Little Red and I have eaten pizza at several joints in recent weeks — at Angela's, on Route 9W in Lake Katrine, at the Woodstock Pizzeria on Tinker Street, and at La Roma Pizzeria at 516 Broadway in Kingston, in the Millard Building, right across from where you turn coming down from Benedictine Hospital.
All three of these pizza joints cook the pies “properly” from my point of view — and by this I mean they bake the pie, let it cool on the shelf, and then reheat a slice or several slices for each individual order. That is the New York style pizza I grew up with on the Lower East Side of Manhattan, and for me this is the gold standard. Serving a fresly baked pie without letting it cool and then rebaking slices means the crust will be flabby. Some people like it that way — most of them willingly eat at Pizza Hut, I believe -- but the success of real New York Pizza depends more on the texture of the crust than it does on on the quality of the sauce and the cheese, though these are also important factors in judging a pizza.
Little Red and I stopped at Angela’s on a very cold night after visiting my mother at the Ten Broek Commons nursing home. We were hungry and discouraged and Angela’s didn’t cheer us up much. We sat near the back door, which was probably a mistake. Angela’s is a small place, popular with the locals, but the cold draft from the door was wnough to make us think we should have moved to a table that was closer to the pizza ovens. We waited almost half an hour until finally Little red got up and asked where our pizza was.
“Omigod,” said the young waitress, clapping her hand to her mouth. “Someone must have sent it out with one of the delivery orders.”
Angela's pizza was passable — when it finally arrived. But waiting so long made Little Red cranky, and that is probably why she showed little interest in going there again. We decided to try a few other pizzerias just to check to see what we could learn about the caliber of local pizza baking — just for fun..
Not because w e both love pizza, or anything like that. I mean — Little Red still beliesves Pizza Hut makes pretty good pizza. But I don’t like the sauce there — too much sweetener, the salt and pepper balalnce is too high, and the last time I ate there -- w0 years ago? -- they didn’t cook pizza by the slice “properly.”
The Woodstock Pizzeria, on Tinker Street — we stopped there about ten days later on the way back from visiting my mother at Benedictine. It was on the way home. My slice of plain cheese was cooked properly, but Little Red’s two pepperoni slices arrived scorched to a cinder. Inedibly burned. Never should have been served to a customer. How can you explain -- to a teenage waitress/cashier? -- that when the slice is burned you don't serve it? Little Red just took them back to the front counter and before long the definitely way too cute blonde brought two more slices of pepperoni. These were only slightly too well done. My cheese slices were okay. Nothing extra. This was disappointing — cooking a slice of pizza is properly is hardly rocket science, and one ought to be able to expect pizza good enough to eat.
La Roma Pizza, in the Millard Building at 516 Broadway, seemed the best of these three pizzerias. The sauce was tasty. The cheese was good. The pies were cooked properly. There was almost no one in the joint the two times we went, even though the physical plant seemed brand new. Possibly La Roma does a good delivery business sending pies up to Benedictine and to Kingston Hospital? The neighborhood’s a bit dicey after dark — not extra bad, but the streeets in Kingston aren’t very well llit, and a family might feel a bit unsettled going out to eat there at night. They have a Wednesday special of two cheese slices with a small soda for $3.99. The menu shows a good variety of reasonably interesting "gourmet" pizzas, too, and they were willing to dot a cheese slice with ricotta when I asked. Little Red and I went back again, a few nights later, fairly certain we would find what we were lookiung for: pretty darn good pizza in what we found to be a convenient location on the way back from the hospital.
I might even get up the nerve to try a steak sandwich at La Roma, though I know it probably won't measure up to Dalessandro's Steaks -- which is in Philadelphia on the north side of the Schuylkill at 600 Wendover Street, near the entrance to the park and the Walnut Lane golf course. Dalessandro's Steaks is worth a long detour any time you're in the neighborhood. Hint: It's not downtown on Mifflin Street. Second hint: Forget Pat's.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Friday, February 5, 2010
Carl's Ice Cream in Fredericksburg, Virginia
Carl started a soft ice cream place on Princess Anne Street in Fredericksburg when he got out of the Army -- after WWII. The legend is that Carl used to use real grain alcohol in his frozen custard mix -- and he still does even though it is harder to get now. I believe the legend is probably true. Carl's Ice Cream is not pretentious. There was no place to sit, last time I was there.. There's no shade on a blazing hot day. Vanilla, Chocolate and Strawberry are the only flavors. I prefer the vanilla. You can order a cone or a dish or hardpack (by the quart, I can't remember which). The hard pack is frozen hard enough to travel several hours if wrapped in a towel or blanket. That way you can take some home to Richmond or Charlottesville. I always used to stop at Carl's whether I was going North or South ...
You get off on the northernmost Fredericksburg exit (for Route 17, as I remember) and head east to Route 1, where you turn right to go over the Rappahannock, and then as soon as you're across the bridge, turn left on Princess Anne Street and go up the slight hill a few hundred yards; Carl's will be on the right.
But most people don't like ice cream as much as I do. They won't travel for it, and they won't go out of their way to get something really special, because they can't neither recognize it nor appreciate it when they finally bump into it. Most people can't even tell the difference between Ben and Jerry's and Hagen Dazs, I think they get confused or even sort of hypnotized by the all the weird names, and they don't remember that Ben and Jerry may have started out making pretty good ice cream long ago in Vermont, but then they sold out to a giant corporation that diluted the brand by adding guar gum and carageenan and other fillers, plus a lot of "over run" to all the ice cream. You can get plenty of it at a supermarket right down the road from Carl's.
And my opinion is that captious tourists who want "toppings" should skip Carl's entirely; those of us who love Carl's will be happy they went somewhere else. Often there is a line around the building, and no one waiting in that line needs to listen to any strangers whining; it gums up the works.
The view across the street or on either side of Carl's is probably still of a car dealership.
I used to get several quarts of hardpack vanilla on trips north to visit my parents in Woodstock, New York, and I'd pull off the road and eat at least one somewhere way north of the tunnel in Baltimore, at one of those giant rest stops where the food used to be so terrible. At Carl's, the staff's not surly -- they are just used to dealing with people who already know what they want and want it in a hurry. They have to bend over to talk to you through the little window, and they're usually very busy. Also, I am pretty sure the shop is not air conditioned inside. There are two service windows, and both used to be open on busy nights. You can expect a good line all the way around the building on any summer evening, but the line will move along quickly. Be patient, and be sure you get some hard pack.
Talking to the people waiting in line can be very entertaining. You can ask questions like: "When was the first time you ever came here?" or "Which flavor do you prefer?" or "Do they still put grain alcohol in the custard mix?" or even "Is Carl still alive?"
I have stopped by Carl's in the middle of winter on a snowy night and found a line around the corner of the building. I think that probably says about all you really need to know.
You can see a picture of Carl's Ice Cream online at http://Iheartconsumerism.blogspot.com
My friend Ed Haile claims his mother was the first to suggest the 15 cent puppy cup to Carl. Bravo, I say.
Down at the middle Fredericksburg exit -- if you take Route 20 South, you will come to the Wilderness/Chancellorsville Batlefield Visitor Center, and in it you will see (probably it is still there) a gorgeous mural painted by Ethel Magafan, one of Woodstock's better painters. The mural shows Grant and his officers riding over the battlefield surrounded by dead and dying soldiers. It is a gruesome subject, especially for Southerners, because Chancellorsville was where the South really started losing the war -- they lost Jackson, and hubris caused Lee to invade Pennsylvania, where the war was lost for keeps -- but it is nonetheless a wonderful painting. Ethel Magafan is a very good painter; so is her husband Bruce Currie, and so is their daughter Jennie Magafan Currie. Last time I was there, the best view of Ethel's painting, actually, was from halfway back in the women's lavatory. Knock to be sure it is not occupied before you prop open the door, especially during the summer. I mean, if the mural is still there.
You get off on the northernmost Fredericksburg exit (for Route 17, as I remember) and head east to Route 1, where you turn right to go over the Rappahannock, and then as soon as you're across the bridge, turn left on Princess Anne Street and go up the slight hill a few hundred yards; Carl's will be on the right.
But most people don't like ice cream as much as I do. They won't travel for it, and they won't go out of their way to get something really special, because they can't neither recognize it nor appreciate it when they finally bump into it. Most people can't even tell the difference between Ben and Jerry's and Hagen Dazs, I think they get confused or even sort of hypnotized by the all the weird names, and they don't remember that Ben and Jerry may have started out making pretty good ice cream long ago in Vermont, but then they sold out to a giant corporation that diluted the brand by adding guar gum and carageenan and other fillers, plus a lot of "over run" to all the ice cream. You can get plenty of it at a supermarket right down the road from Carl's.
And my opinion is that captious tourists who want "toppings" should skip Carl's entirely; those of us who love Carl's will be happy they went somewhere else. Often there is a line around the building, and no one waiting in that line needs to listen to any strangers whining; it gums up the works.
The view across the street or on either side of Carl's is probably still of a car dealership.
I used to get several quarts of hardpack vanilla on trips north to visit my parents in Woodstock, New York, and I'd pull off the road and eat at least one somewhere way north of the tunnel in Baltimore, at one of those giant rest stops where the food used to be so terrible. At Carl's, the staff's not surly -- they are just used to dealing with people who already know what they want and want it in a hurry. They have to bend over to talk to you through the little window, and they're usually very busy. Also, I am pretty sure the shop is not air conditioned inside. There are two service windows, and both used to be open on busy nights. You can expect a good line all the way around the building on any summer evening, but the line will move along quickly. Be patient, and be sure you get some hard pack.
Talking to the people waiting in line can be very entertaining. You can ask questions like: "When was the first time you ever came here?" or "Which flavor do you prefer?" or "Do they still put grain alcohol in the custard mix?" or even "Is Carl still alive?"
I have stopped by Carl's in the middle of winter on a snowy night and found a line around the corner of the building. I think that probably says about all you really need to know.
You can see a picture of Carl's Ice Cream online at http://Iheartconsumerism.blogspot.com
My friend Ed Haile claims his mother was the first to suggest the 15 cent puppy cup to Carl. Bravo, I say.
Down at the middle Fredericksburg exit -- if you take Route 20 South, you will come to the Wilderness/Chancellorsville Batlefield Visitor Center, and in it you will see (probably it is still there) a gorgeous mural painted by Ethel Magafan, one of Woodstock's better painters. The mural shows Grant and his officers riding over the battlefield surrounded by dead and dying soldiers. It is a gruesome subject, especially for Southerners, because Chancellorsville was where the South really started losing the war -- they lost Jackson, and hubris caused Lee to invade Pennsylvania, where the war was lost for keeps -- but it is nonetheless a wonderful painting. Ethel Magafan is a very good painter; so is her husband Bruce Currie, and so is their daughter Jennie Magafan Currie. Last time I was there, the best view of Ethel's painting, actually, was from halfway back in the women's lavatory. Knock to be sure it is not occupied before you prop open the door, especially during the summer. I mean, if the mural is still there.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Texas Chili
Beef, Ancho Chilis, Cumin And Salt
“Chili concocted outside of Texas is usually a weak, apologetic imitation of the real thing." — President Lyndon B. Johnson
Nothing else really equals Texas chili. Nothing else even comes close. Certainly none of the fifty or so chilis I judged at two chili cookoffs in Richmond, Virginia, during the late '80s approached ambrosia. That might not be saying much: both were unsanctioned events.
I got to be the chief judge because I had been reviewing restaurants in Richmond for a year or so after Scribners published my novel beloved Gravely, and because back in the Seventies, my recipe column had appeared in as many as six daily newspapers, including the World Herald in Omaha, Nebraska. That was before the food volcano exploded like Krakatoa. I had worked as a chef, managed a restaurant, and owned my own successful restaurant. I had done a lot of catering. And my daughter's mother worked for the radio station that sponsored the chili cookoff.
Should you ever be called upon to judge a chili cookoff, be sure to bring a large pan of perfectly cooked, buttered arborio rice. Carolina short grain will do. Half polished Thai brown Jasmine rice will do. Basmati rice, however, interferes with the chili savor. One of the other five judges looked askance at the rice when I walked in the door. Soon I heard him sneering to of the other judges. "Rice! This is a chili cookoff. Who is that guy?"
That first year, there were 25 contestants. That meant tasting at least 25 half tablespoons of blinding hot chili on the first go 'round. Generally speaking, most chefs in a cookoff do go for the blinding hot effect. Then 20 tablespoons on the second go 'round after you weed out the chaff. Then 10 tablespoons. And after that, free choice and as much as you want until finally you and your fellow judges are able to reach a strong consensus on the winner. It takes a while.
Some scoring sheets I brought along proved very helpful. It was a blind tasting, natgurally. After the first 20 half tablespoons of chili -- some was so hot even the vapor made your eyes water when you walked by the booth where they were cooking it -- the sneering judge sidled up to me. "Uh ... Christian?" he said in a strangled voice. "Still got that rice?"
A friend from Texas who has lived in Charlottesville most of his adult life, gave me this recipe back in the Seventies. He said it won the Texas Chili Cookoff. I don't know what year. Certainly it should have won. I hope you like it as much as I do, and I hope you get to make it at least once a year, as I have. I often make it for the superbowl, even though it is not the chili most people expect.
3 to 5 lbs. beef chuck steak -- a nice thick piece
6-12 ancho chilis
6-12 tbsps. cumin
salt
Butter
You might start with four pounds of chuck -- a good piece three inches thick? with a bone in it?-- or as much as will fit in your kettle. You might toast the meat on your Weber (over charcoal, not over gas) to seal in the juicejuice. Using mesquite will add that mesquite zing. Some people like it, but I think green red oak works better. Chris Walters taught me that trick too.
If you brown the meat in the pan, do not use olive oil. A little lard, maybe -- fresh, if possible. Or a few spoons of clarified butter. Or sprinkle the bottom of the pan with salt. Sear the beef dark brown on both sides. You can leave the piece whole, then cut it up when it's tender. It stews better, and probably makes better broth, when the pieces are smaller. However, browning bitesized pieces on the Weber will give you some trouble.
While the meat browns, pop the stems out of six to ten ancho chilies (you want two or three anchos per pound of beef). Split them and remove the seeds. Brown the anchos somewhat in a skillet or on the grill. When the meat is browned, cut it up, leaving several big pieces, and cutting the rest in odd sized chunks, none smaller than dice. Carve off any mammoth hunks of fat and hash them up small.. Put the meat in a big stew kettle -- stainless steel works best. Do not use an aluminum kettle. Sprinkle all over with cumin. Like, at least one tablespoon per pound. Two or three will be better.L et the cumin sizzle with the pan juices, but don't let it scorch. Add the anchos. Put in some salt. Not much if you used salt whan browning the beef. Cook a bit over medium high heat. Add spring water to reach three inches over the meat. In most parts of the country -- including probably all of Texas -- municipal tap water won't make good chili. Bring slowly to the boil, then reduce to a simmer and cover the pan
After half an hour, taste the broth and probably add more salt. Not too much at this point because the liquid will cook down. Do not add any other spices -- early on, I tried monkeying around with the basic Walters Family recipe, and aromatics really don't help. Especially, avoid bay leaf, thyme, oregano or rosemary. Do not add black pepper, either, nor any saffron. Saffron rice, however, is very good with Texas chili.
NEVER add any type of roux or other thickening to the broth. Beef, chilis, cumin, salt and good water.
Cover the kettle and let the chili stew slowly for maybe two and a half hours -- or until the meat is tender. It is done when all the cartilage is every piece is fork tender. About forty minutes before the end point is reached, fish out all the anchos. Separate the pulp and skins. The skins will probably peel off. Mash the pulp (coarsely) with a fork. Any skins left will eventually float and make straws -- fish them out.
Taste it. My friend the poet Ed Haile, in Champlain, Virginia, once ran into a problem with bitter anchos. But I never did. Might depend on the anchos. Maybe he left the stems on. I wasn’t there when he made the chili, so I don’t know what happened. .If the anchos seem bitter, try adding sugar by the teaspoon, stirring well after each addition, until the bitter flavor abates. Discard the ancho skin straws if there are any floating around. Separating them from their pulp.Mash the pulp with a fork. Return the coarsely mashed ancho pulp to the kettle, stir, and adjust the cumin and salt. Put the lid back on, and go on stewing for a while.
You can set the pan in the oven at 300 degrees if you like stewing that way better. This saves some trouble, but it's not so much fun.
The meat is done when it's all fork tender. By then, the \exquisite broth will have cooked down to about half an inch over the meat. Maybe an inch. Put in a stick of butter. Stir for a while. Adjust the salt one last time. The broth should be thin (though not watery), and it should be exquisitely tasty. If it seems too thin, take out a saucepan full and reduce that by half over high heat, then add that back into the chili.
Serve with the usual condiments -- sour cream, guacamole, pinto beans, (preferably corn) tortillas, and maybe some salsa. I do like some rice. Leftover chunks make a great burrito. However, the greatness of the burrito will depend quite a lot on the beans.
The chili broth , slightly reduced with some shreds of meat and anchos i it, makes an outstanding sauce for a grilled porterhouse or a grilled Tri Tip, so be sure to save take out two cups. That chili broth is also great on poached eggs.
Chris Walters once made this with serrano chilis when he couldn't find any anchos. The experiment failed. The chili was too hot to eat, even for Chris. He and his then-wife Cecile Clover were living out at Prospect Hill running the Virginia Center for the Creative Arts. Possibly augmenting the anchos with one serrano to add fire would be a good idea. Depends on who’s coming to dinner. On the other hand, why mess around with just beef, ancho chilis, cumin and salt -- which comes so exquisitely close to perfection?
“Chili concocted outside of Texas is usually a weak, apologetic imitation of the real thing." — President Lyndon B. Johnson
Nothing else really equals Texas chili. Nothing else even comes close. Certainly none of the fifty or so chilis I judged at two chili cookoffs in Richmond, Virginia, during the late '80s approached ambrosia. That might not be saying much: both were unsanctioned events.
I got to be the chief judge because I had been reviewing restaurants in Richmond for a year or so after Scribners published my novel beloved Gravely, and because back in the Seventies, my recipe column had appeared in as many as six daily newspapers, including the World Herald in Omaha, Nebraska. That was before the food volcano exploded like Krakatoa. I had worked as a chef, managed a restaurant, and owned my own successful restaurant. I had done a lot of catering. And my daughter's mother worked for the radio station that sponsored the chili cookoff.
Should you ever be called upon to judge a chili cookoff, be sure to bring a large pan of perfectly cooked, buttered arborio rice. Carolina short grain will do. Half polished Thai brown Jasmine rice will do. Basmati rice, however, interferes with the chili savor. One of the other five judges looked askance at the rice when I walked in the door. Soon I heard him sneering to of the other judges. "Rice! This is a chili cookoff. Who is that guy?"
That first year, there were 25 contestants. That meant tasting at least 25 half tablespoons of blinding hot chili on the first go 'round. Generally speaking, most chefs in a cookoff do go for the blinding hot effect. Then 20 tablespoons on the second go 'round after you weed out the chaff. Then 10 tablespoons. And after that, free choice and as much as you want until finally you and your fellow judges are able to reach a strong consensus on the winner. It takes a while.
Some scoring sheets I brought along proved very helpful. It was a blind tasting, natgurally. After the first 20 half tablespoons of chili -- some was so hot even the vapor made your eyes water when you walked by the booth where they were cooking it -- the sneering judge sidled up to me. "Uh ... Christian?" he said in a strangled voice. "Still got that rice?"
A friend from Texas who has lived in Charlottesville most of his adult life, gave me this recipe back in the Seventies. He said it won the Texas Chili Cookoff. I don't know what year. Certainly it should have won. I hope you like it as much as I do, and I hope you get to make it at least once a year, as I have. I often make it for the superbowl, even though it is not the chili most people expect.
Texas Chili
3 to 5 lbs. beef chuck steak -- a nice thick piece
6-12 ancho chilis
6-12 tbsps. cumin
salt
Butter
You might start with four pounds of chuck -- a good piece three inches thick? with a bone in it?-- or as much as will fit in your kettle. You might toast the meat on your Weber (over charcoal, not over gas) to seal in the juicejuice. Using mesquite will add that mesquite zing. Some people like it, but I think green red oak works better. Chris Walters taught me that trick too.
If you brown the meat in the pan, do not use olive oil. A little lard, maybe -- fresh, if possible. Or a few spoons of clarified butter. Or sprinkle the bottom of the pan with salt. Sear the beef dark brown on both sides. You can leave the piece whole, then cut it up when it's tender. It stews better, and probably makes better broth, when the pieces are smaller. However, browning bitesized pieces on the Weber will give you some trouble.
While the meat browns, pop the stems out of six to ten ancho chilies (you want two or three anchos per pound of beef). Split them and remove the seeds. Brown the anchos somewhat in a skillet or on the grill. When the meat is browned, cut it up, leaving several big pieces, and cutting the rest in odd sized chunks, none smaller than dice. Carve off any mammoth hunks of fat and hash them up small.. Put the meat in a big stew kettle -- stainless steel works best. Do not use an aluminum kettle. Sprinkle all over with cumin. Like, at least one tablespoon per pound. Two or three will be better.L et the cumin sizzle with the pan juices, but don't let it scorch. Add the anchos. Put in some salt. Not much if you used salt whan browning the beef. Cook a bit over medium high heat. Add spring water to reach three inches over the meat. In most parts of the country -- including probably all of Texas -- municipal tap water won't make good chili. Bring slowly to the boil, then reduce to a simmer and cover the pan
After half an hour, taste the broth and probably add more salt. Not too much at this point because the liquid will cook down. Do not add any other spices -- early on, I tried monkeying around with the basic Walters Family recipe, and aromatics really don't help. Especially, avoid bay leaf, thyme, oregano or rosemary. Do not add black pepper, either, nor any saffron. Saffron rice, however, is very good with Texas chili.
NEVER add any type of roux or other thickening to the broth. Beef, chilis, cumin, salt and good water.
Cover the kettle and let the chili stew slowly for maybe two and a half hours -- or until the meat is tender. It is done when all the cartilage is every piece is fork tender. About forty minutes before the end point is reached, fish out all the anchos. Separate the pulp and skins. The skins will probably peel off. Mash the pulp (coarsely) with a fork. Any skins left will eventually float and make straws -- fish them out.
Taste it. My friend the poet Ed Haile, in Champlain, Virginia, once ran into a problem with bitter anchos. But I never did. Might depend on the anchos. Maybe he left the stems on. I wasn’t there when he made the chili, so I don’t know what happened. .If the anchos seem bitter, try adding sugar by the teaspoon, stirring well after each addition, until the bitter flavor abates. Discard the ancho skin straws if there are any floating around. Separating them from their pulp.Mash the pulp with a fork. Return the coarsely mashed ancho pulp to the kettle, stir, and adjust the cumin and salt. Put the lid back on, and go on stewing for a while.
You can set the pan in the oven at 300 degrees if you like stewing that way better. This saves some trouble, but it's not so much fun.
The meat is done when it's all fork tender. By then, the \exquisite broth will have cooked down to about half an inch over the meat. Maybe an inch. Put in a stick of butter. Stir for a while. Adjust the salt one last time. The broth should be thin (though not watery), and it should be exquisitely tasty. If it seems too thin, take out a saucepan full and reduce that by half over high heat, then add that back into the chili.
Serve with the usual condiments -- sour cream, guacamole, pinto beans, (preferably corn) tortillas, and maybe some salsa. I do like some rice. Leftover chunks make a great burrito. However, the greatness of the burrito will depend quite a lot on the beans.
The chili broth , slightly reduced with some shreds of meat and anchos i it, makes an outstanding sauce for a grilled porterhouse or a grilled Tri Tip, so be sure to save take out two cups. That chili broth is also great on poached eggs.
Chris Walters once made this with serrano chilis when he couldn't find any anchos. The experiment failed. The chili was too hot to eat, even for Chris. He and his then-wife Cecile Clover were living out at Prospect Hill running the Virginia Center for the Creative Arts. Possibly augmenting the anchos with one serrano to add fire would be a good idea. Depends on who’s coming to dinner. On the other hand, why mess around with just beef, ancho chilis, cumin and salt -- which comes so exquisitely close to perfection?
Super Bowl Chili
I had the very good fortune to be the chief judge at the Chili Cookoff in Richmond, Virginia twice running back in the eighties. This was an unsanctioned event, sponsored by a radio station, but the chili was great. There were six other judges. When I walked in with a big pan of basmati rice, they all looked at me funny.
“What’s that?” one asked.
“Oh,” I said. “It’s just big pan of some very good basmati rice.”
“Rice?” he said. “This is a chili cookoff.”
I could see he might have had a little too much coffee.
“Right,” I said. “And I’m the chief judge. Pleased to meet you. Here’s your score sheets. Now let’s go out there and see what we can learn about these people making chili.”
“What’s the rice for?” he persisted.
“Oh,” I said. “Nothing, really. It was on the back seat of my car, so I just brought it in. Let’s all go see how these great chili cooks are doing, shall we? We’ll meet back here in a couple hours?”
Words cannot do justice to the savor of all those many different chilis cooking. It was paradise. The smell was glorious.
I think there were 80 contestants. Well no, probably just 40. My memory gets hazy when I think of tasting all that chili. Eighty might have killed us. Even forty tablespoons of chili is about five cups.
I believe it is impossible to judge a chili properly without tasting at least one good tablespoon. It’s not like wine – you can’t just spit the chili out. The heat as it goes down is part of the experience.
Near as I could make out, all the chili cooks had been inspired to make contest chili that was blazing hot. Blazing is an inadequate word. Some of their chilis could make your eyes water from ten feet away. There may have been a separate betting pool among the chili cooks to see who could make your eyes bug out the farthest.
Back in the judges’ chamber, after the tenth taste, one of the judges called me over. In an undertone, he said: “Say. Maybe – do you think I might could have some of that rice?” I noticed all the others looked up hopefully.
“Rice?” I said. “By damn I plumb forgot about that rice. But that’s what it’s there for. Sort of a palate cleanser. Help yourself.”
Never have I seen grown men so grateful for a bowl of plain white rice.
We eliminated half of the chilis on the first run through and then started again. After a good deal of discussion, we got it down to a dozen. Then we started to discuss the fine points. Which one lingered longest in your mind? Before long we decided on the winners. The Cimarron Rose won both years for their Rattlesnake Chili. I judged it second one year and third the next. I forget whose chili I liked better. So Maybe the Rattlesnake Chili was best after all – at least I still remember it.
Chili should always be an adventure. Great chili cooks rarely make it exactly the same way twice. They almost never use a recipe, except maybe as a guide or map. They just have the concept firmly fixed in mind, and they proceed toward the ultimate goal with commendable certainty and, in most cases, considerable panache.
They are proud of what they do – and should be proud.
Chili is a sacred food. Never forget that. A reverent attitude will help you to achieve celestial results. Great chili is food fit for the gods. It is food that will make you feel you are a god as long as you can go on eating it.
Of course the composition of a pot of chili will depend on what ingredients the chef may have on hand or can easily find at the nearest grocery store. It stands to reason that the better the ingredients, the better your chili will turn out, doesn’t it? But many pots of chili have been ruined right from the start by using the cheapest grade of hamburger.
Do your best to find some ancho chilis – it’s not impossible, even on the East Coast.
A great bowl of chili should be something that you dream of, certainly for days, possibly for weeks, for months, maybe even for years. However, we should all hope that our friends will never have to wait years between bowls of great chili. As a chili cook, you will always look forward to making your next bowl of chili – not constantly, of course, that would be too much. But now and then, from time to time.
I never had a great bowl of chili at a restaurant that I didn’t own. I have had restaurant chili I might eat again. People with lower standards and a less reverent attitude might even call those chilis great. But for me, they inspired little more than an urge to go home and make another great pot of my own chili. I believe, however, that there probably are restaurants – somewhere in Texas – where you can count on getting at least a very good bowl of chili.
Hell, I’m not the world’s greatest authority – I’m just anothher true believer.
The savor of the chili cooking should completely penetrate your house. Guests should remark on it as soon as they walk in the door. They’ll always tell you it is “good.” Often they’ll tell you it’s “great.” But the real test never lies in what they say – it lies in how many bowls they will eat. If the chili really is great, they will keep returning for another bowl. Another two bowls? Three bowls? Even with a chili whose pepper heat is this mild, four bowls might be almost tantamount to suicide.
Though the chili heat of this one is appropriate for chili that will be served not just to strong grown men but also to women and children, the flavor – the savor! – and the experience of eating it are so good that before long you’ll be looking for a reason why you have to make some more. Even after you have fit yourself around as many bowls as you can hold, you may find yourself wondering if maybe … possibly … you can go back for just one little taste again.
This is a relatively traditional American chili con carne with beans and tomato both playing a strong role. The main taste is a blend of ancho chili and cumin.
This chili will serve at least a dozen mixed hearty eaters and ordinary folk, with not much left over. If you want to be completely sure of having some left over, take it out before you serve. If you don’t plan on feeding a big crowd, just cut all the measurements in half.
Super Bowl Chili
3-4 lbs. chili ground beef
6 medium (large) organic yellow onions
12 good cloves of garlic
1 green pepper
1 organic carrot
1 cup extra virgin olive oil
salt
4 tbsps. ancho chili powder
8 tbsps. good cumin
3 tbsps. paprika
3 bay leaves
oregano
4-6 ancho chilis
6 28 oz. cans red kidney beans
2 14 oz. cans diced fire roasted organic tomatoes (with green chilies)
1 can refried pinto beans (no lard)
saffron
water
corn tortillas
pico de gallo
finely chopped onion
chopped cilantro
sour cream
grated cheese
Plenty of nicely cooked basmati or short grain American white rice
Ask the butcher to grind three or four pounds of fairly lean beef chuck (80% lean) by putting it just once through the coarse blade of the grinder. This will not destroy all its fibers and will not cause it to taste like hamburger. Turn it out on a large flat platter and flatten it down gently to an inch and a half thick. Sprinkle it all over with half the ancho chili powder, half the paprika, and salt. Fold it in half. Sprinkle the upper surface with the same ingredients, then turn it over and sprinkle the remaining surface. Work it with your hands to mix the spices in. Set it to browning over high heat in a very large soup kettle with plenty of olive oil. It should cover the bottom completely. Turn it over after the first side is browned, and, as it gets done, begin breaking it up in chunks.
Peel and dice six large onions. Mince twelve cloves of garlic. Tumble these in on top of the browned beef, which should have cooked through by now, and break it up some more. Not too small. You want toothsome little pieces, not sand. Remove the stem, seeds and ribs from a green pepper and cut it up in small dice. You can singe the skin off if you like, but since almost no one will notice (you can trust me on this), why bother?
Put in one large carrot cut in pieces about half the size of a kidney bean. Do not put in any celery. Celery is anathema to chili. So is chervil.
As the onion takes on a translucent color, a delightful aroma will begin to permeate your house. You may wonder why you need any other ingredients. Taste the mixture from time to time and adjust the salt slightly if necessary. You don’t want it to be too salty, but you don’t want it to taste unsalted, either. Keep in mind it’s going to cook down some.
Lower the flame when it begins to stick. You really don’t want it to scorch. If it does start sticking more than it should, remove the kettle from the flame, let it rest a few minutes, check the bottom to be sure it hasn’t actually burned, and then stir it up carefully after the sticky part has relaxed. Continue cooking until the mixture is dry, adding more olive oil if necessary. At this point, you can put the kettle in the oven at 300° for half an hour or so. This will help concentrate the flavor back into the meat. Add three more tablespoons of cumin, more ancho chili powder if you have some left, and four to six ancho chilis, seeds and stems removed. The anchos should be torn into pieces small enough to adorn a spoon of chili. Some will be larger than others.
By this time its savor will be heavenly.
Meanwhile, open six cans of red kidney beans and two cans of diced fire roasted organic tomatoes with green chilies. When the meat mixture seems ready – when you have sampled it to your heart’s content and it seems right – pour the beans and all their liquid into the kettle. Add the tomatoes and a good tweak of Spanish saffron. The saffron should be just a grace note, something not really noticed that yet adds a delicate savor. Put in some oregano to gentle the tomato. Not too much – it can get bitter. There won’t be enough liquid, so add about a quart of good fresh-tasting water. Stir to mix. It will be fairly soupy at this point, but don’t worry – it will cook down a bit.
Bring to a simmer over medium high heat, stirring frequently to be sure it’s not scorching. Although you don’t have to be in the kitchen, you will have to keep returning.
At this point, some fat will rise to the surface. Don’t skim it off. It is a mixture of beef fat and olive oil, and it carries quite a lot of the best flavor.
At this point you should be roughly 2-1/2 to three hours away from eating chili. Set the kettle in a 350° oven. Let it repose there for a total of two hours. During this time, you can feel free to do other things. You can even leave the house for a while. Just be careful to look in on it from time to time and give it a good stir. Plunge a dipper toward the bottom and remove a good test sample to be sure the beef chunks are not too large and that the flavors are all blending properly.
After an hour or so, when the chili will have cooked down by at least an inch, remove a cup of liquid. Put it in a large bowl and mix it to a smooth paste with a small can of refried beans. Thin this with another cup of liquid, then return it all to the chili and stir slowly for a while to mix completely. Let the chili simmer on top of the stove for five minutes or so on very low heat, without stirring, until the purple brown fat has risen to the surface again.
Meanwhile, tear (or cut) at least a dozen (two dozen might be better) corn tortillas into bite sized pieces. Spread these over the surface. Push down lightly so that they all get wet. Do not use corn chips. Sprinkle with a little cumin and some ancho chili powder if there is any left. Return to the oven for another hour.
Taste to be sure the meat is tender. Take the kettle out of the oven and let it rest over no flame at all for at least half an hour. It will thicken slightly as it cools and there will be
For the dishup, serve in large bowls with the following items nearby for free choice: corn tortillas, pico de gallo, finely chopped onion, chopped cilantro, sour cream and grated cheese. Some people like a few shreds of crisp lettuce. Plain white rice (basmati rice or American short grain) is always welcome.
Note: The chopped onion can be supplemented (but not replaced) by the following quick onion pickle: cut one large yellow onion in half and then into very, very, very thin slices. Put these in a large bowl and sprinkle them heavily with salt. Let them rest about an hour, until quite a lot of juice has come off. Cover them with good fresh water and stir until the salt dissolves, then pour the liquid down the drain. Rinse them again to get almost all the salt off. Transfer to a smaller bowl that just holds them, and sprinkle with enough fresh lime juice to drown them. Cover the bowl and let it rest overnight in the refrigerator.
Note: Canned kidney beans are specified. I like them better than fresh dry kidney beans, which tend to be mealy. You’ll want about a pound and a half or maybe two of dry red kidney beans if you decide to try that route. Using canned beans also saves the trouble of soaking them overnight and stewing them separately in a large pot for an hour before adding them to the chili, and thus gives you more control over the timing of when everything will be ready to eat.
Note: Ancho chili powder, fairly mild and with good flavor, is now available commercially from The Spice Hunter. The mildness of the powder probably indicates that the seeds and stems were removed before grinding. You can make your own ancho chili powder in your coffee grinder. Remove the stems and seeds and tear the anchos into pieces small enough to fit into the coffee grinder. Whirl until they’re powdered and repeat the process until you have enough. Don’t worry about affecting the flavor of your next cup of coffee – it will be affected, but in a positive way. In fact, adding a small piece of ancho chili to the coffee beans as you grind them may become, if not a habit, then at least a regular possibility. Believe me. You should try this. Works best with dark-roasted premium coffees (of course) and makes an excellent nikoloshka. (Dark coffee or espresso (no milk) with a twist of lemon.)
Note: If at some point you find that your chili has actually started to scorch, first give yourself a good mental spanking for leaving it alone too long. Chili, like children, needs much looking after. Stirring up the scorched part will just make matters worse. Take it off the heat and immediately pour it all into a new pan (or pans). Clean the first pan carefully, removing any trace of scorched stuff. Put the chili back in and go on. More carefully. Of course, if the chili really does taste burned, you will have to throw it away. Live and learn. And next time, pay attention.
“What’s that?” one asked.
“Oh,” I said. “It’s just big pan of some very good basmati rice.”
“Rice?” he said. “This is a chili cookoff.”
I could see he might have had a little too much coffee.
“Right,” I said. “And I’m the chief judge. Pleased to meet you. Here’s your score sheets. Now let’s go out there and see what we can learn about these people making chili.”
“What’s the rice for?” he persisted.
“Oh,” I said. “Nothing, really. It was on the back seat of my car, so I just brought it in. Let’s all go see how these great chili cooks are doing, shall we? We’ll meet back here in a couple hours?”
Words cannot do justice to the savor of all those many different chilis cooking. It was paradise. The smell was glorious.
I think there were 80 contestants. Well no, probably just 40. My memory gets hazy when I think of tasting all that chili. Eighty might have killed us. Even forty tablespoons of chili is about five cups.
I believe it is impossible to judge a chili properly without tasting at least one good tablespoon. It’s not like wine – you can’t just spit the chili out. The heat as it goes down is part of the experience.
Near as I could make out, all the chili cooks had been inspired to make contest chili that was blazing hot. Blazing is an inadequate word. Some of their chilis could make your eyes water from ten feet away. There may have been a separate betting pool among the chili cooks to see who could make your eyes bug out the farthest.
Back in the judges’ chamber, after the tenth taste, one of the judges called me over. In an undertone, he said: “Say. Maybe – do you think I might could have some of that rice?” I noticed all the others looked up hopefully.
“Rice?” I said. “By damn I plumb forgot about that rice. But that’s what it’s there for. Sort of a palate cleanser. Help yourself.”
Never have I seen grown men so grateful for a bowl of plain white rice.
We eliminated half of the chilis on the first run through and then started again. After a good deal of discussion, we got it down to a dozen. Then we started to discuss the fine points. Which one lingered longest in your mind? Before long we decided on the winners. The Cimarron Rose won both years for their Rattlesnake Chili. I judged it second one year and third the next. I forget whose chili I liked better. So Maybe the Rattlesnake Chili was best after all – at least I still remember it.
Chili should always be an adventure. Great chili cooks rarely make it exactly the same way twice. They almost never use a recipe, except maybe as a guide or map. They just have the concept firmly fixed in mind, and they proceed toward the ultimate goal with commendable certainty and, in most cases, considerable panache.
They are proud of what they do – and should be proud.
Chili is a sacred food. Never forget that. A reverent attitude will help you to achieve celestial results. Great chili is food fit for the gods. It is food that will make you feel you are a god as long as you can go on eating it.
Of course the composition of a pot of chili will depend on what ingredients the chef may have on hand or can easily find at the nearest grocery store. It stands to reason that the better the ingredients, the better your chili will turn out, doesn’t it? But many pots of chili have been ruined right from the start by using the cheapest grade of hamburger.
Do your best to find some ancho chilis – it’s not impossible, even on the East Coast.
A great bowl of chili should be something that you dream of, certainly for days, possibly for weeks, for months, maybe even for years. However, we should all hope that our friends will never have to wait years between bowls of great chili. As a chili cook, you will always look forward to making your next bowl of chili – not constantly, of course, that would be too much. But now and then, from time to time.
I never had a great bowl of chili at a restaurant that I didn’t own. I have had restaurant chili I might eat again. People with lower standards and a less reverent attitude might even call those chilis great. But for me, they inspired little more than an urge to go home and make another great pot of my own chili. I believe, however, that there probably are restaurants – somewhere in Texas – where you can count on getting at least a very good bowl of chili.
Hell, I’m not the world’s greatest authority – I’m just anothher true believer.
The savor of the chili cooking should completely penetrate your house. Guests should remark on it as soon as they walk in the door. They’ll always tell you it is “good.” Often they’ll tell you it’s “great.” But the real test never lies in what they say – it lies in how many bowls they will eat. If the chili really is great, they will keep returning for another bowl. Another two bowls? Three bowls? Even with a chili whose pepper heat is this mild, four bowls might be almost tantamount to suicide.
Though the chili heat of this one is appropriate for chili that will be served not just to strong grown men but also to women and children, the flavor – the savor! – and the experience of eating it are so good that before long you’ll be looking for a reason why you have to make some more. Even after you have fit yourself around as many bowls as you can hold, you may find yourself wondering if maybe … possibly … you can go back for just one little taste again.
This is a relatively traditional American chili con carne with beans and tomato both playing a strong role. The main taste is a blend of ancho chili and cumin.
This chili will serve at least a dozen mixed hearty eaters and ordinary folk, with not much left over. If you want to be completely sure of having some left over, take it out before you serve. If you don’t plan on feeding a big crowd, just cut all the measurements in half.
Super Bowl Chili
3-4 lbs. chili ground beef
6 medium (large) organic yellow onions
12 good cloves of garlic
1 green pepper
1 organic carrot
1 cup extra virgin olive oil
salt
4 tbsps. ancho chili powder
8 tbsps. good cumin
3 tbsps. paprika
3 bay leaves
oregano
4-6 ancho chilis
6 28 oz. cans red kidney beans
2 14 oz. cans diced fire roasted organic tomatoes (with green chilies)
1 can refried pinto beans (no lard)
saffron
water
corn tortillas
pico de gallo
finely chopped onion
chopped cilantro
sour cream
grated cheese
Plenty of nicely cooked basmati or short grain American white rice
Ask the butcher to grind three or four pounds of fairly lean beef chuck (80% lean) by putting it just once through the coarse blade of the grinder. This will not destroy all its fibers and will not cause it to taste like hamburger. Turn it out on a large flat platter and flatten it down gently to an inch and a half thick. Sprinkle it all over with half the ancho chili powder, half the paprika, and salt. Fold it in half. Sprinkle the upper surface with the same ingredients, then turn it over and sprinkle the remaining surface. Work it with your hands to mix the spices in. Set it to browning over high heat in a very large soup kettle with plenty of olive oil. It should cover the bottom completely. Turn it over after the first side is browned, and, as it gets done, begin breaking it up in chunks.
Peel and dice six large onions. Mince twelve cloves of garlic. Tumble these in on top of the browned beef, which should have cooked through by now, and break it up some more. Not too small. You want toothsome little pieces, not sand. Remove the stem, seeds and ribs from a green pepper and cut it up in small dice. You can singe the skin off if you like, but since almost no one will notice (you can trust me on this), why bother?
Put in one large carrot cut in pieces about half the size of a kidney bean. Do not put in any celery. Celery is anathema to chili. So is chervil.
As the onion takes on a translucent color, a delightful aroma will begin to permeate your house. You may wonder why you need any other ingredients. Taste the mixture from time to time and adjust the salt slightly if necessary. You don’t want it to be too salty, but you don’t want it to taste unsalted, either. Keep in mind it’s going to cook down some.
Lower the flame when it begins to stick. You really don’t want it to scorch. If it does start sticking more than it should, remove the kettle from the flame, let it rest a few minutes, check the bottom to be sure it hasn’t actually burned, and then stir it up carefully after the sticky part has relaxed. Continue cooking until the mixture is dry, adding more olive oil if necessary. At this point, you can put the kettle in the oven at 300° for half an hour or so. This will help concentrate the flavor back into the meat. Add three more tablespoons of cumin, more ancho chili powder if you have some left, and four to six ancho chilis, seeds and stems removed. The anchos should be torn into pieces small enough to adorn a spoon of chili. Some will be larger than others.
By this time its savor will be heavenly.
Meanwhile, open six cans of red kidney beans and two cans of diced fire roasted organic tomatoes with green chilies. When the meat mixture seems ready – when you have sampled it to your heart’s content and it seems right – pour the beans and all their liquid into the kettle. Add the tomatoes and a good tweak of Spanish saffron. The saffron should be just a grace note, something not really noticed that yet adds a delicate savor. Put in some oregano to gentle the tomato. Not too much – it can get bitter. There won’t be enough liquid, so add about a quart of good fresh-tasting water. Stir to mix. It will be fairly soupy at this point, but don’t worry – it will cook down a bit.
Bring to a simmer over medium high heat, stirring frequently to be sure it’s not scorching. Although you don’t have to be in the kitchen, you will have to keep returning.
At this point, some fat will rise to the surface. Don’t skim it off. It is a mixture of beef fat and olive oil, and it carries quite a lot of the best flavor.
At this point you should be roughly 2-1/2 to three hours away from eating chili. Set the kettle in a 350° oven. Let it repose there for a total of two hours. During this time, you can feel free to do other things. You can even leave the house for a while. Just be careful to look in on it from time to time and give it a good stir. Plunge a dipper toward the bottom and remove a good test sample to be sure the beef chunks are not too large and that the flavors are all blending properly.
After an hour or so, when the chili will have cooked down by at least an inch, remove a cup of liquid. Put it in a large bowl and mix it to a smooth paste with a small can of refried beans. Thin this with another cup of liquid, then return it all to the chili and stir slowly for a while to mix completely. Let the chili simmer on top of the stove for five minutes or so on very low heat, without stirring, until the purple brown fat has risen to the surface again.
Meanwhile, tear (or cut) at least a dozen (two dozen might be better) corn tortillas into bite sized pieces. Spread these over the surface. Push down lightly so that they all get wet. Do not use corn chips. Sprinkle with a little cumin and some ancho chili powder if there is any left. Return to the oven for another hour.
Taste to be sure the meat is tender. Take the kettle out of the oven and let it rest over no flame at all for at least half an hour. It will thicken slightly as it cools and there will be
For the dishup, serve in large bowls with the following items nearby for free choice: corn tortillas, pico de gallo, finely chopped onion, chopped cilantro, sour cream and grated cheese. Some people like a few shreds of crisp lettuce. Plain white rice (basmati rice or American short grain) is always welcome.
Note: The chopped onion can be supplemented (but not replaced) by the following quick onion pickle: cut one large yellow onion in half and then into very, very, very thin slices. Put these in a large bowl and sprinkle them heavily with salt. Let them rest about an hour, until quite a lot of juice has come off. Cover them with good fresh water and stir until the salt dissolves, then pour the liquid down the drain. Rinse them again to get almost all the salt off. Transfer to a smaller bowl that just holds them, and sprinkle with enough fresh lime juice to drown them. Cover the bowl and let it rest overnight in the refrigerator.
Note: Canned kidney beans are specified. I like them better than fresh dry kidney beans, which tend to be mealy. You’ll want about a pound and a half or maybe two of dry red kidney beans if you decide to try that route. Using canned beans also saves the trouble of soaking them overnight and stewing them separately in a large pot for an hour before adding them to the chili, and thus gives you more control over the timing of when everything will be ready to eat.
Note: Ancho chili powder, fairly mild and with good flavor, is now available commercially from The Spice Hunter. The mildness of the powder probably indicates that the seeds and stems were removed before grinding. You can make your own ancho chili powder in your coffee grinder. Remove the stems and seeds and tear the anchos into pieces small enough to fit into the coffee grinder. Whirl until they’re powdered and repeat the process until you have enough. Don’t worry about affecting the flavor of your next cup of coffee – it will be affected, but in a positive way. In fact, adding a small piece of ancho chili to the coffee beans as you grind them may become, if not a habit, then at least a regular possibility. Believe me. You should try this. Works best with dark-roasted premium coffees (of course) and makes an excellent nikoloshka. (Dark coffee or espresso (no milk) with a twist of lemon.)
Note: If at some point you find that your chili has actually started to scorch, first give yourself a good mental spanking for leaving it alone too long. Chili, like children, needs much looking after. Stirring up the scorched part will just make matters worse. Take it off the heat and immediately pour it all into a new pan (or pans). Clean the first pan carefully, removing any trace of scorched stuff. Put the chili back in and go on. More carefully. Of course, if the chili really does taste burned, you will have to throw it away. Live and learn. And next time, pay attention.
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