Chile Pequin

The Sierra Madre Mountains are stunning: pines, cliffs, rolling hills, and alp-like mountains as far as the eye can see. After our plane landed, we stood there amazed. Our hosts greeted us happily and showed us around their mountain home. After we got settled, we toured the local area. The mission hospital, the local church, many warm-hearted people, then we made a quick stop for some fresh blue corn tortillas.

Later that afternoon, we tucked into some of the local fare (including those fabulous tortillas). Also included in the meal was a bowl full of tiny peppers.

“Would you like some Chile Pequin?” our gracious hosts ask.

Are Mexican mountain tortillas blue? Of course I want Chile Pequin.

“Sure!” I bluffed.

Actually, I had no idea what they were. But they were about the size of a pea and dry. The host handed me a little wooded pestle and I went to work on the pepper. After a few flicks of the wrist, I dumped the contents onto my beans and rice.

Wide eyes flicked back and forth. Everybody waited in silence as I took my first bite.

Lava-firebrand-acid-rain fell onto my tongue. Great sweat drops beaded up and rolled down my jaw. It took a couple of tortillas, but the Chile apocalypse subsided. Eventually, those tiny peppers became my friends. And pretty soon I was grinding more.

All was going well, until after supper I reached up and touched my right eye.

Out of nowhere, a demon guided freight train ran over my face. My eyelid slammed shut. I was soon going to have my answer on how I would look with an eye patch.

Without hesitation, our host stood up and produced a tiny plastic cup.

“Here,” she said, “pour this goat milk into you eye.” It was so rapid and I was in so much pain that I didn’t even ask her, “how did you get that milk so fast?” Or, “is this a goat-milk eyewash approved cup?” Or, “where is your goat?”

I poured the goat milk into my eye and the pain was instantly washed away.

Chile Pequin is good.

Goat milk is better.

 

anthony forrest