I am wearing jeans today.
This little bit-o’-trivia may seem insignificant to most, but down here, when one chooses jeans over shorts, that’s a clear indication that fall is here. (We do not have that magical thing called “seasons” here. We have Hot, Scorching, Not as Hot, and Freakazoid-Two-Day-Cold-Snap, which can occur anytime between Christmas and Valentine’s Day).
The current temperature is 64, and tonight’s low is projected to dip into the frigid fifties. Now that I have been back in the south for over a year, my blood has reverted to its natural state of thinness, and I am not too proud to say that I’m a bit chilly. Which means I want to make some chili. (I can hear my Michigan readers laughing-that’s more or less a summer forecast for them), and so even though the leaves have absolutely no intention of changing, people are walking around here in boots and hoodies, and I am making chili.
Chili is a sacred dish for people who love food, because it takes thought and time, and an appreciation for how things work together and complement one another. Making chili is a sacred endeavor, even an act of love. I was terrified to try it for years; I equated making homemade chili with making homemade unleavened bread: this is not the type of thing amateurs dare attempt. Moving to Michigan sort of necessitated at least a valiant attempt at chili-making, so I gave it a go.
My recipe is pretty humble: just a little tweaking of one I found in a cheap crock-pot cook book, but I like humble food, and I’m especially fond of crock-pots. (They double as the best potpourri: nothing smells better than a roast or some chili or a good chicken soup simmering all day. That sort of smell is the definition of “home.”)
We like the onset of fall and we like to make chili because the cold makes us breathe deep, and because we want to be warmed. The crispness in the air, and the bright blue of the fall sky make us breathe deeper, shiver, and want to hold someone close. We love the cool air around us, and a warm hand in our own. Fall is about appreciating the fleeting nature of life, and about loving one another. Fall is about making chili…
Get out the crock-pot and plug it in. Set it on low. Pour in the following:
2 Cans chili beans (I use Bush’s medium heat chili beans because mild is too dull and hot is too much heat for my crew. Some people require more heat than others, and loving a family means finding an appropriate balance. Choose your beans based on who you are serving.)
1 Can black beans (I love black frijoles. If’n you don’t like them, leave ‘em out. It won’t hurt my feelings.)
1 Can refried beans (I look in the Ethnic section of the grocery, where the cans are all written in Spanish, or I use leftover homemade pinto beans, mashed. These are what thicken the chili.)
1 16 oz. jar of your favorite salsa (Go ahead and get funky: this is where your personality comes in. Experiment and play with different salsas.)
1 16 oz. can of beer or beef broth
As those things mingle and get to know one another, brown two pounds of chili-appropriate meat (read: red meat, or something in that neighborhood). I have used all of the following in the past: ground venison, ground beef, chorizo, and Italian sausage. Elk is also delicious. If using only ground beef, doctor it up with some steak seasoning, a bit of Tony’s, and some pepper. Brown it just until it’s safe for human consumption-don’t let it dry out. Drain the meat and add it to the Crock-pot.
Warmth…
Add in one chopped Vidalia onion, and two or three cloves of minced garlic. (don’t you dare use garlic powder-that stuff is an insidious Yankee plot to undermine the Republic. This is chili we are making. We ain’t playin’.) Next, add two tablespoons of chili powder, one tablespoon of ground cumin, the juice of a nice sized lime, and several torn cilantro leaves. If your crew needs their chili to burn their taste buds to a cinder, add in some peppers of your choice as well.
Stir the pot. Let it simmer all day. (Six to eight hours is perfect.) Build a fire. Play a game of touch football in the backyard, and don’t come in until your hands are numb. Make some perfect cornbread, and enjoy the warmth of a warm bowl of chili,the toasty flames, and the people you love.