artdirector@sfreporter.com
Odds are, you believe New Mexico owns the intellectual property rights to the Frito pie—but your two-steppin’ neighbors in Texas beg to differ. You’ve likely heard one of two origin stories for the popular dish: New Mexicans claim it was invented by Teresa Hernandez in the 1960s at the Santa Fe Woolworth’s (now the Five & Dime); Texans insist it was whipped up some 30 years earlier in San Antonio by Daisy Dean Doolin, mother of Frito Company founder Charles Elmer Doolin.
But after decades of debate, there might finally be an end to this interstate food fight as, in 2011, Charles Elmer Doolin’s daughter Kaleta Doolin published her book, Fritos Pie, Stories, Recipes, and More. With exclusive access to her father’s company archives, she repudiates the Santa Fe story, citing documents that list a “Fritos chili pie” as being served to members of the Dallas Dietetic Association in 1949—an entire decade before the Woolworth’s claim.
That doesn’t mean it belongs any less to New Mexico. The Frito pie was canonized into the hallowed halls of the state’s culinary kitsch the day Hernandez scooped chili—think meat and sauce and not so much the chile pepper—into that fateful bag of corn chips. Being from back East, I knew I had to try one while I was here if I wanted to get the full City Different experience. Then I tried five.
Noah Hale
Tortilla Flats, 3139 Cerrillos Road, (505) 471-8685
Tortilla Flats’ pie ($8.29) felt unusually hefty in my to-go bag, and I found a wonderful, smothersome platter of red chile-soaked pinto beans and ground beef topped with lettuce, tomato, cheese and (optional) onions. The catch? Those mini snack bags only carry a handful of Fritos each, not nearly enough to withstand the weight of so many different ingredients. Not halfway through, the Fritos began to evanesce into soggy, limp strips. Here I learned a valuable lesson: Balance between the Fritos and the amount of chile and garnish on top is key, and timing the mix is everything.
Noah Hale
Blake’s Lotaburger, 2004 St. Michael’s Drive, (505) 471-8694
Blake’s pie ($4.99) was served in a heavy styrofoam cup full of chili and paired with yet another fun-sized bag of Fritos. At first I was somewhat disappointed the chips weren’t served in the chili (note the “i” spelling, which Blake’s uses), but I soon realized the minimal effort required to mix the ingredients myself was worth it. At the time, I didn’t yet know what these things are supposed to look or taste like, but this pie was a winner. The chili was not too spicy and sprung off the Fritos with a crunch. Still, even though this pie checked off all the basic recipe boxes, I felt there was something missing.
Noah Hale
The Pantry, 1820 Cerrillos Road, (505) 986-0022
At The Pantry, I instantly noticed there was no bag of Fritos sitting atop my to-go container. Borderline panicked, I extracted the contents of the $10.95 bag and discovered the Fritos already laid under generous portions of red chile, pinto beans, shredded cheese, diced tomatoes and an overabundance of lettuce. Thankfully, there wasn’t as much chile and garnish on top of the Fritos themselves. In lieu of over-smothering, I found more ground beef than in other pies, which created a kind of insulation between the toppings and the chips. The downside, however, was all that lettuce. I found myself scraping the shreds aside with my fork almost the entire time.
Noah Hale
Posa’s El Merendero, 1514 Rodeo Road, (505) 820-7672
Posa’s pie ($7.95) was a swift pick-up and, like The Pantry, already assembled. I saw a promising mix of toppings that had not fallen victim to an unappetizing onslaught of lettuce, too. In fact, it met my expectations with the first bite. Again, the ground beef sopped up the saucy runoff of the chile before it soaked the Fritos, so they still had the desired texture. Still, the ratio felt off and the Fritos weren’t given their due attention.
Noah Hale
Five & Dime, 58 E. San Francisco St., (505) 992-1800
The $6.50 pie that ostensibly started it all is deceptively simple: chili (again with the “i”), cheese and optional onions scooped directly into a small bag of Fritos. I might’ve been quick to judge had this been my first impression of the dish, but after ordering the unpretentious meal from several restaurants, I finally understood why so many people say this one’s the best. There was a near-perfect Fritos-to-chili -ratio, and I could actually taste the cheese this time. There also wasn’t so much chili that it overpowered the taste of the chips and garnish. It hit me—the Frito pie was never meant to be more than chili (or chile) and cheese on Fritos. This lowbrow pie defies all the attempted showiness of restaurants who try in vain to elevate it to sit-down-and-eat status. It doesn’t need to be any more than it already is.
