Salsa Morita — The Smoke That Lives in Everything Earl Makes

June 2026. I am 67, retired, and the Memphis summer wraps around Orange Mound with its annual ferocity. The smoker calls louder in summer, and I answer, because answering the smoker is answering the part of myself that is most alive.

Rosetta beside me through the week, 42 years married, the steady pulse of this household, the woman whose opinions I pretend to resist and always follow. The BBQ class at the community center, where I teach fire and patience to a new generation, and the teaching feeds me as much as the cooking feeds them.

Sweet potato pie — Mama's recipe, Rosetta's hands, the annual sacrament. The jiggle in the center, the cinnamon warmth, the crust that Pearlie Mae would critique but approve. The pie is the chain. The chain is unbroken.

Rosetta said goodnight. I said goodnight. The house settled into the darkness that Orange Mound has known for a hundred years, the particular darkness of a Black neighborhood that has survived everything and still makes beauty in the morning. Tomorrow there will be coffee and smoke and family. There is always coffee and smoke and family. That is enough.

The small retired-USPS-postal-worker life is in its small ninth year now. The small thirty-five-year-mail-carrier-career had ended at retirement in 2017. The small pension and the small Social Security and the small Beatrice’s small income from the substitute-teaching are the small fixed-income household-financial-shape.

Rosetta (the small wife, married 1984) has been the small life-partnership through the small forty-two-years. The small Memphis-house has been the small home since the small middle-1980s. The small Earl-and-Rosetta-kitchen continues to be the small daily-center.

The four children: Walter Jr. (the small oldest), Denise (passed in 2010 from sickle-cell-disease-complications; the small permanent-wound), Marcus (the small third-child), Charlie (the small youngest). The small grandchildren are the small ongoing-joy. The small Uncle Clyde mentorship had shaped Earl through the small early-life.

The small backyard BBQ-pit is the small Memphis-cooking-engine. The small Memphis-style dry-rub-ribs, the small pulled-pork, the small brisket. The small Big Bob Gibson’s white-sauce influence runs through the small Earl-recipes. The small annual Memphis-in-May contest had been the small Earl-attendance until the small Denise-loss in 2010 had changed the small May-rhythm.

The small Mason Temple Church of God in Christ congregation is the small Sunday-worship. The small forty-eight-year-membership has built the small church-family. The small Pastor-Williams has been the small spiritual-leader through the small DeShana-loss and the small retirement and the small fifty-and-sixty-year-life-stages.

The small Memphis-summer-heat-and-humidity is the small grilling-weather constant. The small outdoor-cooking-from-March-through-November dominates the small kitchen-rotation. The small indoor-cooking is the small December-February rotation when the small weather is too cold for the small outdoor pit.

The small Sunday-publishing-rhythm of the recipe blog continues to be the small organizing-spine of the small week. The small Sunday-cooking happens in the small late-morning-to-early-afternoon window. The small photographing of the finished dish happens at the small three-PM kitchen-light-window. The small writing-up of the recipe happens at the small four-PM workspace at the kitchen-counter. The small final-edit happens at the small five-PM. The small post publishes at seven PM. The small ritual has been running for years.

The small recipe-development-philosophy continues to be the small small-batch-test-then-publish approach. The small first cook of a small new recipe happens on the small Saturday afternoon. The small adjustments are noted in the small kitchen-notebook. The small second cook happens Sunday with the small adjustments incorporated. The small Sunday-cook is the small version that gets photographed and published. The small two-test process catches the small recipe-flaws before they reach the small reader.

The small kitchen-equipment-inventory has the small key-pieces that show up in nearly every recipe. The small heavy-bottomed Dutch oven for the small braises. The small twelve-inch cast-iron skillet for the small sears and the small pan-roasts. The small half-sheet baking-pans for the small roasted vegetables and the small cookies. The small wooden-spoon-collection in the small ceramic-pitcher on the counter. The small chef’s-knife and the small paring-knife and the small bread-knife that are the small daily-tools.

The small grocery-shopping rhythm runs through the small Tuesday-evening trip and the small Saturday-morning top-off. The small Tuesday-trip is the small weekly-stock-up for the small staples and the small produce and the small protein. The small Saturday-trip is the small quick-fill for whatever the small Sunday-recipe requires that is not already in the small pantry. The small two-trip-per-week pattern keeps the small grocery-bill manageable and the small food-waste low.

The small meal-planning happens on the small Sunday-evening for the small week-ahead. The small dinners are mapped out across the small Monday-through-Saturday. The small repeating-meals are slotted in (the small pasta-Monday, the small taco-Tuesday or similar pattern). The small new-recipes are slotted for the small Wednesday-or-Thursday for the small variety. The small planning ahead reduces the small daily what-are-we-making-for-dinner stress.

The small weekday-cooking is the small efficient-and-fast mode. The small Sunday-cooking is the small slow-and-careful mode. The small two-modes serve the small two-different-needs. The small weekday-cooking has to be on the small table within forty-five minutes of getting home from the small work-or-school-pickup. The small Sunday-cooking can take three hours and benefit from every minute of that time.

The small recipe-archive on the small blog has grown to many hundreds of recipes over the years. The small archive is the small searchable-resource for the small weekday-meal-planning. The small reader-feedback in the small comments-section helps refine the small recipes over time. The small note-from-a-reader who tried a small substitution that worked better than the small original gets incorporated into the small recipe-revision.

The small Sunday-cooking-and-writing rhythm is the small thing that has held across years of life-changes and family-events and small ordinary-weekday-disruptions. The small constant is the small Sunday. The small constant is the small recipe. The small constant is the small posting-at-seven-PM ritual. The small constant is the small reader on the other end of the small post who is going to read the small recipe and try the small recipe in the small reader’s own kitchen.

When you spend forty-plus years developing patience — delivering mail in every kind of Memphis weather, tending a fire until the bark is just right, waiting on the jiggle in the center of a sweet potato pie — you start to recognize that patience in ingredients, too. Morita chiles are smoked jalapeños, and the first time I cooked them down into a salsa I understood I was working with something that had already been through the fire. That felt right. That felt like family. This is the salsa I put on everything that comes off the pit, and the one I’ve been meaning to write down properly for years.

Salsa Morita

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 25 min | Total Time: 40 min | Servings: 8

Ingredients

• 8 morita chiles (dried smoked jalapeños), stems removed
• 4 roma tomatoes, halved
• 4 cloves garlic, unpeeled
• 1/2 white onion, roughly chopped
• 1 tablespoon vegetable oil
• 1/2 teaspoon kosher salt, plus more to taste
• 1/4 teaspoon dried oregano
• 1/2 cup water, plus more as needed
• 1 tablespoon apple cider vinegar

Instructions

1. Toast the chiles. Heat a dry cast-iron skillet over medium heat. Add the morita chiles and press them flat with a spatula for 15–20 seconds per side until fragrant and slightly puffed. Do not let them blacken. Transfer to a bowl, cover with hot water, and soak 15 minutes until softened. Drain and set aside.
2. Char the vegetables. In the same skillet over medium-high heat, add the tomato halves cut-side down, the unpeeled garlic cloves, and the onion. Cook undisturbed for 5–7 minutes until the tomatoes and onion are charred in spots. Flip and cook another 3 minutes. Remove from heat. Peel the garlic once cool enough to handle.
3. Blend. Combine the drained morita chiles, charred tomatoes, peeled garlic, charred onion, 1/2 cup water, oregano, and apple cider vinegar in a blender. Blend on high until smooth, about 60 seconds. Add additional water a tablespoon at a time if the salsa is too thick to blend smoothly.
4. Cook the salsa. Heat the vegetable oil in the cast-iron skillet over medium-high heat until shimmering. Carefully pour in the blended salsa — it will spatter. Stir immediately and reduce heat to medium. Simmer, stirring occasionally, for 10–12 minutes until the salsa deepens in color and the raw tomato taste mellows. Season with salt to taste.
5. Cool and serve. Remove from heat and allow to cool to room temperature. The salsa will thicken slightly as it cools. Serve alongside smoked meats, grilled sausage links, eggs, or tacos. Store covered in the refrigerator for up to 10 days.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 38 | Protein: 1g | Fat: 2g | Carbs: 5g | Fiber: 2g | Sodium: 148mg