As the evening sky turns a deep red like the inside of a watermelon at sunset, I find myself gazing at the bunch of red chilies hanging under the eaves. The dried chilies seem to ignite once more in the glow of the sunset.

The locals refer to that bunch as a ristra. As autumn deepens, each household hangs one by their front door, resembling a home adorned with a red necklace as it welcomes winter.

I still vividly remember my first visit to a local restaurant when I arrived in this land. When I ordered enchiladas, the server asked me with an expression that suggested it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Red or green?"

I hesitated for a moment, thinking they were asking about the color of my drink. It turned out they were inquiring whether I wanted red chili sauce or green chili sauce on top.

Later, I learned that this short question is New Mexico's official state question. According to the Secretary of State's office, the state legislature officially designated "Red or Green?" as the state question in 1996.

While many places adopt birds or flowers as symbols, few choose a question as their emblem. It was meant to showcase the significant role the chili industry plays in the local economy.

Of course, if there's a question, there must be an answer. In 2007, "Red and green or Christmas" was established as the official answer.

When you ask for both, saying "Christmas" refers to the sight of red and green side by side on a plate, resembling holiday decorations. The first time I said that, I felt a flutter of excitement.

This expression is widely believed to have originated at a restaurant called Tia Sophia's in Santa Fe. A server suggested trying both sauces, but since there's no exact record, it's best to think of it as a legend.

Interestingly, red and green chilies are actually the same fruit. When picked before fully ripened and roasted, they become green chilies; when left to ripen fully in the sun, they turn into red chilies.

So, green represents the face of summer, while red embodies the face of autumn. Considering that the same life changes color across seasons, it feels like time flows on the plate as well.

By late summer, the air here fills with a unique aroma. Wire drums spin in parking lots and along the roadside, and the skins of green chilies pop in the flames, sending up smoke.

That scent was designated as the official state aroma in 2023. Elementary school students proposed the idea to a senator, leading to a bill that was signed by the governor, making New Mexico the first state in the U.S. to have an official aroma.

I laughed for a while when I heard that the scent was legally protected thanks to the kids. I wondered if there could be a better demonstration of how much the people here love chili.

Chili is already the official vegetable of the state. It shares that title with pinto beans, making a perfect pair when I think of the local dining table.

No discussion of chili is complete without mentioning Hatch. It's a small town in the south, but it's more of a term referring to the surrounding growing region than a specific variety.

According to the USDA, New Mexico was the top chili producer in the nation in 2025. More vivid than the numbers are the neighbors filling their freezers with bags of roasted chilies every autumn.

Every time I see that scene, I'm reminded of autumn in Korea. It brings to mind the rural homes where red chilies were dried on mats spread across roofs and yards.

Right now, it's the season in Korea when people talk about kimjang. Whether it's preparing plenty of red pepper powder for winter or stocking up on chilies, the sentiments seem quite similar.

It's fascinating that two lands that love chilies are so far apart. It feels like both cultures have independently discovered that spiciness is a warmth that helps endure the cold seasons.

These days, I sometimes mix a little gochujang into my red chili sauce. The earthy depth of the chili combined with a subtle sweetness surprisingly pleases those who taste it.

So, what's my answer? Honestly, I lean more towards red.

While I enjoy the fresh spiciness of green chili, the red chili, having endured the sun longer, has a depth reminiscent of a sunset. It's a flavor that touches the heart before it reaches the tongue.

Still, when ordering at a restaurant, I often choose Christmas. Both colors are too beautiful to pick just one.

I think that's part of why this question has remained beloved for so long. It's a question without a right answer, allowing anyone to express their preferences freely.

If you're new to this place and receive that question at a restaurant, don't hesitate to answer Christmas. It's never too late to find your own answer after tasting both colors.

Tonight, when the moon rises, the ristra at the entrance will be cloaked in silver. Just like that bunch of chilies, red by day and softly glowing by night, I hope the love for chili in this land continues to shine in different hues with each season.