Bread of the Dead: A Santa Fe Cafe Mystery by Ann Myers Page A

chimney?
    â€œLet me get this order out,” I said, trying to heft the burrito plate with my oven-­mitted hand. It was a dangerous move. Our egg, potato, and chorizo burritos must weigh in at several pounds and are smothered in molten sauce and melted cheese.
    â€œWell go on and get back here fast. We need to establish our plan.” Flori put the finishing touches on a plate of carne adovada , succulent chunks of pork slow-­braised in an earthy red chile sauce. Carne adovada is a New Mexican favorite at any meal, in burritos, tacos, or as a star on its own. For breakfast, Flori serves the spicy dish with hash browns, guacamole, and a fried egg. Pretty much everything can be topped with an egg at Tres Amigas.
    â€œHere, as long as you’re going out, take this with you. Table one.” She plopped the plate on my oven-­mitted wrist.
    Poised for hot chile disaster, I backed out the swinging door, saying my usual waitress prayers. Please let me locate the right table. Please let me not throw chile on a customer . My destination was the far side of the room, beyond hazards including a baby carriage, stray chairs, and a framed painting, likely some priceless work of art. I added, Please don’t let me harm precious infants and artwork, and carefully made my way across the room. Customers took advantage of my slow-­motion advance to ask for stuff.
    â€œMiss? Can I get more coffee?”
    â€œMe too. And some water.”
    â€œI’d like the check.”
    â€œI want a muffin. Are they gluten free?”
    With a plastered-on smile, I promised I’d be right back. Did customers think I had a coffeepot and muffins of any kind balanced on my head? I caught Linda’s eye and managed to nod in the direction of the needy diners without spilling anything. Then I made my way cautiously past the baby and her carriage, reaching the waffle and burrito table first. I didn’t recognize the two ladies and figured they must be tourists, especially after one frowned at the burrito.
    â€œThis plate is really hot, so please be careful,” I said. I say this phrase so much that it appears in my dreams.
    â€œWhy is my burrito covered in sauce, and why is it two colors?” the burrito lady demanded.
    I pegged her accent as upper Midwest, likely somewhere west and north of Illinois. Her fashion was over-­the-­top Santa Fe, from the mother lodes of turquoise and silver jewelry to the crinkled peasant skirt and purple cowgirl boots with rhinestone sparkles.
    I upped my perky voice as I carefully placed the waffle special in front of her friend. “The burrito has red chile on one side, green on the other. Christmas, we call it here. You made the perfect choice.”
    Now, however, the friend frowned. “Why’s this waffle a funny color? I think there’s dirt in it.”
    I have little patience for food fussiness. I don’t like it when customers complain before tasting, and I never understood Manny’s refusal to eat green vegetables and most ethnic foods other than New Mexican and Mexican. Since I don’t have to live with customers, though, I can usually handle their demands with a smile. Today was another story. I had to force a pleasant response. “That’s blue corn,” I said through a clenched-­toothed smile. “Organic and grown right here in New Mexico. It has a delicious nutty flavor and is higher in iron and zinc than typical yellow corns.”
    â€œI don’t eat blue foods. They’re unnatural.” This lady had gold accessories layered across a ruffled Western shirt.
    â€œOh, these blueberries and blue corn are all natural,” I said, feeling my lip twitch. “Why don’t you ladies try them, and if you don’t like something, we’ll be happy to fix you a different dish.”
    The woman in silver and turquoise sliced her burrito open and speared a forkful of fluffy eggs and spicy chorizo sausage. “This is