Special Feature – Chili

Chili is a strain on my marriage for a number of reasons: I enjoy extremely spicy flavor profiles. My wife does not. I am a huge fan of Mexican and tex-mex food. My wife is not. My body tolerates extreme pain in the mouth area. My wife’s does not. There are other reasons, but these are the ones that will be stated on the divorce papers.

Chili is one of my absolute favorite things on Earth. Here’s the breakdown:

My Very Favorite Things

Calvin and Hobbes Fender Stratocasters Chili John Kennedy Toole’s A Confederacy of Dunces Sex The Smiths Beer

So you can see it’s pretty up there. I’ve sort of rounded out my recipe over the last couple of years, venturing off into uncharted territory into new spices and peppers and ingredients I wouldn’t have thought were important. I enjoy letting people watch me do the chili thing because they tend to ask lots of questions as I go through the process. Especially Daniel, he likes the walkthrough and I’m glad to give it.

I’ve been asked for the recipe numerous times, so today I decided to sit down and tap it out. I’ve always winged it, really, but when I did the Erath Fire Department Chili Cook-off in Erath, LA last year, I had to get my shit together and start writing it down. Nothing hones the edges of a recipe like having to scale it out to five gallons or so.

I won the spicy category in that chili cook-off too, but don’t tell anyone that I was the only entry.

On To The Chili!

First, a description of the chili:

Huge chunks of meat in a thick liquid, dark red-brown in color, this chili has a look that’s highly inviting. It’s a combination of ground meat and cubed chuck, so what you end up with is the chunks as the ‘main course’ and the ground bits as part of the ‘gravy,’ so to speak. The flavor has a huge up-front pop, with bold lime and cilantro flavors rounded out by the spicy darkness of adobo sauce and cumin. Underneath the up-front profile is a clever darkness, a combination of stout beer, chocolate, and the ground guajillo and ancho chilies. You chew; you savor; you smile; you swallow.

Then something else happens, something that’s like orthodontic work mixed with experimental back surgery. The heat profile has followed the flavor into battle–habanero, bird’s-eye, poblano, anaheim, and jalapeno in a phalanx steadily approaching your sinuses. You are not ready, but it’s too late. It’s like the Borg—resistance is futile. You want to hate the heat. You want to curse at the cook, to blame him for the agony, but you don’t because–like a mother in the throes of labor–he’s put this damnable thing inside you that you love. You wanted it and you got it and it’s going to be worth it once the pain’s over. Tough it out, soldier. You’re in chili country.

You’ve been warned: this may not be fun. Of course, you can adjust the heat by selecting different peppers for your version of the recipe, but if you’re one to follow recipes to the letter, this is going to be an adventure. You’re going to learn the ins and outs of capsaicin, where you do and don’t want to get it, what you should and shouldn’t touch after you work with peppers. On with the show, friend. It’s Chili time.

Ingredients:

2 pounds ground meat

2 pounds stew meat (cubed chuck)

4 ribs of celery

3 tbsp garlic

2 large white onions

3 poblano peppers

4 habanero peppers

10-15 bird’s eye chilies

5 dried guajillo chilies

4 dried ancho chilies

Creole seasoning (something like Tony Chachere’s, pick your favorite)

2 tbsp cumin

1 tbsp paprika

1 tbsp oregano

2 tbsp chopped chipotle with adobo sauce

1 8oz can tomato sauce

1 28oz can ro-tel diced tomatoes and chilies

1 bunch chopped cilantro

1/2 cup corn flour

3 bottles stout beer (abita turbodog is a good one for relatively cheap in our area, your area probably has something similar. Use Guinness if you don’t have it)

2 regular beef bouillion cubes (or 1 of the big ones they sell in the hispanic foods section, the soft ones)

3 tbsp brown sugar

juice of 3 fresh limes

1 square of 100% cocoa unsweetened baker’s chocolate (1 oz each, I think)

Mise en Place

The Mise en Place is pretentious foodie bullshit speak for getting all your shit in a sock before you start. When I get to where I know a recipe really well, I can put the heat on and just chop as I go. With chili, though, even though I’ve done it a thousand times, I do the full layout ahead of time. Here’s what you do:

Get the stew meat into bits about 1” or so wide. You can leave them larger if you’d like, but any smaller and they just aren’t the feature of the chili anymore and that’s what you want. Chop the celery, onion, and poblano peppers. Use gloves with the habaneros and bird’s eye chilies, or rub oil on your hands before you work with them so that the oils don’t work their way into your skin and burn (you’ll regret it if you go to the bathroom without heeding this warning). I don’t go so far as to measure out the spices and put them in little pretentious bowls, but you can do that too if you’d like.

Method

All right, by now you’re committed to following through with this thing, despite my warnings. Off we go.

Season the stew meat ahead of time, creole seasoning and worcestershire. Wing it.

Put the heat on under a very large pot—something like a stock pot will do—and put some olive oil in the bottom. High heat, let’s get it searing hot.

Brown the chunks of stew meat in the oil. Do it in small batches so that you don’t overcrowd the pan and wind up sauteeing them; that’s not what we want. We want a good, brown, crispy outside without cooking them through. Screaming hot, that’s what we need. Add more oil between batches if needed.

Take the chunks of meat out and put them aside once they’re browned. You should have a nice bit of brown gunk on the bottom of your pot. Throw a little more oil on top of it and throw in your ground beef. Throw some creole seasoning on that as well.

When the meat’s done, dump it out into a colander, then put the colander over the pot so you get some of the grease back in it. Then put the colander in the sink and let it finish draining. Put the pot back on the stove and let the oil come up again.

When the meat’s done, dump it out into a colander, then put the colander over the pot so you get some of the grease back in it. Then put the colander in the sink and let it finish draining. Put the pot back on the stove and let the oil come up again. Throw your chopped veggies—peppers, onions, celery, and garlic—into the pot and sautee them well.

Once the vegetables are soft, throw the meat back in and mix it all up. Let it come together for a few minutes while you open your cans of tomato sauce and ro-tel

Add 3 tbsp of the chili powder, the cumin, the ro-tel, the tomato sauce, and the chipotle pepper. Add half the cilantro. Pour in the beer until the meat is covered. Add the paprika. Add the lime juice. Add the bouillion cube to the liquid. Add the sugar. Add the chocolate.

Stir the mess and turn the heat to medium. Check it every 15 minutes or so, give it a stir, then go and do something else. It’s going to be a while before it’s ready, so don’t get impatient and start messing around with it.

You can add salt as needed, but it’s best to avoid it as much as possible. It’s easy to add salt later, and if you’re serving this over Fritos, hot dogs, or french fries, those things have a good bit of salt already.

Serving

So there are a gajillion ways to present this masterpiece, but my favorite is and always will be Chili Fritos—Frito Pie, whatever you call it. I like to heat up some black beans on the side and serve them up with a spoonful of those in the bowl. Note that chili doesn’t have beans in it, and note that I didn’t say “my chili doesn’t have beans in it.” No, chili doesn’t have beans; it doesn’t need beans; beans don’t belong. Make them on the side and let your guests decide for themselves if they want them; they’re big boys and girls

and can make their own decisions. Anyway, I serve it over a pile of crushed Fritos with a spoonful of black beans off to one side of the bowl, a dollop of sour cream on the other side, and a pile of shredded nacho cheese in the middle. I use expletives when I eat it because that’s what you’re supposed to do.