"I'm not trying that." I used to say that a lot, especially when I moved here around 11 years ago and was introduced to the state's unofficial favorite food: green chile. I myself am not a Colorado native. But I did arrive here long before the most popular topics of conversation were weed, traffic problems, and all the transplants fucking everything up.
That said, I still wasn’t riding the chile train. In fact, I was avoiding it at all costs. And before I’m attacked by an angry horde of Colorado locals wielding green chile-stained utensils, please allow me to rewind a bit. I spent my childhood in Southern Vermont, where I refused to eat almost anything that wasn't Annie's Shells & White Cheddar or blueberry pancakes. Later, when I was in middle school, my family packed up and moved to Florida. There, my school offered a small selection of pre-packaged Taco Bell products as a lunch option, as well as the “cafeteria special” (chicken patty sandwiches). From what I remember, the Taco Bell options were chips served alongside plastic cups filled with glorious nacho cheese or, my personal favorite, the chili cheese burrito. Which, I suppose, was a burrito. I mean, it was some mysteriously saucy beef and flavorless shredded orange cheese wrapped in a tortilla. At this time in history, literally no one was thinking about the children.