SpiceLines

A plastic bag of pinon cones, sticky with resin, gathered like russet flowers from the ground under the trees, wafts a bright, aromatic fragrance that will perfume our house this winter when they’re tossed onto flaming logs.

Stuffed in another bag are a dozen supple red chiles, the tail end of last fall’s crop; this year’s harvest is still a month or two away. I breathe in their dusky, fruity aroma and imagine a pot of thick pork and red chile stew simmering on the back burner.

But most of all there’s the pungent scent of garlic.

A few weeks ago we bought two beautiful garlic braids from Stanley Crawford, novelist, farmer and author of A Garlic Testament, who coaxes extraordinary bulbs out of the bottomland at El Bosque Farm in the mountains near Dixon. (Go here to read about our 2006 visit with Stanley and his wife Rose Mary). One cluster consists of seven plump, purple-streaked heads and tall stalks mingled with wheat, wrapped with crimson hemp, tied with an imprinted clay tag. Much too pretty to eat: Let’s call it “inspiration” and hang it on the kitchen wall. Another braided cluster is more for cooking, though I'm tempted to save it, at least for awhile.

Oh, and here are a handful of loose heads, mild early garlic from El Bosque, tumbling out of my suitcase. Definitely for cooking. And 15 more heads from Rocio Farm near Espanola, which I couldn’t resist when we visited the few small stalls in a scorching hot parking lot behind Lowes last Tuesday. This garlic has a more mature, fiery flavor when eaten raw.

What to do with all this garlic?

In Santa Fe I rubbed a plump leg of lamb from Shepherd's Farm with lots of finely chopped cloves and pungent herbs from the garden—rosemary, lavender, thyme and marjoram—blasted it with high heat for 18 minutes, then turned off the oven and left the door closed for three and a half hours. Though I was doubtful about the high altitude recipe I found on the internet (Santa Fe is 7,000 feet above sea level), the rich meat emerged medium rare and tender, deliciously impregnated with the flavor of garlic and vibrant herbs. I plan to try the same technique here at our considerably lower altitude.

There’s pesto, of course, in all its many manifestations. For a recipe round-up, go to issue #140 of Saveur.

But today I’m making cold garlic soup, to celebrate our return and to celebrate the farmers, nearly a continent away, who grew the bulbs in the distant mountains of Northern New Mexico.

I'll be away again for a couple of weeks: See you at the end of August.