When I arrived in Santa Fe, the capital of New Mexico, last summer, however, a different sort of Friday pilgrimage was under way. A remarkably homogeneous set of faithful were ambling up Canyon Road, where 100-plus art galleries had thrown open their doors, as they do every Friday night.

The women were all willowy, with long, pale hair that plumb-lined down the backs of their linen blouses. The men all wore freshly laundered jeans and crisp oxford shirts, their cuffs buttoned to the wrist. Most were in late middle age; many might once have been hippies. All exuded an aura of moneyed confidence.

All, that is, except me and my mother, who had flown in from Connecticut for the weekend. While the people around us were very likely spending hundreds, if not thousands, on Colonial-chic hotels, trendy restaurants and Navajo artifacts, I had a weekend budget of just $500, far from enough to support Mom in the style to which she should really be accustomed. More stressful yet, my mother had been my original tutor in frugality - a coupon-clipping budgetarian capable of transforming humdrum leftovers into Michelin-starred feasts. Now I had to live up to her example.

Yet our stay in this 400-year-old city began auspiciously, with a perfectly inexpensive art walk. Up Canyon Road we followed the pilgrims, popping into Marigold Arts to glance at Kenneth Parker's vibrant Asian landscape photos (and drink the free ginger iced tea), then wandering down an alley to the Anahita Gallery for a stark behind-the-Iron-Curtain photography show (plus cheese and crackers).

The best show was "Flooded Desert," Teresa Neptune's painterly photographs of drenched dunes at White Sands. Not only was the show in El Zaguan, a rickety but quaint 1850s merchant's home that houses the Historic Santa Fe Foundation, but Ms. Neptune had shot all these gorgeous images on just a few rolls of film. Whence such efficiency? As a poor art student, she said, "I had to learn to be very frugal."

To beat the crowds, Mom and I departed Canyon Road for the Coyote Cafe, the storied restaurant that elevated Southwestern cuisine way beyond green-chile cheeseburgers. But because its entrees frequently hit the $30 mark, we went up to its more casual (and cheaper), bustling Rooftop Cantina. There, we munched chipotle shrimp, Cuban sandwiches and duck quesadillas and drank crisp, hoppy Santa Fe Pale Ale.

As I paid the bill, which came to $54, I jokingly suggested we celebrate our first trip together in 15 years the traditional Southwestern way - with tequila shots. Five minutes later, we were entering the Matador, a subterranean bar where the punk-ska band Operation Ivy was playing on the sound system and one wall displayed a poster for D.O.A., an early-'80s hard-core group.

This was a real dive bar. Well, a Santa Fe dive - instead of shots, we sipped smooth anejo ($19 with tip) until Mom announced she was tired.

I was beat, too, so we returned to the Camel Suites (just recently sold and renamed the Santa Fe Suites), the least expensive hotel I could find that still claimed to represent Santa Fe's "rustic charm." So, rustic charm meant the bedspreads were an indiscriminate > medley of pink, purple, copper and turquoise, and the wood furniture was factory-made to look rough-hewn. But the beds were soft, the historic district just minutes way, and the rate was $90.75 a night (including tax). We slept soundly.

The next morning we drove to the Santa Fe Baking Company, a homey, crowded cafe where Mom loaded up on scrambled eggs with scallions and Cheddar cheese, and I ate light: a cinnamon bun, coffee and an imperial pint of fresh orange juice - all for a fair $20.

Then, it was off to the Georgia O'Keeffe Museum (admission was $8 for me, $7 for my 60-or-older mother). We arrived in time to join a free tour, whose elderly docent sketched the painter's life, from her discovery by Alfred Stieglitz to her artistic blossoming in New Mexico.

My mother, a part-time docent herself, questioned the way the guide played down O'Keeffe's sensuality - an approach that, of course, had the opposite effect on us. We could see little else in O'Keeffe's flowers and landscapes, and couldn't help speculating on her relationship with Tony Vaccaro, whose intimate photographs of her adorned one gallery.

Post-museum, we window-shopped in the central plaza. ("Well!" Mom exclaimed. "It looks just like Taormina!") At jewelry stores, Indian storyteller figures - ceramic characters on whose shoulders sit a rapt audience of children - were selling for $1,500, and at Shiprock Trading, antique Navajo rugs cost 10 times that.

We did find one bargain, though not really at a boutique: the Frito pie, $4.15 at the Five and Dime General Store on the tourist-flooded plaza. Back behind the aisles of shampoos and Hallmark cards lay the lunch counter where this delicacy - a small bag of chips sliced open and drenched with chile - was allegedly invented in 1962, when this was still a Woolworth's. The pie is a satisfying snack. In fact, it weighed a ton - something like three pounds of meaty, beany, salty, corny goodness.

It necessitated a trip to the countryside to work off that weight. For Santa Fe is not simply its historic center but also the wild hills that lead into the Sangre de Cristo Mountains. We drove past adobe-style gated housing developments, then around tight switchbacks, the forests of pine and aspen growing ever thicker.

At last, we reached 10,350 feet and Ski Santa Fe. The lifts that are now serving skiers were not open, so we ascended the unused trails on foot. Mom, alas, made it only partway before calling it quits - but she insisted that I soldier on, and I soon learned how steep even bunny slopes can be when there's no high-speed quad to whisk you uphill.

Thirty minutes later, I arrived at a peak and saw what I'd been hoping for: sunbeams breaking through clouds; the hills, so red up close, now infinite shades of blue and gray; and Santa Fe itself, reduced to a little pueblo. It was a vista Mom would have loved. Then I rushed back down; we were due at the opera.

Now, I prefer Hollywood musicals to Mozart and Puccini, but at $14 a ticket, the open-air Santa Fe Opera, a few miles outside the city, was too good to pass up - especially since the opera-going culture there includes a unique aspect: gourmet tailgating. As Mom and I walked through the parking lot, we encountered a dozen parties, some in formal dress, seated at fold-out tables and finishing off bottles of wine.

This was serious feasting, and we actually began to feel a little ashamed of our takeout meal from Dave's Not Here ($18.56). Mom had ordered her favorite, chiles rellenos, and I a green chile stew - delicious, but so sloppy that I wished I'd chosen Dave's famous green-chile cheeseburger.

The opera? It was Strauss's "Daphne," and apart from the chic production design and the presence of live sheep onstage, its turgid plotting and lack of catchy hooks failed to convert this philistine. I'll take "Gold Diggers of 1933" any day.

One mission remained for Sunday: the International Folk Art Market, the annual gathering of artisans from Nigeria, Kyrgyzstan, Ecuador, Laos and everywhere in between. On Saturday, admission had been $15; on Sunday, it was $5. But as we waited for the free shuttle to the fairgrounds, outside the Museum of International Folk Art, an official called out, "Anyone from Connecticut?" Mom answered his call, and he gave us
free tickets, just for being from far away.

The fair itself was overwhelming. Crafts makers in traditional costumes demonstrated their techniques, live bands from Japan and West Africa performed on a stage, and thousands of shoppers pawed at jewelry, toys, textiles, masks and trinkets galore.

As afternoon approached, prices dropped. A $300 Mexican indigo rug was half off; a Kyrgyz felt rug went for $100. Mom picked a lovely, bright woodcut
of an orange by the Brazilian artist Abraao Batista Bezerra (just $30!) while I went for one by his countryman Jose Francisco Borges ($20!).

We celebrated with a $5 cup of organic lavender ice cream from Tara's booth - sublime.

With about $40 left before we hit our weekend limit, Mom and I decided to visit Ten Thousand Waves, a Japanese-style spa in the hills. But when I went online to double-check prices - $19 for an all-day soak in the communal hot tub - I discovered it was clothing optional. Now, my family's fairly progressive, but some things, thankfully, remain off limits. I went alone, which was a smart decision: There was a single bathrobed woman lounging in a chair, but the communal tub was full of naked men. Mom would not have loved this vista.

Among the bamboo walls and the needly pine trees, I alternated between hot tub, cold plunge and sauna, drank tea and finally relaxed. All weekend, I realized, I'd been stressing, worried that, on this meager budget, my mother would be miserable. But she'd eaten gloriously, shopped thriftily and gotten a hefty dose of Santa Fe culture - and so had I.

Total: $493.30 (including taxes, parking fees and a mind-blowing $53 brunch - smoked trout hash, red chile with fried egg - at Cafe Pasqual's on our final morning).

A PLACE FOR PILGRIMS, RELIGIOUS AND SECULAR

WHERE TO STAY

Santa Fe Suites, 3007 South Saint Francis Drive; (505) 989-3600; www.thesantafesuites.com. Rooms from $89.

Red or Green Salsa? It seems to be a daily choice here in Santa Fe. Luckily for someone like me who hasn't figured out which she likes best, to answer "both" is perfectly acceptable. I have been looking forward to savoring Southwest cuisine in the Southwest since we started this trip. Hot smoky chili infused sauces & chili con carne, fry bread, fresh salsas and delicate corn tortillas are pleasing temptations.

We arrive at the quaint Silver Saddle motel around dinner time. The traditional adobe style elevates the motel's status to "cutie pie." It's located on busy Cerillos Road across from a strip club. Rooms are small but clean. Some care has been taken in decor and the bathtub/shower is tiled with regional flair. And it's perfect for two reasons: It fits our budget and Miles is welcome.

I can't wait to sink my teeth into dinner. We decide to follow up on a recommendation that comes from my childhood girlfriend Golden, who's following our journey from Maple Valley, Washington. A colleague of hers suggested we try the Santa Fe Baking Company Cafe & she kindly passed the word on to us. We haven't had much time to research dinner so this recommendation from afar is welcome. Still at the Silver Saddle, Hanson quickly uses a dial up connection to search for local hotspots. Bingo - The Santa Fe Baking Company Cafe is on the list. Now we have two reasons to go there. We arrive at the restaurant just before closing - fortunately we're allowed to order. Hanson immediately settles on the special written on the chalk board "Charbroiled Steak Tacos" I find what looks like a "super menu" and find it's all local cuisine. Breakfast on one side (available all day) and Southwestern selections, smoothies and desserts on the other. I order something, I can't remember what, until the Frito Pie catches my eye. Frito Pie? I can't swing through town and not order the Frito Pie, especially when "our secret chili con carne" is one of the listed ingredients. The guy behind the counter agrees, Frito Pie is something of a house specialty. A few minutes later, we're busy uploading a posting and following up on e-mail on the restaurants free WiFi. But when Frito Pie arrives, so does my appetite. From bottom to top, layered in a deep bowl are: frito chips, the secret house chili con carne (medium but lasting heat, smoky & meaty), avocado, lettuce, shredded cheese, tomatoes and a dollop of sour cream. Hanson's juicy tacos are filled with marinated thin sliced steak, salsa, and tomatoes & shredded cheese. We can hardly finish dinner and it only cost us less than $13. Sure it's a few dollars more than Taco Time/Bell but it's worlds better.

The next morning we check out the free breakfast at the Silver Saddle. Cowboy coffee and toasted bagels sound good but now that we know our local hotspot serves breakfast too, we hightail it back up Cerillos to Cordova and Santa Fe Baking Co. Cafe where we settle on a Huevos Rancheros for me and a Ham Breakfast Burrito for Hanson. I have a soft spot in my heart/palate for the huevos dish. I remember eating them somewhat frequently as a kid. I've had Huevos Rancheros a few different ways but this may very well be my favorite so far - with the exception of my Mother's of course. Santa Fe Baking Company's version is black beans, red and green salsa, fried eggs, melted cheese on top of soft corn tortillas & served with a lightly fried flour tortilla on the side -- in case I have any leftovers to scoop up. Of course, I do. This is one of the meals I don't want to end. The cheese is scant so it's relatively healthy too. Huevos Rancheros is a fabulous energy dish - this one keeps me going until dinner. Hanson's Ham Breakfast Burrito seemed at first a boring choice. Then I tasted it. Nothing boring about the beans, chilis, healthy dose of cheese & ham wrapped up in softened flour tortilla. If I had had the appetite I would have inhaled them both. I so wish I lived near the Santa Fe Baking Co. Cafe! It's the kind of place where a visitor can enjoy simple yet fresh and excellent food and feel like a local at the same time.

One morning at 8 a.m. a student walked into my American literature classroom at Santa Fe Preparatory School with a steaming breakfast burrito. The aroma drove us all wild, so during a pop quiz I casually posed a question: who sells breakfast burritos in town?

Hands shot up, and I started listing names that quickly covered two chalkboards. Inevitably, the students began arguing about whose burrito was the best. One of my creative- writing students -- who was also in the lit class -- sug- gested that we research and write an article that would settle the argument once and for all. The Breakfast (Burrito) Club was born.

All teachers understand that a project undertaken outside the structure of a school is always more work than you think it will be. This was no exception. The creative-writing class had to make some logistical choices, given all the restaurants in Santa Fe that serve breakfast burritos, the many types and varieties, the hours the businesses serve the items, and the task of getting 12 teenagers in one place long enough to fully sample at least a dozen entries.

Methodology

We polled ourselves, our friends and passersby to find the 12 restaurants most often mentioned. In order to keep it fair, we purchased burritos with green chile and bacon at each, since these two ingredients seemed to be the most common and popular -- our apologies to red-chile lovers and vegetarians.

Because of the school's schedule and the amount of homework I pile on downtrodden young adults, all burritos were ordered to go and consumed in our classroom, otherwise known as the Breakfast Burrito Bingo laboratory. Since the creative-writing class met in the afternoons and many restaurants stop serving breakfast at 11 a.m., we had to meet before school, during breaks and after assembly, SATs and AP exams.

My fellow teachers saw more interest from the students in this project than they did when discussing stoichiometry, ellipses or FDR's

New Deal. I tried to convince my colleagues that successful burritos need exact chemistry in the ingredients and geometry in overall presentation; the history of the breakfast burrito has yet to be written.

Our methodology was sound: after speeding around town to gather our specimens, we all took copious notes and photographed each cross section, illustrating in detail our full sensory descriptions. We created charts and graphs and sampled some evidence more than once if our findings seemed inconclusive.

What our class was doing, I explained to my fellow pedagogues, was truly cutting-edge in education: cross-disciplinary, multistyle, extrasensory learning. I even had the research to back it up. Bristling in their dress shirts and lab coats, they scoffed at the idea -- but they still wanted to know who had the best.

And the winners are ...

Since it was close to exams, report cards and graduation, we chose and ranked the top five candidates. Here's our countdown.

5. Harry's Roadhouse serves a fat, smothered burrito with a single classic jalapeno on the side. While the eggs and chile did perform their parts fairly well, the star of this production was the potato, a heavenly creation flattered with strong hints of parsley and rosemary. If you are a papas person, go "tuberlar" and head to Harry's.

4. Felipe's Tacos is known to many teenagers as a quick and authentic place for lunchtime tacos and burritos. The local truant officer should probably set up a satellite location near the salsa bar. The breakfast window at Felipe's is very brief -- 9 to 11 a.m. - - but the trip is worth it. Its portable breakfast burrito is remarkably different from the others we tried. The whole ingestive experience is reminiscent of a jazz club in Paris, a smoky and sensual affair of strong bacon, chewy tortilla and potatoes that don't feel the need to shed their skin.

3. The Santa Fe Baking Company is a classroom in itself, a place teachers take their students to reward them for understanding challenging concepts or a cafe to fill an empty lesson plan when the band at the Paramount the night before did six encores. We all agreed that the Baking Company orchestrated a cornucopia of ingredients to achieve blissful harmony. Crisp bacon provides the crunchy bass tones; soft home- fried potatoes include an inkling of rosemary that carries the tune; grilled onions the size of teardrops dance softly in the background; while chile and cheese enrobe the whole composition. We dubbed this one the "staple" of the category, and we all know that staples are better than paper clips (sorry).

2. Our salutatorian is Tia Sophia's, a local favorite since 1975. As you'd expect, such a historic New Mexican landmark knows its chile. The green chile has a memorable kick, and its flavor is what sealed the deal for our group. As the endorphins flowed, we traveled south to Hatch in autumn, Magic School Bus style, the propane roasters on full blast. Chile alone was not enough to rank this high, however. On top of a robust ribbon of bacon, Tia's showcases chewy and wistful hash-browned potatoes seasoned with just the right bespattering of salt. This hefty burrito is smothered with chile and cheese.

1. At first, we thought our valedictorian only showed up on weekends, but then we discovered that the Cowgirl BBQ & Western Grill now has a takeout place called the Cowgirl Pickup. Their one- handed breakfast was a full and complete chuck-wagon buffet piece, each ingredient complementing the next. The bacon was both crunchy and alive with smokehouse barbecue flavor, and the spuds came out of the chute warm, with a western sunset of seasoning. Fluffy and soft, the eggs provided a needed pillow for those hard nights on the prairie. A herd of cheddary goodness fed at a watering hole of green chile, held together by a covered tortilla wagon that was as soft as a petticoat but strong enough to corral all those wild ingredients.

We had, indeed, found our winner. And so we removed our safety goggles, cleaned up the lab, wiped the board, turned off our Bunsen burners and closed our grade books. Our tattered copies of As I Lay Frying and Great Eggspectations dutifully returned to the library, we left for a well-needed summer vacation of fruits and vegetables.

Santa Fe Prep students who contributed to this review: Tim Gardner, Claire Johnson, Kate Kennedy, Frances Milliken, Brian Scarborough, Winston Shaw, Pinky Thompson, Shawn Walker, Lally Weyhrauch, Maggie York-Worth.

(Sidebars)

In short

The art and science of breakfast. Toddlers in Northfield, Ill., recognize true macaroni and cheese. Metrosexuals in Manhattanknow which upscale delis sell Kurobuta pork from Japan. And teenagers in Santa Fe are experts in the world of breakfast burritos. Their picks? Cowgirl Pickup, Tia Sophia's, Santa Fe Baking Company, Felipe's Tacos and Harry's Roadhouse.

Check, please