“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?
