New Mexico Chile: Notes on a Conquered and Downsized Empire

By Kent Paterson

In the farmlands that sketch green the Mesilla Valley between Las Cruces and El Paso, the writer recently observed an increasingly scarce sight: workers picking chile peppers. A short jaunt off Highway 28, a few field hands and labor contractors paused from work to talk about the harvest.

A man with a reputation as an efficient picker, Jesús “Chuy” Delgado counts 30 years or more laboring in the “pisca,” or chile harvest. At this field, he was plucking cayenne and jalapeño chiles, both of which are hotter varieties. The long red cayenne pepper is typically harvested for the hot sauce market, while the versatile jalapeño can be canned, pickled, stuffed with cheese for poppers, mixed into salsa, slapped on top of a hot dog or hamburger, folded into a taco, and even chewed raw.

Delgado estimates he can fill 40-45 plastic buckets of chile, earning about $100 on a good day. Interviewed as a seemingly eternal summer dragged on, Delgado was one of 32 workers at the cayenne and jalapeño field that stooped and hugged the hot ground as their zipping hands stripped ripe peppers from plants. The farmworker and other chile industry insiders report a good crop this year, meaty and tasty pods ready to satisfy those old chile cravings, but it’s a harvest that’s diminished dramatically over the years and one which is subject to swirling forces and trends, known and unknown, that will chart the future.

Once upon a time, hundreds and hundreds of workers could be seen picking chile along Highway 28 and the myriad backroads that crisscross the river valley farms and ranches between Cruces and El Chuco. We’re referring to the “glory” years of the old New Mexico chile empire, from the 1970s to the early 1990s, when chile fields blossomed big and the New Mexico brand reigned as high as the Organ Mountains over the Rio Grande Valley.

Thousands of people made a living (a few much better than others) from planting, growing, harvesting, processing, and marketing chiles, whether of the iconic New Mexican cultivars or the jalapeño and cayenne varieties, not to mention a few exotics here and there.

Keep in mind that growing chile is a business that’s firmly absorbed into an international capitalist economy dominated by big corporations. In this world, 85-90 percent of the New Mexican crop is typically contracted ahead of time to companies that process peppers into value-added products.

Viewed in sheer numbers, New Mexico’s slippage in the Royal Capsicum hierarchy startles the senses. In 1992, 34,500 acres of the cherished hot stuff was harvested in New Mexico. In 2000, 19,000 acres were harvested. Since 2009, the annual harvested chile acreage in New Mexico has never surpassed 10,000 acres, mostly registering in the 8,000 acre range, according to reports from the U.S. Department of Agriculture (USDA).

The farm gate value of chile, or the amount farmers receive for their harvested crop, is another indicator of decline. In 1999, when 16,200 acres were harvested statewide, the USDA calculated that New Mexico producers received $49.4 million for their peppers. In 2023, the federal agency estimated that 8,800 harvested acres fetched $41.5 million for producers. By weight, the harvest fell from 55,210 tons in 2022 to 46,700 last year.

Myriad reasons underpin the decline of the New Mexico chile crop-pest infestations and plant diseases, overplanting, changing grower preferences for commodities like pecans, labor issues, water shortages, and more. But one factor stands out above the rest: the North American Free Trade Agreement (NAFTA), which later evolved into the current U.S.-Mexico-Canada Agreement, and other international trade regimes set loose in the “free trade” frenzy of recent decades.

Setting aside the matter of environmental and social externalities of cheap labor and fossil-fueled transportation for a moment, it’s simply less expensive to grow and transport chiles from abroad than to cultivate and harvest them here.

Sharing similar geographic and climatic characteristics, the Land of Enchantment’s southern neighbor, the Mexican state of Chihuahua, excels in chile production.

In stark contrast to its northern neighbor, the acreage devoted to chile peppers in Chihuahua skyrocketed from less than 22,000 acres in 1993-94, when NAFTA went into effect, to about 78,000 by 2015. In that year, approximately one-third of the northern Mexican state’s chile harvest, or 26,000 acres, was planted for export. Chihuahua’s export acreage alone dwarfed New Mexico’s total chile planting of 8,300 acres in 2015.

More recently, Mexican government statistics cited by the Mexican news outlets El Sol de Chihuahua and La Jornada tagged Chihuahua’s planted chile acreage likewise at approximately 78,000 acres in 2023. La Jornada reported last year that between 20-25,000 workers, mainly indigenous seasonal laborers from southern Mexico and the Sierra Tarahumara, were required for just the Chihuahua jalapeño harvest. The Mexican daily reported that the jalapeño harvesters were earning between 130-250 pesos per day, or between $8-$15 per day at the time.

According to the newspaper, Mexican labor inspectors had detected 47 minors working the Chihuahua chile harvest in 2022.

Chihuahua-grown chile is easily shipped north on highways to El Paso’s international bridges or the New Mexico ports of entry at Santa Teresa and Columbus.

Consider more fun facts from the USDA. In 2014, U.S. chile producers in New Mexico, Arizona, Texas and California produced more than 480 million lbs. of the peppers. By 2022, the number plummeted to about 175 million pounds. In 2014, about 20 percent of chile peppers consumed domestically came from U.S. soil; by 2022, less than 10 percent was grown domestically. In addition to Mexico, chile is imported from China, India and other countries.

The Big Boys Come Knocking

The disappearance of another industry icon in 2002, the historic Mountain Pass cannery just across the New Mexico line in the small El Paso County town of Anthony, stands as another key marker in the chronology of decline.

Mountain Pass was a pivotal player in the regional chile industry, contracting tons and tons of peppers for its assembly lines. Changing ownership several times, Mountain Pass was acquired in 1969 by Pet, Inc. of St. Louis, Missouri, which processed chile and manufactured Mexican foods at the plant under the Old El Paso Foods label.

As the popularity of Mexican and other ethnic foods surged, Old El Paso was once called the “jewel” of Pet. The company’s influence in the growth of the New Mexico chile industry was immense, with Old El Paso purchasing an estimated 30 percent of the entire state crop in 1988 alone, to the tune of approximately $40 million.

The Anthony plant employed hundreds of permanent and seasonal employees, with many Chicanas and Mexicanas working the line. In 1977, a historic two-month long strike erupted at Mountain Pass that eventually yielded a contract between Pet/Old El Paso and the United Food and Commercial Workers Union.

By 1993, Mountain Pass’ starting pay of $7.00 per hour plus benefits for workers under the union contract was notably better than other border area plants which paid a starting wage in the $4.25 to $4.50 range. Media savvy, Old El Paso Foods cashed in big on the Mexican foods boom, even dubbing itself “The Big Enchilada of Mexican Foods.”

As the 20th century entered its final legs, the emissaries of neoliberalism or savage capitalism began creeping up to little front Anthony’s door. Pet and Old El Paso Foods confronted a hostile takeover by IC Industries, attracted the covetous eye of Wall Street and international investors, and interlocked its board of directors with members who possessed gold-plated hands connected to the pockets of big capital. In 1995, Pillsbury bought out Pet and Old Paso Foods. In October 2001, General Mills purchased Pillsbury along with Old El Paso Foods.

Four months later, in February 2002, General Mills announced it was closing the old Mountain Pass plant. In March of the same year, 253 permanent employees got pink slips and seasonal workers were minus a source of employment. Nowadays, the Anthony property is devoted to border trade brokerage purposes.

Over in Deming, New Mexico, meanwhile, another mammoth-sized chile processor with an equally big footprint in the state industry was likewise immersed in and then scooped up by the shifting winds of international commerce and finance. First established in the early 1970s, Border Foods became the biggest processor of green chile and jalapeños in the U.S., at one time employing up to 1,500 full-time and seasonal employees.

Located a 30 minute drive from the U.S.-Mexico border, Border Foods could easily import chile from Mexico as well as contract with local New Mexico chile farmers. Headquartered in Japan, Mizkan America bought the big plant for an undisclosed sum in 2011. Next up, in 2020, Olam Americas purchased Border Foods from Mizkan America for $108 million.

Complementing its business foray, Olam ventured into New Mexico pistachios, ran a large chile processing facility in Las Cruces, and established a significant presence in Southwestern organic chile production, according to company information and an article on livability.com.

“We have full control of this supply chain, from seed development to planting, growing, harvesting, processing and packaging — ensuring full traceability from seed to shelf,” Olam assured potential organic chile buyers in an Internet post.

Olam forms part of a global food empire overseen by Singapore investors. Besides New Mexico, the company’s peppers come from Mexico, Peru, Spain and China.

Pilgrims, Pepper Princesses and Politicians

The historic downsizing of the New Mexico chile empire, which is better described as more like a fiefdom these days, ironically unfolds in an era when the celebration of chile culture, or chilemania if you will, is arguably greater than ever. Seasonal chile festivals have spread from one end of the state to the other, while the famed Hatch Chile Festival, complete with its crowned red chile and green chile queens as an integral part of the festivities, draws thousands every year.

Come late summer and early fall, people from far and wide flock to Hatch and other legendary outposts of the old New Mexico empire. Dr. Guillermina Nunez-Mchiri, regional scholar and former UTEP professor/administrator, once termed the spice-seeking sojourners “chile pilgrims.”

Culturally, New Mexico chile keeps entrancing artists, seducing photographers, inspiring poets and writers, and revving up musicians. Never missing the seasonal beat of the chile harvest, media stories and online images abound of multi-generational family farms, barreled green chile roasters churning out the heavenly scent, and fiery foodie recipes combining an indigenous heritage food with upscale, divine wine.

In recent years, the Albuquerque band Baracutanga’s “Rumba de Burque” became a local anthem of sorts. As a celebration of land, sky, water and people, as well as life and death, the song pays homage to the culinary spirits swooshing around in every true New Mexican, partly in Spanish rhyme:

“..chile verde (green chile)
tequila fuerte (strong tequila)
salsa sabrosa (tasty salsa)
Rumba de Burque..”

Yet chile culture doesn’t just encompass art, music and popular fiestas and festivals. Signifying its importance to the New Mexican palate and psyche, chile is encoded in state governance. For those who are not already enrolled in the New Mexico-based Chile Nation, let it be known that chile is one of two New Mexico official vegetables, the pinto bean being the other. In botanical classification, chile is actually a fruit, but let’s not trample on mythical sensibilities.

Of all things, an official state question even exists, Red or green? The question is routinely asked by restaurant servers to know whether you want red or green chile in your food- not whether you vote Republican or Green Party. Sure enough, there’s an official state answer, Red, green or Christmas.

Including Jesus’ birthday in the linguistic ritual might seem odd or overblown to the uninitiated, but seasoned consumers know that in New Mexico chile lingo Christmas means a blend of both red and green chile.

If all this wasn’t enough, New Mexico lawmakers actually passed a measure in the 2023 session that declared the smell of roasting green chiles as the state aroma. Sponsored by Sen. William Soules in the state Senate, SB 188 got the ball rolling in making the Land of Enchantment the first state in the nation with an official state aroma. Where else in the country or the world for that matter, would lawmakers bother to debate and approve an official aroma?

Soules’ bill raised a few eyebrows and sparked chuckles in cyberspace.

“New Mexico Legislators are Kinda Obsessed by Chile,” headlined a post by Stephen Rogers on producebluebook.com

So far, however, efforts to officiate both a chile-themed diddy as the state song and a state green chile cheeseburger have stalled, noted Rogers : “Come on New Mexico lawmakers, now (that) you have an official state aroma it needs a song to accompany it!”

Although the aroma of roasting green chile might now be enshrined in governmental code, the unmistakable aroma of cannabis, aka marijuana or mota, is now giving the roasting smell of chile stiff competition, as any visitor to Albuquerque’s Nob Hill and UNM districts can attest. But that’s another story for another time.

So what the heck is going on here? A genuine cultural reaffirmation? Nostalgia for a vanished past? A reclamation of the sacred and profane? A last hurrah? Just plain old fun?

Chile Fields Forever?

As another chile season enters its final phase, many puzzle over the crop’s future in New Mexico. The million dollar question, of course, is: The million dollar question, of course, is: how will the climate crisis affect the viability of chile growing? The crop, after all, is vulnerable not only to the long-term drought afflicting the Southwest and borderlands but to other still unknown impacts of a hotter, changed climate like the loco winds which have lashed the landscape at unusual times over the past few years.

One thing is clear: chile is getting much more expensive for the average consumer. Old-timers might remember the days during the Great Chile Boom when 38-40 lb. sacks of fresh green retailed for ten or twelve bucks. In Albuquerque this season, three very popular chile roasting outlets were selling 40 lb. sacks for between $40 and $50. Restaurant diners might remember the days when the chile on your burrito or hamburger was a generous splash of green or red instead of the tea-spoon like dashes which are not uncommon today. A clever business innovation was unveiled by restaurateurs who simply charged extra for the privilege of consuming a New Mexican staple.

For now, farmers, workers and others involved in the New Mexico chile business grapple with the future from their vantage point in the chain of production. For growers, harvest mechanization has long been ballyhooed as a solution to labor problems. In fact, some mechanization has occurred in fits and starts, especially with red chile. Yet even the mechanization of red chile harvesting is not uniform, and within the past two years the writer has observed workers still picking red chile.

For green chile, cayenne and jalapeños, the prospects for mechanization are less certain. The New Mexico State University chile breeding program developed a new green chile cultivar called NuMex Odyssey, which is a mild heat variety that’s tailored to machine harvesting. One prominent grower was quoted this season on KRWG declaring the machine a success, but that assessment came from a specific experience for a specially-developed chile variety among many.

Back in the Mesilla Valley, Jesús Delgado and his work colleagues complained there was not enough work for the pickers. They scoffed at mechanical harvesting, pointing out that the field where they were working was anticipating three harvests from the same plants this season, a production scheme in which a lumbering mechanical harvester would likely ruin on the first go-around.

For next year at least, Delgado and fellow pickers will probably make the familiar trek to the chile fields. Like the rows of sun-soaked, ripening chile pods that surround them, they are far fewer in number than in the days of yore but still quite capable of producing at least a basic ration of the stingingly delightful food that stirs imaginations, propels plenty of polemics and nourishes the New Mexican soul, even while deep pocketed others plant their own flags in the diminished but still rich soil of the old chile empire.