In the , chef and host Biju Thomas visits Moab, Utah, an old mining site turned into a mountain bikers’ dream town. MTBers and off-roaders discovered Moab after uranium extraction slowed down in the eighties. With hundreds of trails surrounded by beautiful red rock, millions of people pass through each year to visit the mountain biking mecca, and for many, the food scene is what keeps them hanging around.

“Moab isn’t just feeding the crowds, it’s starting to impress them,” Thomas says as Ashley Korenblat, co-owner of Western Spirit Cycling, gives him the historic run down of the beautiful, wild trails in front of them.

After a lesson on the fragility of the Moab’s desert ecosystem, Thomas and Ashley head to its Food Truck Park for lunch.

Moab Food Truck Park

Thomas and Korenblat first stop by Quesadilla Mobilla, owned and operated by Carrie Finn, who opened the first truck on the Food Truck Park grounds in 2012. Finn first traveled to the Moab desert to climb at Indian Creek. As a rock climber, she would grill up quesadillas for friends who thought they were good enough to sell. Finn ultimately took their advice and started her quesadilla truck in town.

In the show, Thomas points out an “earthiness” flavor to her food, which Finn says comes from the umami in it. What makes her quesadillas unique, are the red chiles she buys from Chimay贸, New Mexico.

The town favorite, the southern bell, is packed full of red chilis, shredded pork, and spicy roasted sweet potatoes.

Next, Thomas and Korenblat stop by Wrap it Up, a part Mediterranean-inspired, part Turk- and Lebanese-inspired gyro spot in the Food Truck Park. Wrap It Up is owned by Baris and Nuray Karatas who ventured to Moab on vacation five to six years ago, and decided to stay.

Spanish Valley Vineyards

Spanish Valley Vineyards yields “wine of a thousand flavors,” Russ Reali, general manager of the vineyards shares with Thomas as the two walk the grounds of what became Moab’s way to fuel the economy after the Cold War.

A bunch of grape vines were started, and 50 years later, their wines still sell out fast.

Reali ventured to Moab as a rock climber and took a job trimming the fields on one of his stays. Ultimately, Reali settled into the valley and was given the torch of managing the fields. Like so many others who have settled in Moab, Reali is a passionate person who loves working on small-scale projects that involve an entire community.

There are three things that keep the vineyard thriving in the desert, Russ says: colder nights (30 to 40 degrees Fahrenheit), provided shade, and the fact that when it reaches 95 degrees, the vines stop respirating and photo synthesizing to conserve energy.

Then, Reali walks Thomas through the bottling process. Every bottle is hand prepared in a garage.

The vineyard’s signature flavor is its Cherry Wine, which uses cherries imported from further north.

“Throw in some ice cubes and kick off your shoes,” Thomas says. The taste is tart, but not too sweet.

Sabaku Sushi

Thomas ends his time in Moab rafting down the Colorado River with guide, Jonah Boyer of Wild West Voyages, who also works as a dishwasher at the last restaurant Thomas tours.

“People take for granted solid dish washers in busy restaurants,” Thomas states, admitting to Boyer that he has never been rafting before. Despite some fears, Thomas picks up the oars to learn how to navigate the waters before handing them back over when they hit class two rapids.

“This is the kind of quiet that invites everything else to come out of hiding” Thomas says, pointing out various forms of wildlife before going back to shore to visit Boyer’s place of work: Sabaku Sushi.

Co-owners Alex Borichevsky and Frankie Winfrey were sushi chefs in Salt Lake City, Utah, before settling into Moab where they saw a business opportunity to bring sushi to the desert. The town was prime for a restaurant of this caliber, Borichevsky tells Thomas.

The restaurant combines a love for the desert with exquisite Japanese cuisine. Since Moab is landlocked, Sabaku Sushi gets its fish from all over the world, “by planes and trucks,” Borichevsky says, but you cannot tell, adds Thomas.

Chef Winfrey walks Thomas through making one of the most popular items on their menu: the delicate Arch Roll, wrapped in cucumber and stuffed with salmon, tuna, and crab.

There isn’t rice in the roll, and the sauce poured over is an onion garlic ponzu, one of Thomas’ favorites.

Moab’s got this energy. It’s so special that folks traveling in for the trails sometimes stay forever because of its close-knit community鈥攁nd the food.

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You鈥檙e ten minutes from the trailhead and an hour from home when you realize the snacks are still on your kitchen counter. Big bummer. Stopping at the last gas station between you and four hours of hiking, you know this is make-or-break time, the difference between a magical day on the trail and a grown-up meltdown. So how can you save the day for under $15? Here are six considerations for those looking to score some last second calories without breaking the bank.

1. Slim Jim ($1)

Not the most elegant of the meat sticks, but this classic snack packs a protein punch鈥攕even grams to be exact鈥攆or much less than its other beef jerky competitors. Bonus points for being flexible, thin and incredibly pack-friendly, a Slim Jim offers you a nice calorie baseline in a pinch.

2. Honey Roasted Peanuts ($4)

Roasted nuts are full of burnable calories and make for great trail fuel. While almonds offer a balance of iron, calcium, and magnesium, we鈥檙e opting for peanuts that are higher in protein and fiber. That tasty coating of honey and sugar could give you a boost on a steep incline. Plus, taste, you know?

3. Pedialyte ($3.50)

Skip the sugary sports beverage and grab that drink 聽your sick kid lived on once for some real replenishment power. Pedialyte is high in electrolytes and sugar that help replenish what you lose while sweating on the trail, and offers 780 milligrams of potassium and 7.8 milligrams of zinc per serving. Combine with water for longer days on the trail.

4. Bananas ($1)

This kind of depends on the gas station, but many (like 7Eleven) will offer some bananas hanging out by checkout. Bananas are high in potassium, which helps prevent cramping and boosts your blood sugar to keep energy levels from crashing during your day hike. If bananas aren鈥檛 available, dried apricots are a good alternative.

5. Snickers ($1.75)

The ultimate backcountry snack, Snickers might be the most useful candy bar of the lot, combining peanuts, chocolate, and caramel into a delicious energy pop when you need it most. I tend to pack a Snickers for summit days, breaking off a half at the top for a reward, but also that necessary protein and sugar kick. The second half can provide some emergency calories on the return trip, 聽but also tastes great in the parking lot.

6. Hard-Boiled Egg ($1)

Believe it or not, lots of gas stations have them, and they’re always cheap. Hard-boiled eggs, while not the most glamorous trail snack, are a great emergency option for replenishing energy and repairing muscle tissue after or towards the end of a long day on the trail. Protein rich, these trail MVPs provide all nine amino acids and are easy to throw in the top of any hiking pack. Bonus points for pickled hard-boiled eggs, which offer lots of anti-inflammatory benefits to offset that post-hike rigor mortis.

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According to wildlife filmmaker Casey Anderson, the grizzly bear might be the greatest forager. Having closely observed the Yellowstone grizzly鈥檚 diet and eating habits, he鈥檚 seen them dig up caraway roots in the meadows, graze on pine nuts from whitebark pine trees, and raid squirrel caches. Now, Anderson is sharing his insights with chef Kevin O鈥機onnor as they explore the varied terrain of grizzly country with a little help from Yellowstone Bourbon.

Established in 1872,聽聽was crafted to honor the sprawling wonder of America鈥檚 first national park. It鈥檚 what first inspired us to create approachably smooth whiskey for the benefit and enjoyment of the people, and why we still do it today.

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None of Marcus Samuelsson鈥檚 childhood memories took place inside. Growing up in Gothenberg, Sweden, the acclaimed chef, who was born in Ethiopia, spent much of his time on the water fishing or in the forests foraging for mushrooms or lingonberries. His uncles, professional fishermen, would take him with them for their daily catch. Surrounded by a vibrant food culture, Samuelsson apprenticed in kitchens in Switzerland, Austria, and France before moving to New York City in the 1990s. He channeled his love of soccer into long runs through Central Park and beyond, exploring the culinary mecca mostly on foot. He ran and in-line skated his way through Manhattan, first as an apprentice at Aquavit, a Scandinavian restaurant in Midtown, and then as its executive chef. There, Samuelsson became the youngest chef to earn a three-star rating from The New York Times. Samuelsson, now 54, still runs through the city, often dreaming up dishes for his new restaurant, Marcus Addis, in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia.

OUTSIDE: I hear you have a rule: no matter where you are in the world, you exercise four times a week. Often you run. How does a kid from Gothenburg become a lifelong runner?

I think it鈥檚 because I鈥檓 Ethiopian. I grew up watching sports, and . Like them, I found it easy to run. It was something in my veins that I enjoyed, and I鈥檓 light on my feet. I played a lot of soccer as a kid too, but as I grew up and started working in kitchens鈥攈aving less time for team sports鈥擨 started running just to run. Running gives you freedom. You start to think about your outside experience differently than when you鈥檙e playing on a team with a coach, refs, and so many moving parts. It was like skateboarding or biking as a kid鈥攁 sense of freedom and discovery that I really enjoyed.

How did running shape your relationship with New York City?

It became my way to explore. I like to , especially in the early morning, when there aren鈥檛 that many cars. There is a sense of discovery that you can鈥檛 get once a city is fully awake.

But one of my favorite ways to see the city was on Rollerblades. I鈥檇 skate from Midtown down to Chinatown to discover the best food stands, or find places where you can pick up international foods like galangal or different types of ginger that weren鈥檛 [available] in Midtown. The train or a cab was out of my budget, so Rollerblading or running became the ways I got down there.

What makes running in Central Park one of the best places in the world?

If you go for a run in Central Park on a weekend, you meet people from all over the world doing something鈥攎aking music, praying, screaming. Whatever it is, they鈥檙e doing it well. You run past iconic places, like where John Lennon lived. If you run downtown, you see beautiful historic buildings鈥攊t鈥檚 urbanism at its fullest.

How did you decide to run your first marathon? What did your training plan look like?

It was a challenge from my mom. Growing up, she pushed me constantly. She challenged me to open a restaurant in Harlem [Red Rooster, in 2010], and we were arguing about whether I was still an athlete. I鈥檝e always been naturally athletic鈥擨 could roll out of bed and play sports pretty well. But she said, 鈥淵ou鈥檙e not an athlete anymore.鈥� To prove her wrong, I ran my first in 2001鈥攚ithout any proper marathon training. I was only running maybe six miles at a time, and I never built up to twelve or eighteen miles. I paid dearly for it. I don鈥檛 recommend that to anybody.

You鈥檝e gotten involved with run clubs recently. How does running with other people change the experience for you?

I love running with young people. You get into new music, learn new slang and trends鈥攖hat鈥檚 exciting to me. It鈥檚 fun to share space with people who aren鈥檛 part of the chef community. I love that. And people [I meet at run clubs] are always excited to learn I鈥檓 Ethiopian鈥攂ut I鈥檓 probably the slowest Ethiopian you鈥檒l ever meet. I blame it on being Swedish.

Has running altered your relationship with food?

You know, it鈥檚 not just running鈥攊t鈥檚 spending time outdoors with my kids. When fall comes around and it鈥檚 time to pick apples or pumpkins, that鈥檚 such a great way to be outside with the family. Not only does it take them away from their iPads, but it鈥檚 also the kind of food-driven freedom I grew up with. I realized that Swedish freedom is a luxury, and I鈥檓 trying to give my kids that same sense of luxury.

Running is also a good time to meditate on my work. I鈥檇 come to understand umami while running鈥攖hinking about how I can improve my processes and recipes. A lot of that happens during the cerebral thinking process when you鈥檙e running.

Has running ever inspired a dish? Can you share one you came up with while on a run?

At Hav & Mar [his seafood restaurant in Chelsea], we have a dish called Addis York, which really balances New York City life with Addis Ababa. That鈥檚 not a dish I would have come up with in a kitchen. It popped into my head on a run, where I get space from the kitchen and have time to think deeply. I was wondering how to connect these two places and came up with the idea of placing a piece of Ethiopian-spiced fried chicken on top of injera with doro wot stew.

Do you find that running helps you find some zen?

When I travel for work, running takes over my thoughts. Right now, I鈥檓 in Miami for an event, and all I can think about is . Running is decompression time. A lot of people focus on the distance when they run, like it鈥檚 work. For me, it鈥檚 more about the excitement of looking at the ocean or exploring the city.

Why was it important to you to open your restaurant in Addis Ababa?

I have a very strong heritage there: my half-siblings from my father鈥檚 side, my wife鈥檚 brother, and her mom all live there. We travel to Ethiopia often. I鈥檓 really excited about the restaurant because it鈥檚 connected to a school where Ethiopian students have a path to study hospitality, learn to problem-solve, and work together. It gives them a path to a job and a path to success. That makes me really happy.

Why is your work with World Central Kitchen so meaningful to you?

During the pandemic, Jos茅 Andr茅s and World Central Kitchen were among the first people to come to Harlem when we truly, truly needed help. With their support at Red Rooster, we served more than 1,000 people per day for several months.

We recently went to Altadena, California, to help after the fire, and the devastation was shocking. But it also brought out the best in people. In the worst of times, you see real people鈥擜mericans helping Americans. No one cares who鈥檚 a Republican or a Democrat. That makes me proud of the organization and proud to be an American, especially when that can feel challenging.

This piece first appeared in the summer 2025 print issue of 国产吃瓜黑料 Magazine. Subscribe now for early access to our most captivating storytelling, stunning photography, and deeply reported features on the biggest issues facing the outdoor world.

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In of The Road Less Eaten, chef and host Biju Thomas visits Utah鈥檚 Heber Valley, an unassuming corner of the western U.S. that has seen an explosion in its food scene over the course of the last ten years. While in the Heber Valley, Thomas spends the majority of his time in Midway, Utah, a town on the Eastern flank of the Wasatch Mountains, about an hour away from Salt Lake City and a stone鈥檚 throw from Park City.

Thomas tells viewers that local farming and great ingredients have made the Heber Valley a quiet food mecca with a vibrant culinary scene that can hold its own against other, more well-known food destinations. With farms and ranches dotting the landscape, and local bakeries and restaurants that understand the value of locally sourced ingredients, the Heber Valley is filled with dining destinations for visitors to explore after a day hitting the slopes or adventuring in the outdoors.

 

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Hawk and Sparrow Bakery

Thomas starts his journey through the Heber Valley food scene at , which is an organic, artisan bakery located in baker Andrew Berthrong鈥檚 home garage in Midway, Utah, that Thomas says produces some of the best bread in Utah. Hawk and Sparrow is known for its sourdough, which is a staple in Heber Valley restaurants that aim to showcase local ingredients and artisan products. Thomas describes Berthrong, a former academic, as 鈥渙ne of the best bakers in the country.鈥�

Viewers watch as Thomas and Berthrong sample the popular sourdough, which takes a multi-day process to create. As they slather the bread with butter, Thomas remarks on the beauty and simplicity of freshly baked bread that鈥檚 made with just a few ingredients because it really has nothing to get in the way of its flavor.

 

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Lola鈥檚 Street Kitchen

From Hawk and Sparrow, Thomas ventures onto , a former food truck that now has a brick-and-mortar location in Midway, Utah. Owned and operated by David and Mandy Medina, Lola鈥檚 makes all of their own breads, buns, and pitas in addition to using some of the sourdough from Hawk and Sparrow. The Medinas envisioned the restaurant as showcasing the best of American street food, all made from scratch.

One of the highlights of Thomas鈥� visit to Lola鈥檚 includes a rundown of their three most popular items: the fried chicken sandwich on freshly baked potato roll, lamb gyro on handmade pita, and a portobello truffle melt on Hawk and Sparrow鈥檚 sourdough. Thomas describes Lola鈥檚 as approachable and affordable with beautiful dishes but without any fussiness or stuffiness.

Heber Valley Artisan Cheese

After his ride on the local 鈥淗eber Creeper鈥� train, Thomas takes viewers to the fourth-generation family-owned dairy farm and shop. Thomas describes the dairy鈥攁nd its owner and operator Russ Kohler鈥攁s embodying the ethics of the region. At Heber Valley Artisan Cheese, they do it all; they grow the hay that feeds the cows, and they raise the herd that produces the milk that turns into some of the world鈥檚 finest cheese.

And Thomas isn鈥檛 exaggerating. Heber Valley Artisan Cheese won a gold medal at the World Cheese Awards for its Lemon Sage Cheddar, and its Wasatch Back Jack is a National Champion. A highlight for Thomas comes when he gets to taste both prize winners. As he samples the cheddar, Thomas remarks that the cheese is actually 鈥渕ore buttery than cheesy,鈥� which Kohler explains is a result of the cows鈥� diet. Because corn doesn鈥檛 grow at elevation, the Heber Valley Artisan Cheese herd has an alfalfa-based diet. Alfalfa diets create a richer, creamier texture in the cheese.

 

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Midway Mercantile

Chef John Platt then gives Thomas a tour and tasting at his upscale Midway, Utah, eatery . A former teacher and principal, Platt moved to Midway nearly two decades ago, drawn by the Heber Valley鈥檚 beauty.

While at Midway Mercantile, Thomas gets to sample their panko-crusted Alaskan Halibut, which is Midway Mercantile鈥檚 most popular dish. The fish is panko crusted in yellow curry, served with coconut rice and spinach, and topped with apple chutney. Thomas loves the dish鈥攑articularly the apple chutney. Thomas also gets to taste Sandra鈥檚 Classic Salad, a salad named after Platt鈥檚 wife and composed of greens, herbs, lemon vinaigrette, truffle oil, and grilled Juustoleipa cheese. Juustoleipa is a Finnish bread cheese that really has its flavors come out when grilled.

 

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Ritual Chocolate

Thomas finishes his exploration of the Heber Valley at , where Anna Seear has perfected small-batch, bean-to-bar chocolate from ethically sourced heirloom cacao. Thomas notes that he and Seear actually both started their careers in the Boulder, Colorado, food scene.

After walking through the artisanal process Seear uses to create Ritual鈥檚 finely crafted chocolate, Thomas enjoys tasting Ritual鈥檚 unique, single-origin drinking chocolates, which are made from half hot water and half chocolate. After drinking both the Madagascar and the Ecuador, Thomas notes the cinnamon-y flavor and richness of the Ecuador, while the Madagascar has a brighter flavor.

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It鈥檚 not that I don鈥檛 like food. I do. I carry frozen cheesecakes on winter expeditions. They鈥檙e caloric and they don鈥檛 freeze hard, so you can bite off chunks without chipping your teeth. I once ate the same dead catfish boiled over a fire for three days. Was it good? Absolutely not. I like cardamom, snap peas, and Asian pears. I eat frozen bean burritos. I hate raw tomatoes, a trait I attribute to growing up near a ketchup factory in California. Tomatoes festered on every street corner and stuck to the soles of my flip-flops. They rolled off trucks en route to the factory, then rotted in the sun.

My husband, on the other hand, was raised by an epicurean grandfather, driving hours one-way for frog legs, bouillabasse, a pastry shaped like a bird鈥檚 nest. We have twin babies now. He wants them to appreciate good food, so he’s learning to cook. In pursuit of this goal, he discovered the , a remote bed and breakfast in Michigan鈥檚 Upper Peninsula where superstar chef Lane Regan (formerly Iliana) cooks foraged ingredients for a handful of guests in exclusive weekends that sell out years in advance. This year, my husband鈥檚 been helping out at the Inn, building a woodshed and tending colonies of bees. He鈥檚 developed a new language, dropping words like 鈥済arum鈥� and fermenting wild plums on the top shelf of our closet. In exchange for his work, Lane offered us a slot on a last-minute November weekend鈥攁nd my husband, excited to share a place he loves, gave the slot to me.

The Inn lies about a mile from two-lane Highway 13 as the crow flies, and 25 miles by unmarked dirt road. Guests caravan. It鈥檚 a log cabin with a central parlor that鈥檚 half kitchen, adorned with Pendleton blankets, paintings of foxes, and Chef鈥檚 three Michelin stars. Tonight鈥檚 dinner is not the star of the weekend鈥攖hat would be Saturday鈥檚 15-course tasting menu鈥攂ut as guests gather around the three small tables, it鈥檚 clearly no less anticipated. I scoot in at the corner table with two couples, dodging a silky lump that reveals itself to be a Shih Tzu named Clemmie. George, a nine-year-old Newfoundland, sprawls like a bear rug by the hearth.

Host Rebecca, a breezy redhead with pigtails and an expression of warm concern, brings dishes of savoy cabbage with pine flower miso and milkweed flower vinegar that have my tablemates gasping. It鈥檚 meaty, complex, and鈥攖o my inexperienced palate鈥攊neffable. I feel like a phony for eating it without the knowledge to name the tastes. Like wild mushrooms, I think, tentative even in my mind鈥攁nd when a neighbor mentions the same, I feel a sprig of confidence. By the bread course, a thick warm sourdough with tangy goat milk butter and honey, I find myself relaxing. The trout in herb gribiche is fleshy and tastes like lake in the best way, and dessert鈥攁 profiterole with spruce ice cream and chaga cookie top that cracks into patches like the spots on an amanita鈥攐ffers an almost musical experience of bliss.

By the time guests sigh and lean back, the woods outside the windows are black. The nearest neighbors are more than a howl鈥檚 reach away. Rebecca did a 12-day silent retreat 鈥渋n order to be able to work here鈥攂ecause one struggles with one鈥檚 mind,鈥� she remarks of the Inn鈥檚 isolation, gliding to the table with postprandial tea. A guest inquires if she has any decaf coffee. 鈥淣o the fuck we do not,鈥� she says.

I sleep outside by choice, full-bellied in two sleeping bags, and wake to daylight in a shell of ice.

By first breakfast鈥攂anana-walnut bread with salt and butter鈥攖he guests are familiar with each other. They鈥檙e midwestern, foodies, adventurous鈥攖wo retired couples, a pair of restaurant owners, and a data scientist and millennial geriatrician from Madison, Wisconsin. Chef Lane bustles in the kitchen, answering questions and offering guidance on the wood-fired sauna. They鈥檙e slim and soft-spoken, with a teal moth tattooed on their neck, wings filling the open collar of their tucked-in wool flannel. In a minute they stir, scoop, plate, taste, give hiking suggestions, and brush Shih Tzu Clemmie鈥檚 eyebrows up with their hand, securing them with plastic barrettes. Second breakfast is tacos on green tortillas, tinged with weeds picked that week.

The day is food and leisure; some folks wander to the Sturgeon River, descending a trailless slope, while others knit, hike, or read. I sit briefly in the loft, overhearing snippets of conversation. 鈥淥ne time I got stung by a hornet on my butt cheek and [redacted] sucked all the venom out of me,鈥� someone remarks. 鈥淭hat was the most romantic thing he鈥檚 ever done.鈥� Later, thoughtful: 鈥淢y tapeworm鈥檚 the only one who understands me.鈥�

When guests stay too long in the sauna, Lane worries. 鈥淒o you think they passed out?鈥� they murmur. 鈥淢aybe they鈥檙e cooking.鈥�

Lane says that guests at Milkweed fall on a spectrum: on one extreme, foodies who rarely step outdoors, and at the other, outdoorsfolk who鈥攍ike myself鈥斺�渉ave never even had a tasting menu.鈥� It鈥檚 Milkweed that brings them together.

As an adventurer, I鈥檓 often in the position of enticing people outside, and it can be a hard sell. Not because the highs aren鈥檛 great, but because folks fear the lows: bugs, cold, bears, isolation, toilet paper made of leaves. And yet here鈥檚 Milkweed, pulling magic: calling new people into the Northwoods, not in spite of discomfort, but for pursuit of pleasure alone.

Lunch starts with a salad of fennel and carrot two ways (shaved raw, and blanched and marinated in lemon), moose garum and egg white aminos with marinated white beans and garnished with chamomile. The flavor is multisensory, euphoric; I feel it in my arms. Something鈥檚 sweet on my tongue, and tart on the sides of my mouth, and there鈥檚 a tinge of smoke, too, which surprises me.

鈥淲e fed the moose firewood,鈥� says cooking resident Jade. She鈥檚 joking, but she might as well not be, because I swear it鈥檚 all there: the soil, the rain, the antlers, the trees. And when it hits me, I almost laugh from the revelation: foraged food isn鈥檛 just about bringing people into wildness. It鈥檚 about bringing wildness into our very mouths.

We can鈥攚e do鈥攈ave nature inside us, even in the most conservative sense of the word: wilderness as nonhuman, nature as beyond control. What鈥檚 a tapeworm if not a reminder that our bodies are ecosystems, too? But this place, this cooking, this food鈥攊t turns fear into pleasure. Savoring a wild lion鈥檚 mane mushroom is no less an engagement with wildness than spotting one in the woods, and it is鈥攊n a tactile way鈥攎ore accessible to most.

I鈥檓 not proud to realize that my lack of engagement with good food was, in minuscule part, because I thought myself above it. Because, while I savor comfort, I鈥檝e always prided myself on enduring its lack, and I have in me some Puritan sense that suffering for a goal gives you greater pride. I have struggled in my life to let myself be purely content, and maybe food represents that: it turns a need into a gift. I鈥檝e spent decades chasing wilderness, when it could always be right here: on my plate, in my mouth, in the animal body that I am.

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I used to have a recurring dream in which I鈥檓 sitting on my mat awaiting instructions from a panel of my yoga teachers. I鈥檓 at an Iyengar yoga assessment, for which I鈥檓 completely unprepared. And I am terrified. After what seems like an eternity, they tell me my task: I鈥檓 to carve a Thanksgiving turkey right there on my mat using the props in front of me鈥攁 plastic fork and knife.

It鈥檚 possible that I had some anxiety about cooking holiday dinner.

From My Fondest Memory to the Fear of Failure

I can still smell my mother鈥檚 kitchen on Thanksgiving morning. The fragrance of her homemade pies mixed with the aroma of the turkey roasting in the oven created an air of anticipation that could be felt throughout the house. My sister and I would watch the Thanksgiving Day parade on TV in our pajamas and would periodically be called into the kitchen to help my mother stir a pot or lick a bowl. The whole day was spent waiting for the moment we were called to the table. By the time dinner was ready, we were practically giddy as we loaded our plates with my mother鈥檚 delicious food in the most anticipated meal of the year.

Now that the torch of cooking the family鈥檚 holiday dinner has passed to me, my anticipation has morphed into recurring anxiety about living up to my memory of all those Thanksgivings past. One year, the turkey wasn鈥檛 fully cooked, the side dishes were cold, and I sat at the table feeling totally defeated. The pressure to replicate the magic of my childhood memories combined with the fear of failing turns out to be the perfect recipe for a really bad time.

Whether in the kitchen or on the yoga mat, fear is like a big bucket of ice dumped on the spark of adventure. Fear leaves us either too much in our own heads to access our inherent creativity and intuition鈥攐r so paralyzed that we convince ourselves we鈥檙e not even capable of trying. Fear seduces us into a place of complacency, inviting us to avoid what scares us in favor of dwelling in the comfort of our familiar beliefs. Fear prevents us from making mistakes and gaining the kind of wisdom that only comes from taking risks.

How Yoga Transformed My Holiday Stress

Patanjali鈥檚 classic text, the , offers several tools to help manage fear. Foremost among them are the principles of practice and . Practice, as outlined in Sutra 1.14, includes three aspects: We must practice for a long time, without break, and in all earnestness. This last one means we have to believe what we鈥檙e practicing is actually possible.

Sutras 1.15 and 1.16 describe detachment, which essentially means that our identities are not dependent on our successes or failures. This knowledge leads to freedom and a very real connection to the .

Practicing鈥攃ontinuously showing up in the face of real or potential failure鈥攊s trusting that the process is the goal. Ultimately, it鈥檚 the intention behind my cooking, the effort I鈥檝e devoted to the meal, and the heart I鈥檝e poured into each dish that will make the meal a success.

Even a botched attempt at cooking Thanksgiving dinner is an opportunity to practice detachment. One year, my apple pie fell apart and I had no backup plan and a table full of guests awaiting dessert. I had to let go of my original plan and quickly adapt to the new situation. So I decided to scoop out the apple filling and spoon it over some vanilla ice cream. No one knew the difference; in fact, it was a huge hit!

It鈥檚 often when things have fallen apart that I鈥檝e realized just how much I limited myself with my own expectations. 聽It鈥檚 often in those moments that you get to know your own resilience and experience a true connection to the moment. Opening myself up to life often results in something greater than I could have imagined. And some of my best memories are of times when nothing went according to plan鈥攚hen I was forced to surrender.

How to Make Thanksgiving Less Stressful

Once I remembered that the truth of who I am does not depend on my producing a flawless meal, I felt more at ease. Now I know how to overcome holiday stress because I鈥檝e realized the ways that being in the kitchen cooking dinner is a lot like showing up on the yoga mat.

1. Connect With Your Inner State

Bring your yoga practice into the kitchen by tuning into how you feel as you create your Thanksgiving menu. Anxiety, doubt, and fear can all be felt in the body and are signs that you need to reevaluate your approach. Focus your attention on the process of executing what you can manage to the best of your abilities.

Taking risks in the kitchen is about listening to the motivations that drive your efforts. If I鈥檓 considering a challenging recipe, such as an apple pie with pastry made from scratch, and I can feel myself getting excited about the process, I go for it. I know that no matter how it turns out, it will have been worth it because it was my commitment to the adventure, not the result, that inspired me to be daring in the first place.

If, on the other hand, I stare at the recipe with a sense of dread or expectation, or if I鈥檓 hoping that the finished product will prove something to myself or to others, then I know that no matter how it turns out, I will not enjoy the fruits of my efforts.

2. Focus on the Journey鈥擭ot the Outcome

When you can鈥檛 do a challenging pose in yoga, the practice is to focus on and appreciate what you can do. Flailing toward an end result will get you nowhere. And if you somehow arrive at the 鈥渆nd goal鈥� by doing so, you will have missed the point because you weren鈥檛 connected to yourself in the process.

It matters how you feel during a yoga practice鈥攏ot what you look like. Cooking is the same: A dish鈥檚 value lies in how it was created.

3. You鈥檙e Allowed to Change Your Mind

Let go of your expectation that you need to whip up elaborate food just because it鈥檚 Thanksgiving. Really. This mindset can free you from the pitfalls of self-inflicted suffering.

It鈥檚 perfectly okay to opt out of a challenging recipe if it doesn鈥檛 feel right. I鈥檝e learned over the years to ease up on myself by swapping out difficult, time-consuming recipes for simple, foolproof ones, such as incredible, crispy roasted brussel sprouts with maple syrup and balsamic vinegar. (They take about five minutes to prepare before I pop them in the oven.)

4. Follow Your Intuition

Cooking, like yoga, is about connecting to yourself in the moment. Pose cues such as 鈥渟tand equally on all four corners of your feet鈥� are useful only when you can feel them in your own body. Similarly, a recipe is only a guideline. Great cooking happens when you listen to your gut, trust your instincts, and make the recipe your own. Follow the instructions as a starting point, but allow yourself to experiment, play, and have fun.

I鈥檓 not nervous anymore because now I know how to make Thanksgiving less stressful. No matter how the meal turns out, the people who matter most in my life will celebrate the love and effort I put into our shared experience. What I鈥檒l remember most is the attitude I chose to bring to the kitchen and the wisdom I鈥檒l gain from letting go.

This article has been updated. Originally published October 2, 2013.

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In the of The Road Less Eaten,聽season two, chef, author, and show host, Biju Thomas, visits the south shore of Lake Tahoe, California. He and snowboarder Hannah Teter explore the lake by boat and clear kayak before Thomas tries some of the best food this outdoorsy paradise has to offer.

Here are the highlights of Thomas鈥檚 stops on The Road Less Eaten: Lake Tahoe.

Azul Latin Kitchen

Azul blends South and Central American cuisine with influences from all over the world, including聽Thailand and India. The South Tahoe restaurant is also known for its fresh-squeezed margaritas.

In the show, Thomas works with chef and manager Jeff McWilliams to cook up some steak fajitas, complete with vegetables and a secret sauce. The secret sauce, McWilliams shares, is a blend of tamari, Worcester sauce, lime juice, and a mix of spices. Thomas also samples a dish called tacos three ways that features a fish taco made up of battered cod with lemon and pickled red onion. Then, there’s the Thai curry taco, which consists of slow-cooked chicken with red curry, pickled mango, and candied jalape帽os and Fresnos. The dish also comes with a vegetarian option: a sweet potato and black bean taco with chipotle slaw.

Toulouse

Next, Thomas heads to , a Cajun聽restaurant also located on the south shore of Lake Tahoe. It was founded by four friends who met on Toulouse Street in New Orleans more than 30 years ago. The friends chose Lake Tahoe because many of them are big skiers and they wanted to be closer to the mountains.

Thomas samples a variety of dishes during his visit, including the house salad, shrimp and grits with mushrooms and tasso ham, and the blackened ahi tuna, which gets a kick from the Japanese seasoning yuzu kosho. Many items on the menu are made from local and sustainable ingredients.

Desolation Hotel, Maggie’s

Named for the nearby Desolation Wilderness, the micro hotel is themed around outdoor exploration. Maggie’s, the connected restaurant, is named after Maggie McPeaks, one of the first women to explore the Sierra mountains. The staff of uses seasonal ingredients, which keeps the menu fresh and ever-evolving.

滨苍听The Road Less Eaten,聽Thomas tries the New York strip, which comes with a side of asparagus stuffed with goat cheese and fondant potatoes. Also on the menu: the Sacramento rack of lamb, with crispy, roasted potatoes and roasted baby carrots with an orange glaze. Thomas also samples the Spanish octopus with a cucumber salad and edible orchid.

Elements Eatery and Bar

For breakfast, Thomas visits , a newer restaurant in the area. Elements infuses diner classics with a Latin flavor. Thomas samples the eggs Benedict, with marinated adobo-style pork, house-mashed avocado, and an heirloom tomato on charred English muffins, served with lard-fried tater tots. The entire dish is topped with their hollandaise sauce, which has an acidic base of cut聽green salsa.

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At the end of August I get the call. 鈥淭he apricots are ready,鈥� my mom says excitedly. I grab a few buckets, jump in my car, and drive the 100 or so miles from my home in Dillon, Colorado, to her place in Carbondale. We pile into her Subaru and wind a bit higher into the slopes above the Roaring Fork Valley. We wave as we pass our friends鈥� house, then park below their orchard, a century-old stand of apricot trees that sits at 6,500 feet.

The 50 trees here are old, and time has gnarled their branches. A weathered wooden ladder reaches into the canopy; the perfumed air reminds us of the jam making and baking that will (happily) occupy our time in the week ahead.

These days, grocery stores sell firm apricots the size of golf balls, but the soft, ripe fruit in these trees are the diameter of a quarter. It takes a while to fill a bucket, but the intense flavors are worth it. Other scavengers are around鈥攂irds, deer, even bears鈥攁nd we give them plenty of space.

This orchard, which contains several apricot varieties, is believed to date back to 1915, and being here makes me think about the people who planted it, and what the trees have endured. Surely, there have been periods of extended drought and extreme cold, and yet, year after year, they continue to bring forth treasures.

鈥淔ruit trees watch several generations go by,鈥� says Michael Thompson, who, along with Jerome Osentowski, cofounded an organization called the , a nonprofit that maps and catalogs ancient specimens like these all over the valley.

Great old trees are not unique to Colorado or the West, of course. They dot the nation, languishing in plain sight in forgotten corners of cities and towns, and across rolling farmland. But in recent years鈥攕purred by a renewed interest in things with rich stories and heritage behind them鈥攖here鈥檚 been a movement not just to save old trees but to propagate them for the future.

In New York City, Sam Van Aken, an artist turned farmer, planted a permanent heirloom 鈥渆xhibition鈥� on Governors Island called . The public site opened in 2022; the 102 specimens it comprises are grafted from trees鈥攁pricots, apples, pears, persimmons, cherries, and others鈥攖hat once thrived across the city鈥檚 five boroughs. In total, they represent about 400 years of local agriculture.

Although most Americans get by with the fruit they find piled in grocery bins, that represents only the tiniest slice of what once freely bloomed. Take the apple. Our commercial, homogenized food system promotes varieties like the crisp but boring Fuji and Granny Smith because they are easily grown, universally accepted, and hardy enough to transport and store.

鈥淭here were once thousands of cultivated apple varieties, and now we鈥檙e down to hundreds,鈥� says Vanessa Harmony, a tree propagator and the owner of Colorado Edible Forest in Glenwood Springs, which works in tandem with the Heritage Fruit Tree Project. 鈥淭here are so many delicious fruits that could be lost if they鈥檙e not found,鈥� she says.

That鈥檚 the role of organizations like ; Washington State University鈥檚 MyFruitTree, which works only with apples; and regional entities like Thompson鈥檚 Heritage Fruit Tree Project. Indexing each heirloom鈥檚 type, location, approximate age, fruit characteristics, and site history culminates in a written log and map of agricultural diversity. This information helps when experts are grafting clones to ensure that varieties aren鈥檛 lost to time.

Like Open Orchard in New York, Harmony, Thompson, and Osentowski have had a hand in creating a research site filled with fruit trees. The parcel, established in 2020, sits within an old orchard in Emma, Colorado, outside Basalt. It鈥檚 open to the public and will eventually feature informational placards, so visitors know what they鈥檙e looking at. Harmony helps maintain the old trees and the newly planted clones gathered from around the valley. 鈥淚t鈥檚 become a living library for me,鈥� she says.

Observing the trees through the seasons means Harmony can identify desired qualities鈥攚hether it鈥檚 the best-tasting fruit, tree hardiness, or something else. She can also send leaf samples out for genetic testing to determine exactly what kind of tree she鈥檚 dealing with. Sometimes that information yields an entirely new variety鈥攐r, rather, one so old that no one around today knew about it.

Thompson enlisted Harmony鈥檚 help with his favorite: a grand old apple tree he affectionately calls Mo. It was planted in 1910 and produces what Thompson considers the best apple he鈥檚 ever found for pie making. In recent years, this magnificent tree has suffered from blight, and even with thoughtful pruning its future is in question. Harmony has already grafted multiple clones from healthy parts of the tree. Those 鈥淢ini Mos鈥濃�攖wo of which are planted in Thompson鈥檚 daughter鈥檚 backyard in Oregon, and two of which are doing well at Harmony鈥檚 nursery鈥攁re the next generation. 鈥淭he tree will live on,鈥� he says.

As for the apricots that leave my mom鈥檚 and my hands sticky with juice, our friends have largely let nature take its course. In the thirtyish years they have owned the property, Susy Ellison says they鈥檝e had the orchard pruned only a couple of times. The trees, she tells me, seem to like being left alone. 鈥淵ou don鈥檛 want to fuss with them too much,鈥� she explains, adding that they鈥檝e been cataloged by the Heritage Fruit Tree Project.

We gather our buckets and load them into the car. As soon as we close the doors, we鈥檙e enveloped by the thick and heady scent of apricots. We wave again as we pass the house and drive straight to my mom鈥檚. There鈥檚 jam to be made.

Fruit Forward: Interest in Heritage Fruit Has Blossomed

Although the Heritage Fruit Tree Project is specific to Colorado鈥檚 Roaring Fork Valley, there are other organizations doing similar work around the country.

The biggest among these is the Historic Fruit Tree Working Group of North America. The organization serves as a national database and registry of historic trees and orchards.

Anyone interested in heirloom fruit, especially apples, should sign up for the University of Idaho Heritage Orchard Conference. The free monthly webinars are packed with info on subjects ranging from cider making to tree propagation.

New Yorkers (and those just visiting) can check out Open Orchard on Governors Island, where approximately 100 trees represent the bounty that once grew in the city鈥檚 five boroughs.

The and the are based in southwestern and western Colorado, respectively, and focus almost exclusively on apples. Both are intent on saving orchard culture as well as legacy genetics.

Apricot Snack Bars

There are a million and one jam-bar recipes out there, and this is mine鈥攅xcept that I use fresh fruit instead of preserves. The recipe works equally well with fresh and frozen apricots; you can also swap in seasonal berries or peaches and plums. What makes the treats so irresistible is the sweet-tart play of crust and fruit.

Makes about 12 bars

For the Filling:

• 3 cups apricots, halved or
  quartered, depending on size
• 录 cup sugar
• 陆 lemon, juiced
• 2 tsp cornstarch

For the Crust:

• 1陆 cups flour
• 陆 cup old-fashioned oats
• 陆 cup sugar
• 陆 tsp baking powder
• 陆 tsp salt
• 陆 cup unsalted butter, chilled
• 鈪� cup full-fat plain yogurt

Prepare the filling by combining apricots, sugar, and lemon juice in a medium bowl. Set aside and allow to macerate at room temperature. (This step can be done in advance.) If fruit is frozen, allow it to thaw before macerating.

Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Butter an eight-inch square baking pan.

Prepare the crust by stirring together flour, oats, sugar, baking powder, and salt in a medium bowl. Cube butter and add to flour mixture. Use your fingers to smear and incorporate the butter into the flour mixture. Add yogurt and stir. The mixture should be dry.

Add about 1陆 cups of this crust mixture to the prepared pan, or enough to cover the bottom evenly. Press mixture down with fingers or use the base of a measuring cup until firm. Press a square of parchment paper onto the surface of the crust and then add pie weights (you can also use dried beans or rice). Par-bake for 12 minutes, until set but still soft. Carefully remove parchment and weights.

Stir cornstarch into the apricots. Pour apricot mixture over crust. Sprinkle with remaining crust mixture. Bake for 40 to 45 minutes, or until top is golden brown and fruit is bubbling. Remove from the oven, allow to cool, then cut into squares.

Amanda M. Faison, a writer and editor based in Colorado, is working on her first cookbook.

The post If You鈥檙e Not Picking Heritage Fruit, You Should Be appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.

鈥淪carcity fosters creativity,鈥� said chef Aaron Lopez as he placed a small woven basket on my plate. He removed the lid to reveal two amaranth-leaf-topped squares that looked like artisanal chocolates. I lifted one and took a bite. The cr猫me-br没l茅e-like shell shattered, releasing a sweet, fibrous, squash-filled interior laced with subtle heat.

It was late June and Lopez, 38, had invited me to his hometown, the inland Southern California city of El Centro, to preview the menu of his ambitious new restaurant, , which pays homage to the deserts of the American Southwest.

The freshly limewashed walls of the dining room were decorated with tumbleweeds gathered from his mom鈥檚 backyard and lined with cacti growing in clay pots. In the kitchen, his fridge and pantry were stocked with esoteric ingredients: a cactus glaze, cold pickled desert mallow shrub, prickly pear sambal, bee pollen shoyu, mesquite sap.

Lopez is on a mission to reimagine forgotten desert foods and ignite a sense of pride and possibility around a cuisine largely defined by chiles. Those bite-size squash snacks were created by borrowing from the Indigenous technique of nixtamalization. Traditionally, the process involves steeping and cooking corn in an alkaline solution, which makes it easier to grind into masa for tortillas. Lopez applies a similar method to this dish, soaking the mixture in the solution for two days before cooking it in agave syrup. He then shapes it into squares that are lightly fried to create a paper-thin, sugary crust, and then tops the whole thing with a sticky, fudge-like sauce made from fermented Hatch chiles and squash-seed shio koji, a Japanese marinade. The result was a perfect combination of sweet and savory.

鈥淲hat drew me to cooking wasn鈥檛 a desire to nourish people,鈥� Lopez told me over kombucha he ages in Sonoran clay pots. 鈥淚 was fascinated with manipulating ingredients, turning something unexpected or unappetizing into something delicious.鈥�

Before he embarked on a career in the kitchen, he was a sculptor and played bass in a punk band. Perhaps it takes the eyes of an artist to see a landscape of sun-scorched earth, spiky plants, petrified forests, and stinging critters as bountiful.

Since leasing the 43-seat restaurant space in January, Lopez and his wife, June Chee, have been hiking, foraging, and camping across the Southwest, including Joshua Tree National Park, 95 miles north. On his journey, Lopez has learned how Native people thrived in these harsh landscapes, relying on drought- and heat-tolerant crops such as chia, with its fiber-rich seeds, and tepary beans, small brown legumes with a chestnut flavor. 鈥淚 bring foraging guides on what the Pueblo ate and a point-and-shoot camera, and we pull into secluded areas, pluck some ingredients to taste, and scribble field notes,鈥� he said.

The desert is often a punishing place to harvest from. 鈥淚t can feel like you鈥檙e foraging on the sun,鈥� said Lopez. In summer, it鈥檚 not unusual for the couple to head out as early as 3:30 in the morning to beat the heat. They bring along their dogs, Lola and Jupiter, to warn of rattlesnakes and chase away tarantulas. Thick gloves are essential; Lopez estimates that he owns two dozen pairs. 鈥淚鈥檓 constantly shopping for ones that won鈥檛 puncture when I鈥檓 de-thorning things like prickly pear,鈥� he said. 鈥淚鈥檝e almost become immune to the cuts and stab wounds.鈥�

Lopez never imagined he鈥檇 return home. As a teenager, he didn鈥檛 see a future in El Centro, a gritty city just over two hours east of San Diego in California鈥檚 Imperial Valley and 15 miles north of the Mexican border town of Mexicali. 鈥淚 ran away from the desert as soon as I could,鈥� he said. After graduating from Le Cordon Bleu culinary school in Los Angeles in 2012, he spent four years cutting his teeth at some of the city鈥檚 top restaurants, notably the Michelin-starred Orsa and Winston, where he helped craft the 25-course tasting menu nightly. He then decamped to Honolulu for six years and made a name for himself pushing flavor boundaries at the now shuttered Heiho House, a high-end gastropub.

But it was during his time in the tropics that Lopez started to feel the tug of the desert. 鈥淚鈥檇 come back to visit and look at the landscape with a different perspective,鈥� he said. On these trips, he鈥檇 speak with foragers and members of local Indigenous communities, and those conversations turned him in a new direction. 鈥淚 realized my heart was in the desert. I want to show the culinary community that our products can compete with those grown in a more hospitable climate.鈥�

Lopez isn鈥檛 the only one exploring the potential of resilient desert flora as ingredients. Scientists think that wild desert plants, such as nitrogen-fixing tree legumes and water-efficient succulents, could be critical to sustainable farming in a hotter, more arid world. Ahead of my trip to Ursa, I called Erin Riordan, a conservation research scientist at the Arizona-Sonora Desert Museum outside Tucson. She told me that many crops grown in the nation鈥檚 deserts鈥攚heat and barley, to name two鈥攁ren鈥檛 naturally designed to survive in xeric climates, because they didn鈥檛 originate there. As weather becomes more extreme, such crops will require more water, chemicals, and electricity to grow.

This is of particular concern in Imperial County, which is the state鈥檚 driest and only receives two to three inches of rain each year. The county is allocated the single largest share of water from the Colorado River. But that waterway continues to dry up, forcing the valley鈥檚 400-some farmers to drastically reduce their usage for crops like broccoli, lettuce, and wheat.

In 2020, Riordan coauthored a University of Arizona study that evaluated plants traditionally eaten by the Sonoran Desert鈥檚 Indigenous cultures, such as cacti and agaves. 鈥淭hese species are already adapted to arid weather, require less water and energy, and produce more reliable yields,鈥� she told me. 鈥淭hey鈥檙e also rich in nutrients and antioxidants.鈥�

Like Lopez, Riordan sees deserts not as wastelands but as laboratories for food. She鈥檚 involved in a three-year project funded by the USDA that鈥檚 working with Arizona farmers to identify hardy, desert-adapted crops, promote climate-smart farming practices, and raise consumer awareness. She believes that chefs like Lopez can help influence the appeal of these foods. 鈥淔armers are wary of switching to desert crops, because they don鈥檛 know if they鈥檒l be able to move the product,鈥� she said. 鈥淲e have to expand the palate of the general public to build a market.鈥�

Back at Ursa, named for the constellation, Lopez excitedly showed me a space he鈥檚 building as a kind of lab dedicated to exploring the terroir of the Great Basin and the Mojave, Chihuahuan, and Sonoran Deserts. His inspirations: star Nordic chef Ren茅 Redzepi鈥檚 forthcoming Copenhagen food lab and acclaimed Peruvian chef Virgilio Martinez鈥檚 research center in Lima, which employs a team of sociologists, botanists, and anthropologists to study native ingredients.

Lopez is in the process of hiring a director to research recipes and techniques used by Indigenous communities. When the lab is completed early next year, the two of them will meet with the restaurant鈥檚 network of foragers, then test ingredients and develop recipes that address culinary questions like: What happens when you dehydrate lamb鈥檚-quarters (an edible weed)? Can you age, brine, and lightly cold-smoke barrel cactus seeds to emulate caviar?

Lopez has also sought out wisdom from Indigenous communities. On a series of R&D trips, he met with members of Arizona鈥檚 Tohono O鈥檕dham Nation, who introduced him to the prized buds of the cholla cactus, which bloom each spring. Lopez cooks the buds sous vide in a mushroom brine, dries them, and then shaves them like truffles to add an earthy punch to dishes.

Ramona Button, the proprietor of Ramona Farms on the Gila River Indian Reservation in Arizona, has become Lopez鈥檚 fixer for a finely stone-ground, cob-roasted Pima corn known as 驳补鈥檌惫蝉补, a dying ingredient he hopes to revitalize. For my meal, he turned it into comforting, nutty grits, topped with sour corn, corn pudding, and fall-off-your-fork corned antelope, his twist on corned beef.

Lopez has adopted the zero-waste mentality long embraced by Native communities, too. He steeps the pods of the ironwood tree, for example, to make tea, and he turns scraps of wild boar into an umami-rich fermented garum, a riff on fish sauce. My favorite example of whole-ingredient cooking was a flan-like dessert crafted from all four parts of mesquite, a food so important to the Tohono O鈥檕dham that they once had a lunar-calendar month dedicated to it.

My meal complete, we walked outside to Main Street, where the temperature had soared to a withering 114 degrees. Lopez wanted to show me downtown, although, he admitted, 鈥淭here isn鈥檛 much to see.鈥� (The man at the rental-car counter in San Diego concurred. When I told him I was driving to El Centro, he incredulously asked, 鈥淲hy?鈥�)

I asked Lopez if he thought his hometown鈥攚here one-fifth of the population lives in poverty鈥攊s ready for a fine-dining concept. He scratched his scraggly brown beard as his pale blue eyes gazed toward a dilapidated storefront. 鈥淲e have to be accessible for the locals to trust us,鈥� he replied, and acknowledged that he鈥檚 abandoned his original tasting-menu concept. Instead, the restaurant offers a menu of 15 sharable items priced between $6 and $22 per dish, served to a funky soundtrack of disco, hip-hop, and soul.

鈥淒o I have dreams of Michelin coming to our town one day? Sure,鈥� he admitted. 鈥淏ut I care more about making our community鈥攁nd all desert people鈥攑roud of the foods that shape our identity. That鈥檚 how I define success. And like most things in the desert, you just need to work a little harder for it.鈥�

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