Cocoa Chipotle Salsa

New Year's 2042. Twenty-five years sober. Twenty-five. A quarter century. I say it to the kitchen walls at four in the morning with the coffee going and the Las Cruces dark outside the windows and the desert quiet that is different from any city quiet I've ever known. Papá has forty-one. We are a sober family in the desert, counting years the way farmers count growing seasons — with respect, without assumption, knowing the next one is not guaranteed.

Papá called at midnight. He said: veinticinco. I said: veinticinco, Papá. He said: m'ijo, I'm three blocks away. I said: I know. He said: I keep thinking I should just walk over. I said: it's midnight. He said: I know. But I keep thinking it. I said: next year, come over. He said: done. I said: I mean it. He said: I know. I'll bring atole. I said: I'll have the cups ready. He said: goodnight, m'ijo. Veintincinco. I said: goodnight, Papá. Cuarenta y uno.

Twenty-five years. The book is in its second draft. My daughter who writes books helped me make a book. I live three blocks from my parents at sixty-one years old in the house with the gas range and the south-facing yard where my chile plants are dormant right now under the January sky and will come back in April. Lisa is asleep upstairs in a house that smells, permanently now, of oil paint and cooking. My grandchild will be here in March for a week and I'm already planning what we'll make together. Twenty-five years on the right side of things and I am not done. Not close to done. But grateful every morning for the morning. That's the practice. That's the whole practice.

Papá said he’d bring atole. I said I’d have the cups ready. That’s next New Year’s — something to look forward to, something already earned. But this morning, at four a.m. with the coffee going and the dark still thick over the desert, I wanted to make something that tasted like here: like smoke and depth and a little heat that builds slow. This Cocoa Chipotle Salsa is that thing for me — the bittersweet cocoa is the long quiet, and the chipotle is the fire you learn to carry without letting it carry you. You make it, you taste it, and it reminds you that complex things can also be good.

Prep Time: 10 min | Cook Time: 15 min | Total Time: 25 min | Servings: 8

Ingredients

6 Roma tomatoes, halved
1/2 medium white onion, roughly chopped
4 cloves garlic, unpeeled
2 chipotle peppers in adobo sauce, plus 1 tablespoon adobo sauce
1 tablespoon unsweetened cocoa powder
1 teaspoon ground cumin
1/2 teaspoon smoked paprika
1 tablespoon olive oil
Juice of 1 lime
1/2 teaspoon salt, or to taste
1/4 cup fresh cilantro, roughly chopped

Instructions

Char the vegetables. Heat a dry cast-iron skillet or comal over high heat. Place the tomato halves cut-side down, onion, and unpeeled garlic cloves in the skillet. Cook, turning occasionally, until charred on all sides, about 8–10 minutes. Remove from heat and allow to cool slightly. Peel the garlic.
Blend the base. Transfer the charred tomatoes, onion, and peeled garlic to a blender. Add the chipotle peppers, adobo sauce, cocoa powder, cumin, and smoked paprika. Blend until mostly smooth, leaving a little texture if desired.
Cook the salsa. Heat olive oil in a medium saucepan over medium heat. Carefully pour in the blended mixture (it will spatter). Cook, stirring frequently, for 5 minutes until the salsa deepens in color and the flavors meld.
Season and finish. Remove from heat. Stir in lime juice, salt, and cilantro. Taste and adjust seasoning — add more adobo for heat, more cocoa for depth, or more lime for brightness.
Serve. Serve warm or at room temperature alongside tortilla chips, grilled meats, eggs, or roasted vegetables. Store refrigerated in a sealed jar for up to one week.

Nutrition (per serving)

Cocoa Chipotle Salsa — The Cup I’ll Have Ready