Chili on a chilly night

Jordan has it firmly fixed in her mind that there’s a connection between wintry weather and chili. Let there be the slightest forecast of snow, ice, sleet, even freezing rain, and she issues a call for chili. So far, today’s predicted storm has missed us, though it’s darn cold and damp. In the TCU area, we had a sudden burst of rain early this morning and a slight brush with sleet in the late afternoon. But storm or no, all the chili fixin’s are on my worktable.

Christian usually makes our chili. He’s an excellent cook and, unlike me, studiously follows a recipe. He likes to experiment to the point that I’m not sure he’s used the same chili recipe twice. But Christian is entertaining clients at the rodeo every night this week, so I am the default chili maker.

Me? I just make it the way I always have. No recipe—just onion, garlic, ground meat (I’d love to have chili-grind venison but that is not to be), diced tomatoes, beer, and chili powder. If we need more, I’ll just add some more tomatoes or tomato sauce. Oh, and beans, added just before serving but given enough time to heat.  We like to garnish it with chopped red onion, grated cheddar, and sour cream. Terlingua folks would shake their heads in despair at my chili which violates all kinds of rules.

I do know about Terlingua chili. My neighbor goes to the Original Chili Cookoff every year, even judges some events, and is a chili purist. He has criticized my chili mercilessly, calling it “stew, not chili.” But I can one-up him, because I have written a whole book about chili.

Texas is Chili Country explores the origin of chili—no, it’s not Mexican. In fact, food scholars in Mexico are fairly disparaging of it. Truth is it probably traces back to Native American cooking and the pemmican they made using what they could forage. Today’s Texas chili probably originated at some trail drive chuck wagon where the cook or cousie, as he was called, threw some peppers into the stew. The first public appearance of chili came in the 1880s when the chili queens of San Antonio sold their wares on various plazas in that city.

Chili was sold in solid bricks in the early twentieth century and was popular because it was filling and inexpensive. But it was also damned as the devil’s food in some areas, specifically McKinney, Texas. Then came canned chili. True aficionados denounce canned chili but even chili guru the late Frank Tolbert found a few brands acceptable. The most famous of them all is Wolf Brand, and the fascinating story behind it includes real wolves and the fact that a Spanish-speaking grocer saw the wolf on the label and thought it was dog food.

Chili really came into prominence in this country with the development of cook-offs, a development directly credited to Tolbert, although there had been low-key cookoffs before he planned the 1967 event at Terlingua. You see, Tolbert had a new book, A Bowl of Red, and the first cookoff was a publicity stunt for the book. It was also a circus, with outrageous characters in costume and debatable judging. It's gotten better over the years.

Cookoffs are now big business nationally, with strict entry qualifications—participants must win local contests to qualify. Two rival organizations sponsor annual events—the Chili Appreciation Society International and the International Chili Society. For fifty-four years, the Tolbert family has organized the “Original Terlingua International Championship Chili Cook-off.” The other one, they claim, is a johnny-0come-lately. 

But fully half the book is taken up with recipes that I collected from sources far and wide, and if the Terlingua folks are upset about the beans in my chili, I hope they don’t read these. Cincinnati chili is served over spaghetti; Skyline, an eastern brand that markets several prepared packages, incorporates cream cheese; one recipe includes three kinds of chiles, espresso, dark chocolate, and anchovy fillets among other ingredients. Greaseless chili is for those watching their cholesterol, and Zen chili is for those… uh, with Zen inclinations. You can make white chili, lamb chili, low-cal, vegetarian. And there are recipes for related dishes like chili pie and Coney dogs. There’s no end to the possibilities.

But you know what? Our plain and basic chili tonight was darn good.

Time for chili

There’s a definite fall tinge in the air, a touch of cool in the early morning and even by early evening. I’ve taken to shutting my patio door except in the middle of the day, and I’ve finally mastered turning on the heat so I can take the morning chill off. In the wee hours this morning, we had a storm with good rain and truly impressive thunder. It was okay, because I was protected by one small, black dog who first barked at the thunder to scare it away and then slept right by me to keep me safe.

As we say in Texas, it’s chili weather. Fitting that Christian fixed chili tonight—a recipe he cobbled together from this one and that. I gave him one from the New York Times that is really complicated. Billed as a combination of chili and gumbo—the combination made me curious. Christian said he didn’t have time to do it tonight, and he couldn’t find the one from my book he wanted to do. It’s Dan Hogan’s chili, and I swear it has everything in it but the proverbial kitchen sink. What Christian made, his cobbled together version, was good and hearty with just enough spice. He complained he couldn’t find his red pepper flakes; I told him I was just as glad.

In case you all didn’t know, I did a book on chili a few years back. Texas is Chili Country is a history of the dish—no, it’s not from Mexico, an attribution Mexicans consider an insult. It began in the cow camps of West Texas. And no, it doesn’t have beans (Christian’s had beans tonight, and truthfully, I like them).  A lengthy chapter discusses the two chili cookoffs, which are about to take place next weekend in Terlingua, along with the reason that remote spot was chosen. This year is the fiftieth anniversary of the original chili cookoff, started as a publicity stunt by the legendary Frank Tolbert and his sidekick, Wick Fowler. It was more hijinks than serious, but these days chili is serious business—at least in the original cookoff. Not so much at the CASI cookoff. Chili cookoffs are not for amateurs—you have to win local contests to qualify. Anyway, you can read all about it.

And then you can prowl through pages and pages of chili recipes—seems everyone on the planet has their own recipe. These days you can cook fat free chili, vegetarian chili, chili with turkey and other meats alternate to the beef that started the whole thing. Fascinating what peple come up with. Shhh. Don’t say I said it, but chili is one of those dishes you can cook blindfolded without a recipe.

Pardon the sales pitch, but you can find the book on Amazon or from Texas Tech Press

Aside from the hearty chili and an interesting dinnertime discussion of childbirth with Jacob, it was a long Sunday. I so often have a much better social life during the week than on weekends, and sometimes long Sundays lull me into speaking out on Facebook among other things. I did today and found myself embroiled in several discussions. To my delight, my Megan chimed in a couple of times but once it was to second someone’s suggestion that I clear myself of haters. I think it’s a Facebook thing—people I know are not on my “Friends” list respond. Someone suggested they are bots—something else for me to learn about. At any rate, I continue to speak out because I think it’s important. Misused as the term is these days, I think speaking out about our government is patriotic (45 wouldn’t agree).

Back to work--hooray!

My writing has sort of been in limbo--oh, I read proof on a reprint of my historical novel about Jessie Benton Frémont (a really interesting story in my mind) and I wrote several guest blogs, but I was treading water. Saturday night I got the first edits back on my novel about the Gilded Age in Chicago--titled now "The Gilded Cage." I plunged in last night and worked at it today. Can't tell you what fun it is to get back into a novel, shaping it, thinking changes through, etc. The editor's comments make so much sense and make the novel so much better--I'm moving ahead with enthusiasm and looking forward to continuing to work on it, though I do have to snatch time for other things.
But I have a busy summer coming up--watch soon for an announcement that Jessie is available on e-book, and I will have the chili book--Texas is Chili Country--in November. When Texas Tech

wrote me about a book booth at the Annual Frank Tolbert/Wick Fowler Original Chili Cookoff in Terlingua this fall, I got wildly excited. I've always been intrigued by Terlingua. I emailed my neighbor who goes every year, and it took him days to reply which made me nervous--he didn't want my company (his wife had already said it's a guy thing and after one or two times she didn't go).
Finally several days later Jay sat me down with a glass of wine and said, "I don't think it's appropriate." Well, of course, that got my dander up! I'm not prudish spinster lady--I can take a little rough and rowdy (truth be told, I probably can't--I don't like it). But his explanation was that it's rough terrain with uncertain footing. Amenities almost don't exist--a mediocre motel some distance away (how would I get my afternoon nap?) and port-a-potties on site, which it would be difficult for me to get to since my footing is uncertain on perfectly flat bare concrete. He dampened my enthusiasm but gently, and TTU Press was completely understanding (I doubt they know much about Terlingua).
The other day at physical therapy, I heard the physical therapist say to another client something about "it's all about chili and beer, which doesn't sound like much fun, and it's way out someplace in West Texas."
"Terlingua?" I asked. He said yes, he thought that was it, and bless his heart he got a long lecture on Terlingua and chili and more than he ever wanted to know.
But I can see some minor cook-offs in my future as the book is published.
Back to my busy summer--there will be a new novel this fall--I'm just not at this point sure which one or when. But I love having all these projects on my desk. So blessed in retirement.