On our way to the restaurant last night, I felt so relaxed as we cruised through Albuquerque’s University District, I saw a guy with a black leather biker jacket on, and shorts. For some reason it just made me fell at home. We had Greek food last night, and to cap it all off, I ordered a cup of “Greek Coffee” which was cooked up and served just like traditional Turkish Coffee, “We take teaspoon of coffee, heaping teaspoon, pulverized coffe, and a teaspoon of sugar and boil it,” the one of the owner’s suggested while she poured the bubbling black mass into a demitasse, “and serve it.” After the coffee was drained, my host Robin proceeded to upend the cup and turn it over on its saucer, and then he read the coffee grounds. In case I was wondering, I’m moving trailers, maybe. And I might have something good happening soon. I wondered, out loud, why more people didn’t flock to this town, sharing in myawe of the beautful landscape, “What industry do we have? Art? Green Chile? What else?” The conversation switched to politics, and Robin had some astute observations, “Of course the local government is corrupt, but we’re nothing compared to Texas, we haven’t learned how to steal with both hands yet.”
Sunday morning we had breakfast at perhaps one of the finer places to eat, just a little east of Albuquerque’s Old Town, Garcia’s. “Help stamp out Gringo food.” What a fine slogan for a New Mexico restaurant, and I’ll leave the piquant flavor to one’s imaginations, hot, spicy, delicious.
