, my grandfather, who they recalled being their family’s favorite fruit grower. My tío Celestino remembered accompanying my grandfather on some of his trips to Dawson. He said that my grandfather and his vegetables were so highly regarded that when a kid from the household would announce that there was someone outside selling fruit and vegetables, they could hear the woman of the house say, “Si es El Verdulero, sí, queremos.” The quality of my grandfather’s produce guaranteed that his harvest had a market of customers who preferred his fare over someone else’s. I also later learn that Dolores Huerta, the labor leader and co-founder with César Chávez of the United Farm Workers, was born in Dawson.

For many nuevomexicanos, harvest season stirs up stories of family traditions associated with the unmistakable scent of chile roasting and a yearning for locally produced vegetables. Green and red chile sauces, chicos, posole, atole, pastelitos, home-canned fruits and vegetables, and other treasured family foods and recipes enter people’s memories and conversations. Unlike back when fruit growers like Don Silviares traveled long distances to deliver their produce, these days we visit farmers’ markets, the grocery store, or our favorite grower’s stand to purchase fruits and vegetables. If we are fortunate, relationships are formed with these providers. We carry on in the manner of our antepasados, celebrating life with homegrown foods and healthy eating, while forming lifelong friendships with the verduleros who provide our tables with the nurturing sustenance to carry us through the rest of the year.

Order your copy of the Centennial Cookbook - A Century of Flavors, featuring a variety of great fall recipes and essays from renowned New Mexico food experts and writers.

Pumpkins played a prominent role in early Native cuisine. A member of the squash family, pumpkins are one of the Three Sisters—corn, beans, and squash. When planted together, each helps the others to flourish and grow. Pumpkins were part of the Indigenous diet well before Spanish settlers made their way to New Mexico, providing blossoms for stews, seeds for snacking, and other culinary contributions. In Taos, chefs Wilks and Colleen Medley use local pumpkins at their eclectic restaurant, Medley, in dishes such as pumpkin bisque and pumpkin lava cake. Wilks shared this recipe for a fall breakfast feast featuring pumpkin, apples, and other seasonal ingredients in our October 2022 issue.

GRIDDLE CAKES

2 cups all-purpose flour

½ cup sugar

1 teaspoon baking powder

1 teaspoon kosher salt

1 teaspoon ground cinnamon

¼ teaspoon ground cloves

¼ teaspoon ground allspice

¼ teaspoon ground ginger

¼ teaspoon ground nutmeg

3 eggs

1 cup heavy cream

15 ounces pumpkin puree

1 cup grated Honeycrisp apple

3 tablespoon melted butter, plus
more for cooking

SPICED APPLE AND GOLDEN RAISIN CHUTNEY 

2 tablespoons butter

2 cups peeled and diced Honeycrisp apples

1 cup golden raisins

1 cup diced red bell pepper

½ cup brown sugar

1 cup dry white wine

2 tablespoons whole-grain mustard

½ teaspoon prepared horseradish

¼ teaspoon smoked paprika

1 teaspoon salt, or to taste

CARAWAY CRÈME FRAÎCHE 

½ teaspoon caraway seeds

1 cup crème fraîche

Pinch of kosher salt

Serves 6

GRIDDLE CAKES

1. In a medium mixing bowl, whisk together the flour, sugar, baking powder, salt, and spices until well combined.

2. In another medium mixing bowl, combine the eggs, cream, pumpkin puree, and grated apple.

3. Slowly add the dry ingredients to the wet ones, whisking continuously until batter is smooth. Stir in the melted butter and mix well.

4. Heat a large sauté pan or griddle over medium heat and lightly butter. Ladle about ¼ cup of batter into the pan to form each cake. Cook for about 2 to 3 minutes on each side, then set aside and keep warm. Continue until all the batter has been cooked.

SPICED APPLE AND GOLDEN RAISIN CHUTNEY

1. Melt the butter in a medium-size saucepan; add the apples, raisins, and red pepper. Cook over medium heat until softened, about 5 to 7 minutes.

2. Stir in the brown sugar, wine, mustard, horseradish, paprika, and salt.

3. Bring to a simmer and cook over medium-low heat for about 20 minutes, until the liquid has cooked down and become
very syrupy.

CARAWAY CRÈME FRAÎCHE

1. Toast caraway seeds on a cookie sheet in a 350° preheated oven for about 3 minutes, until fragrant.

2. Transfer the seeds to a spice blender and pulse until very fine.

3. In a medium mixing bowl, whisk together the crème fraîche, caraway seeds, and salt. Refrigerate until serving.

ASSEMBLY

1. Lay three griddle cakes on each plate, overlapping them slightly.

2. Top each cake with 1 tablespoon of chutney. (Reserve remaining chutney in refrigerator for up to 2 weeks.)

3. Finish with a liberal drizzle of the caraway crème fraîche.

Levi Romero was selected as the inaugural New Mexico poet laureate in 2020. He is the author of several poetry collections and anthologies and is an associate professor in the Chicana and Chicano Studies department at the University of New Mexico. Romero is from the Embudo Valley of northern New Mexico.