SALSA ROJA ASADA
Tomatoes, the fruit of the season, bursting from flames and crushed. Jalapenos and serranos with their fiery seeds hidden beneath sunburnt skins. Onions and peppers, bearing their blackened scars that tattoo all that was once shiny and smooth and yet, in some miraculous way, also sweetened their bite. Somehow exposure to open heat gives way to glory. Roasted red salsa. It’s as if the summer’s fever has finally broken and its bounty gives way to irresistible sweat on the brow and lip.
Salsa is a staple in our home. We love the sacred heat on just about anything. I roasted, chopped, simmered, and preserved it in a dozen massive mason jars once only to have it shelved for just a couple week’s time. We drank it like water.
Interesting, isn’t it, how roasting is what brings the sweet and spice to sing? Tested with flame, fresh pain gives way to enhanced rich flavor. Somehow, in God’s superintending way, what seems to break us down is what is necessary for arrogance to release and a stronger more beautiful creation to develop. I’ve got the burn marks to prove it. Bursting, crushing, simmering, and then knowing that fiery ordeal was not in vain. Such a complex and pleasing aroma.
(Job 23:10 and 1 Peter 1:6-7)
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