Somewhere
in Monterey
Characters (in the order of their appearance)
Senor Gomez, an old man
Narrator, a somewhat garrulous man
William Tecumseh Sherman, Officer, U.S. Army
E.O.C. Ord, Officer, U.S. Army
A hare, stewed in red sauce
The Stage
No curtain. A bare-bones stage in low light. “Upstage” is furthest from the audience, “downstage” is closest to the audience. In a departure from tradition, we shall describe the set from the point of view of the audience rather than the actors.
An adobe wall with a centered doorway extends the full upstage length. Short segments of wall extend toward the audience from both sides, creating two corners. A small window pierces the left wall. A religious icon hangs on the right wall. Another doorway, at audience right, leads outdoors. A rustic table and four chairs, center stage. One large wooden chair in the rear left-side corner.
The Chili Colorado Incident
An exceptionally short play in two acts.
Act I
The audience, arriving in low light, sees the inside of a two-story adobe dwelling settled snugly in the foothills of the Gabilan Range. It is a darkening evening in early 1847. The stage is softly lit by a low-burning kerosene lamp set down on the table. A portly old man garbed in store-bought trousers, shirt and vest befitting the station of a Spanish don, snoozes in the chair tucked back in the left corner. He is Señor Gomez, owner of the dwelling.
The Narrator, dressed in homespun shirt and trousers, enters the centered doorway. He fiddles with a kerosene lamp sitting on the table. The stage light comes up, and he busies himself arranging a place setting for one.
We hear the clop of approaching horses and presently, some raps on a door. The Narrator walks to the doorway at right and admits two young lieutenants wearing blue military uniforms. He converses with them out of audience earshot.
Señor Gomez stretches and yawns broadly, then rises to greet the arrivals. The three seat themselves at the table and continue talking (still out of earshot).
Meanwhile, the Narrator makes his way downstage and perches there, legs dangling off the edge of the stage, facing the audience. He will remain there during much of the play. The hard stage surface is uncomfortable but he can endure it, for this is a very, very short play.
Narrator (projecting his voice to the audience)
This play is called “The Chili Colorado Incident.” It is a simple story inspired by an unimportant incident described by a famous U.S. Army officer in his memoirs, and nothing more. Any suggestion of deeper meanings is unintentional. That being said, should you discern allegory, parable or other literary tie to the age-old struggle to discover existential truths, our playwright will be pleased to take credit for it.
The war between Mexico and the Americans is grinding to a halt. Alta California is feeling the effects of U.S. dominance. Monterey Bay is alive with civilian officials and soldiers and the ships and sailors that carried them there. A couple of days ago our two young officers left the Presidio on horseback, setting out on an excursion of our inland plains and valleys. Saddle-worn and ravenous this evening, they have been fortunate enough—or perhaps not, we shall see—to stumble upon this house.
The officer on your left is the fiery young William Tecumseh Sherman…yes, the same Sherman who will raze Birmingham and burn Columbia and bring the heart of the Southern states to smoking ruin in about…oh…seventeen years from now.
The other officer is Edward Otho Cresap Ord—more frequently referred to as E.O.C. Ord. He will later win praise as an aggressive general commanding one of
Ulysses S. Grant’s armies in the run-up to Lees’s surrender at Appomattox. For Montereyans, his name will be more closely associated with—as you have no doubt guessed—Fort Ord…and after this night, with chili colorado.
Listen.
(Voices slowly rise to audible level)
Senor Gomez
… is unexpected. I receive very few visitors this time of night at this time of year. You are welcome to rest here, though I can offer only my poor dirt floor. At least you may find shelter from the wind.
I was about to sit down to a small supper (hesitates, clears throat)…of stewed hare and tortillas. If you have not eaten, perhaps…
Voices fall back to inaudible. Gomez’ half-squint and forced smile add an unmistakable ironic tone to his somewhat tentative invitation. This is not lost on Sherman and Ord, though it does not prevent them from accepting the offer, for the dish smells most tempting.
Señor Gomez (muttering ironically)
Fine…fine. I will get things moving, then.
Gomez mumbles one more “fine” in low voice, as he walks downstage and stoops to speak to the Narrator.
Sherman (in a stage whisper to Ord)
I much doubt that Señor Gomez’ welcoming sentiments are genuine. The meal allowance, though it may be ample for one, will surely be rather short for three. I can understand why his invitation does not feel over-cordial. Why did he not simply send us on our way?
Ord (stage whisper to Sherman)
Gomez’ pride would not permit that, Sherman. He cannot overlook the generations of tradition that require he offer hospitality to all and sundry. We are caballeros—“gentlemen” in Spanish—and we cannot be ignored. Yes, we inconvenience him, but he would take refusal as an insult. What shall be done, you wonder? We shall eat, Sherman. And I, for one, am famished. Still your worry, my friend, and enjoy the meal.
Gomez rejoins the two Officers. Narrator rises, exits and re-enters the door upstage center, carrying two more place settings. He soon brings in a steaming pot of stew which he dishes out in three portions before returning to his spot downstage.
Sherman takes a chunk of rabbit and a large spoonful of sauce into his mouth and chews for several seconds, then pauses, a puzzled expression on his face. He gasps, squints his eyes tightly for a moment, and abruptly leans back in his chair. Inhaling deeply several times through pursed lips, he reaches for the tortillas he thinks will ease the burn, all the while rasping out unintelligible sounds.
Gomez stares at him, interested, but says nothing, and continues to eat. Ord, too, is silent, stoically munching away as though nothing unusual has occurred.
Narrator
For the folks in the back rows who can’t see Sherman up close, know that his face is flushed red, and sweaty, and he is streaming tears. The poor man is twitching in misery. The tortillas he is busily chewing will do little if anything to lessen the heat—that remedy has been debunked—but perhaps the power of suggestion will give him some relief. When he regains his senses and can speak coherently he will tell Ord he was expecting the red sauce to be a savory concoction of tomatoes and herbs, but it was more like liquid fire.
Nor can you see the twinkle in Gomez’ eyes or his barely suppressed grin, but they are there, betraying his thoughts: his share of the rabbit has just increased two-fold.
Gomez spoons himself a second helping. Presently he rises, speaks briefly to each of Sherman and Ord, and exits upstage center.
Narrator
Those among you who have chomped down on a chile pepper of the hotter variety…well, you know them for the mischievous things they are. They hold their heat just long enough to lull you into a false sense of security—giving you time to thoroughly sink your teeth in before releasing the full power of their fire and smoke to flood your tongues and palates. They are devious, inhumane things, these chile peppers.
As the Officers exit the door at right, the Narrator stands and lowers the kerosene flame. He walks downstage toward the audience, but remains standing. As he speaks, the stage light drops slowly to full darkness.
Narrator
Sherman and Ord are tending to their mounts. They will soon return to this room with their rolled army-issue woolen blankets, to dream warm dreams as they slumber away the night on the cold, hard-packed dirt floor. I will look in on them as they sleep, and I will be here to see them off in the morning.
We’ll take a short intermission now, folks. Those that smoke, please take them outdoors.
Act II
A cock’s crow cues the end of intermission.The stage has not changed. Light comes up slowly to simulate the soft natural glow of morning. The Officers finish rolling their blankets, then take to the table where they talk (out of earshot) while they begin finishing off the tortillas left there the night before.
The Narrator is in his usual place.
Narrator (to audience)
The happenings in Act I are based on fact. The conversation which follows might well have occurred—logically should have occurred, if you think about it—in some form.
Sherman
What the devil went into that stew, Ord? The dish nearly killed me. You, though...you stood it just fine…never shed a tear.
Ord
A hard military life awaits us, Sherman, and we will experience plenty of fire and smoke along our way. I believe you will need to toughen up some.
They call it chili colorado—chili with an “i” describes the dish, and chile with an “e” describes the peppers that go into it.
Sherman looks skyward and rolls his eyes, knowing a pedantic explanation is coming.
First, you scare up a hare or two…young or old, fat or stringy, no matter: the chile peppers will do their part to even out the taste.
Now, rustle up some onions and garlic. These grow abundantly in these parts. Chop ‘em up and toss them into a hot stew pot and let it all sizzle. Cumin, dried oregano and ground coriander will do wonders for the flavor, so in a while you add a small handful of those. If you can find some smoked paprika, well, that’ll add an earthy flavor to compl…
Sherman (interrupting)
It's the heat that interests me, Ord. What of those chiles-with-an-“e”?
Ord
I was coming to that, Sherman. The guajillos…and anchos…and arbols.
Dried guajillos give the sauce a tangy flavor, with echoes of sweet berries on the palate and a satiny finish on the tongue.
The anchos, now…they add smokiness and an undercurrent of raisins, with just a hint of chocolate to balance the bright taste of…
Sherman (interrupting sharply)
Ord! What the Sam Hill are you talking about? We’re discussing peppers here, not vintage wine.
Ord (with an aggrieved stare at Sherman)
Enough, Sherman. This is a dish much to my liking, and chiles are at its very soul. I take your question seriously and I will finish my answer, if you don’t mind. I was about to say…the anchos add a mature quality that moderates the vibrance of the guajillos.
And the arbols? These wee things are the fiery ones. Use just a small one for warmth, two for a mule kick, and three…well, three of them can burn a palate right down to ash. I fear Señor Gomes treads too closely to the danger zone when it comes to these little monsters.
Sherman
Overdoes the arbols, does he? Those things should come with a warning.
Their conversation tapers off as the stage dims to half-light. The Narrator accompanies Ord and Sherman to the door at right and the officers make their exit. A horse whinnies. The Narrator makes his way downstage.
Narrator (standing)
Our young lieutenants are heading out to Mission San Juan Bautista before making their way back to Monterey where they have been directing the improvement of Presidio fortifications—not quite the stimulating work they enlisted for. In the turbulent years ahead they will find excitement enough to satisfy their appetites for adventure.
The world Señor Gomez has known all his life is rapidly changing. The era of the grandiloquent Spanish don has passed, and sadly so: it has been a colorful, romantic, etiquette-rich era.
And the hare? Well, we trust the gods will have mercy on its soul.
Several decades hence, a boy named Wilbur Scoville will come into this world on the far side of the continent. In 1912 he will perfect his Scoville Heat Unit system for rating the spiciness of peppers—far too late to be of much use to William Sherman.
And so, friends, we have come to the end. Our play was based on fact, but we have added a measure of whimsy to flavor the plot. Now be sure to hold on to your programs: in them we have reprinted, verbatim, the part of Sherman’s memoirs describing this small episode, that you may separate out his fact from our fiction.
Have a good night.
Sherman recounted this incident (and others of his Monterey adventures) in his “Memoirs of General William T. Sherman,” Chapters II and III.
I can well recall that Ord and I, impatient to look inland, got permission and started for the Mission of San Juan Bautista. Mounted on horses, and with our carbines, we took the road by El Toro, quite a prominent hill, around which passes the road to the south, following the Salinas or Monterey River. After about twenty miles over a sandy country covered with oak-bushes and scrub, we entered quite a pretty valley in which there was a ranch at the foot of the Toro. Resting there a while and getting some information, we again started in the direction of a mountain to the north of the Salinas, called the Gavillano. It was quite dark when we reached the Salinas River, which we attempted to pass at several points, but found it full of water, and the quicksands were bad. Hearing the bark of a dog, we changed our course in that direction, and, on hailing, were answered by voices which directed us where to cross. Our knowledge of the language was limited, but we managed to understand, and to founder through the sand and water, and reached a small adobe-house on the banks of the Salinas, where we spent the night: The house was a single room, without floor or glass; only a rude door, and window with bars. Not a particle of food but meat, yet the man and woman entertained us with the language of lords put themselves, their house, and every thing, at our "disposition," and made little barefoot children dance for our entertainment. We made our supper of beef, and slept on a bullock's hide on the dirt-floor. In the morning we crossed the Salinas Plain, about fifteen miles of level ground, taking a shot occasionally at wild-geese, which abounded there, and entering the well-wooded valley that comes out from the foot of the Gavillano. We had cruised about all day, and it was almost dark when we reached the house of a Senor Gomez, father of those who at Monterey had performed the parts of Adam and Eve. His house was a two-story adobe, and had a fence in front. It was situated well up among the foot-hills of the Gavillano, and could not be seen until within a few yards. We hitched our horses to the fence and went in just as Gomez was about to sit down to a tempting supper of stewed hare and tortillas. We were officers and caballeros and could not be ignored. After turning our horses to grass, at his invitation we joined him at supper. The allowance, though ample for one, was rather short for three, and I thought the Spanish grandiloquent politeness of Gomez, who was fat and old, was not over-cordial. However, down we sat, and I was helped to a dish of rabbit, with what I thought to be an abundant sauce of tomato. Taking a good mouthful, I felt as though I had taken liquid fire; the tomato was chile colorado, or red pepper, of the purest kind. It nearly killed me, and I saw Gomez's eyes twinkle, for he saw that his share of supper was increased.—I contented myself with bits of the meat, and an abundant supply of tortillas. Ord was better case-hardened, and stood it better. We staid at Gomez's that night, sleeping, as all did, on the ground, and the next morning we crossed the hill by the bridle-path to the old Mission of San Juan Bautista.