The Gloriously Sweet and Spicy Breakfast Pillow
The Gloriously Sweet and Spicy Breakfast Pillow
Sopapillas in Albuquerque
After surviving the type of severe turbulence that comes with flying into Albuquerque in the spring, I wobbled through the airport flanked by jars of red and green chile. A clear blue sky engulfed the desert outside, where a patchwork of chamisa bushes and tumbleweeds rustled around the tarmac.
When I visit Albuquerque, I always seek out the same food: enchiladas and burritos “christmas”—smothered in red and green chile—and sopapillas with red chile. I must have eaten thousands of sopapillas between the years of 1991 and 2009, and a couple hundred since then, when I left Albuquerque for California.
The sopapilla is a somewhat plain option, but with a satisfyingly sweet flavor and a bready, pretzel-like texture. The New Mexican version, its wheat flour and masa harina leavened with butter, is a 200-year-old adaption of Spanish fry bread and a chubby, less crunchy cousin to the sopaipa and cachanga of Argentina, Uruguay, and Chile. It comes in either a square or triangular shape, and is served with honey, butter, and the occasional side of red or green chile.
There’s a hypnotic quality to watching sopapillas being made. The dough is rolled out into perfect squares, hand-slapped to invigorate the wheat flour and masa harina mix, and placed in the hot oil. It swims around the pool with a low gurgle and expands into small, golden pillows before being transferred to a red wireframe basket.
Everyone in New Mexico eats sopapillas—the kids drench them in honey, the adults stuff them with chile and ground beef. Hot, crunchy carbohydrates covered in stuff both sweet and savory: there’s no way not to love them. (In gluttonous fashion, they’re made in a seven-pound variety for eating challenges across the city.)
I opt for my “sopa and red” at El Camino Dining Room, the 1940s-themed diner with whitewashed adobe walls and a red chile recipe that hasn’t changed since the place opened in 1950. It’s one of the few eateries in the city that retains its neon Route 66 theme. With the local mailman, farmer, and clay potter taking their morning java at the counter and chatting with the owners about the past week, the place retains its status as a local treasure.
While I waited, I scanned the menu and gazed outside at the motor motel across the street with the vintage 1960s sign that reads, “Vacancy… Color TV.” The smell of simmering red chile with its oniony undercurrent pulsed through my section. A few minutes later, my sopa and red landed on the table.
The result was wonderfully nostalgic and spicier than I remembered. The red chile came in a small bowl and the sopapillas landed on the table in a cloud of steam—crispy and flaky on top and tender at the seam. I tore a corner off one and dipped the open edge into the red chile, swirling it around and catching the scent of garlic steaming off the soggy dough. There could be no better breakfast bite on a windy Albuquerque morning.