The Recipe

Clap your hands, ding a ling, look the other way, Texas crew is coming, the Packard’s on its way. Daddy brings you sunshine, like, he’s done before, pack your bags for heaven, we eat with G-D at four!

Woody first thought of the road trip, the trip in 54. The day his Daddy mentioned were headed to the North. The family filled the Packard, their eight voices sang, they left their Lubbock, homestead for what their Daddy craved. It had to be the end times, the sedentary crew, fit in seats like hoboes, monkeys in a zoo. Daddy had a mission, a cook with quiet a plan, in Santa Fe there’s chili that fills a hungry man. What Woody dared to wonder, as his dad drove that day, what is chili made of, that’s green upon a plate, his father told the family, start your dreams and pray, today we feast with angels, we eat in Santa Fe.

Clap your hands, ding a ling, look the other way, Texas crew is coming, the Packard’s on its way. Daddy brings you sunshine, like, he’s done before, pack your bags for heaven, we eat with G-D at four!

They crossed the line at Farwell, driving 84, somewhere it turned to desert, the heat made tempers soar. Mother said to Daddy, why did you bring us here, we are not like the Hebrews, I wish I had a beer. A cloud of feet were rising as children fought and played, the station wagon hovered between hell and heavens gaze. Woody’s mind was clear then of what his dad would say, I believe a recipe waits us in Santa Fe. My dear it is of chilies, green, I’ve heard some say, it brings your tongue to places, words I can’t relay, I’ve only heard its born North, there in Santa Fe.

Clap your hands, ding a ling, look the other way, Texas crew is coming, the Packard’s on its way. Daddy brings you sunshine, like, he’s done before, pack your bags for heaven, we eat with G-D at four!

Somewhere, around the Moon Ranch, upon road 66, there came from heaven thunder, apocalyptic sent. The Packard hit a deluge sent from angry skies, Mother screamed at Daddy you’ve brought us here to die. Woody and his siblings to their benefit, prayed to idols many, to bind the elements. Daddy drove on tight lipped his face awash in gray, the family knew at some point, he’d look at them and say. Up ahead is chili, born upon by man, I know it’s for the willing, the ones who drive this land. A recipe for taking, ahead in Santa Fe, no rain or storm can stop me, or cause us such delay.

Clap your hands, ding a ling, look the other way, Texas crew is coming, the Packard’s on its way. Daddy brings you sunshine, like, he’s done before, pack your bags for heaven, we eat with G-D at four!

The Packard rolled down Canyon down through Santa Fe, Daddy’s watch was ticking ten to four that day. There upon the plaza, the Packard came to rest, a Texas family followed their father to his test. Inside a small cantina, the type there is no more, a recipe was waiting like food not know before. A promised land of chili born by Juan’s own hand, it rested green and willing a journey found its end. Daddy turned his grey eyes, filled with tears that day, what’s born from this man’s warm stove, will rest my soul always.

Clap your hands, ding a ling, look the other way, Texas crew is coming, the Packard’s on its way. Daddy brings you sunshine, like, he’s done before, pack your bags for heaven, we eat with G-D at four!

 

Woody told me his daddy a fry cook out of Lubbock Texas had a penchant for loading the family of eight up in the 1954 Packard Station Wagon and cruising the dusty roads of the southwest in his eternal hunt to find the Green Chili recipe of the immortals. This is one such tale of their journeys. 😉 09.01.2014 – דָּנִיֵּאל

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