By New Year's Eve. The first New Year where the restaurant has a year behind it — nine months, technically, but close enough to reflect. Marcus at the altar, Jessica beside him, the desert sky above, the year behind. The black-eyed peas on the stove — Thompson's tradition, carried forward, the luck of a new year measured in legumes and faith. I thought about Thompson this New Year's. I thought about the man who ate more green chile stew than anyone alive and who died fishing at Saguaro Lake and who would have loved Rivera's. I made an extra bowl of black-eyed peas and set it at the ofrenda in the living room. For Thompson. For luck. For the dead who still need to eat.
Fuego experienced his first New Year's Eve and reacted to the midnight fireworks by hiding under the couch and shaking, which Diego found deeply concerning and which he addressed by crawling under the couch with the puppy and singing "Jingle Bells" until Fuego stopped shaking and Diego fell asleep. Jessica found them both under the couch at 12:30 AM. She took a photograph. The photograph has already been texted to Jim and Diane, who responded with seventeen heart emojis (Diane) and "nice dog" (Jim, a man of few texts).
The year in review, by Jessica's numbers: Rivera's served approximately 22,000 customers in nine months. Revenue exceeded projections by 23%. The break-even on initial investment is now projected for July 2025 — fourteen months after opening, four months ahead of the original eighteen-month estimate. The catering arm contributed 18% of total revenue. The Saturday birria tacos alone generated enough revenue to cover two full-time salaries. The fire is not just burning. The fire is growing.
Goals for the new year: expand the staff (we need two more people — a dedicated prep cook and a weekend server), upgrade the outdoor signage (the current sign is fine but Jessica wants a sign that is great), explore a potential expansion of the dining room (there is an adjacent space that the landlord has hinted might become available), and — the goal that lives in my heart but not yet on any spreadsheet — enter a major BBQ competition as Rivera's. Not as Marcus Rivera, amateur. As Rivera's BBQ, restaurant. The identity shifts. The fire stays the same.
Happy New Year. The fire burns into 2025. Just show up.
We set the black-eyed peas at the ofrenda for Thompson, but the table at Rivera’s — the one where regulars linger and strangers become friends — deserved something bright and alive to ring in the year. This peach salsa is what we make when we want flavor that feels like a celebration: sweet heat, fresh citrus, the kind of thing Thompson would have piled onto a chip and said “that’s the one.” It’s fast enough for a midnight spread and good enough to carry into everything the new year is about to bring.
Peach Salsa
Prep Time: 15 minutes | Cook Time: 0 minutes | Total Time: 15 minutes | Servings: 6
Ingredients
- 3 ripe peaches, peeled and diced small (about 2 cups)
- 1/2 red onion, finely diced
- 1 jalapeño, seeded and minced
- 1/4 cup fresh cilantro, roughly chopped
- 2 tablespoons fresh lime juice (about 1 lime)
- 1/2 teaspoon kosher salt, plus more to taste
- 1/4 teaspoon ground cumin
- 1 small garlic clove, minced
Instructions
- Dice the peaches. Peel and cut peaches into a small, even dice — roughly 1/4-inch pieces. Uniform cuts help every bite carry the full flavor.
- Combine the base. In a medium bowl, add the diced peaches, red onion, jalapeño, garlic, and cilantro. Stir gently to combine without breaking down the peaches.
- Season and brighten. Add lime juice, salt, and cumin. Stir once more. Taste and adjust salt or lime as needed — the salsa should be bright, a little sweet, and have a clean heat at the finish.
- Rest before serving. Let the salsa sit at room temperature for at least 10 minutes before serving so the flavors can come together. Serve with tortilla chips, grilled chicken, fish tacos, or birria.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 35 | Protein: 1g | Fat: 0g | Carbs: 9g | Fiber: 1g | Sodium: 195mg