Chili by Mia

From the time I was a small child, I knew I was not meant to be a New Mexican. I was abnormal. I was abnormal in the sense that I was missing the key preference ALL New Mexicans should have in tact from the time of birth. I hated green chili. I hated all chili. I hated chili with such a passion that the chili itself, who was loved by most, weeped in rejection with little chili tears.
I of course, have no idea how such a tragedy occurred. My family has live in New Mexico for four generations. As a fourth generation New Mexican, one would think such a food sensitivity would have been long extinguished. That thy sensitive little taste buds would have become mutant ninja, chili loving tastebuds. But, no such miracle took place.


I had to suffer the embarrassment of walking into a Mexican resturant and ordering green, not red chili, on the side, not smothered on every cubic inch of the entire freaking plate. I had to endure not the burn, but the sickly flavor and repulsive texture of chili.
It was for this reason, this horrific hatred, that I believe I belong somewhere else. In another state, another country. Perhaps in Italy , where the blessed souls have not even heard of chili. Those wonderful, innocent Italians who ask if you would care for some chocolate cake, creamy with no hint of chili. It was at breakfast, in New Mexico, when I was thinking these thoughts. Simontanisouly, I was scraping off chili from my eggs.