will read for food

(a revisit from last year)

This morning as I was doing my grocery shopping, I found myself navigating round stock clerks pushing dollies full of massive boxes filled with potato chips and Doritos, jars of salsa and dip, cases of Budweiser and (because I live in a yuppie neighborhood) Blue Moon. The meat cases were piled high with packaged ground beef and Italian sausage. The frozen foods section was bulging with boxes of microwaveable pizza bites and just-reheat-me bags of “Buffalo-style” chicken wings. The aspirin aisle had stocked up on Tums.

Oh yeah, it’s Super Bowl season.

The most important thing about this time of year—after the current standing of the New England Patriots, which, I’m sorry to tell y’all, is MY TEAM—is what to serve on Super Bowl Sunday. I’m a couple weeks ahead as I write this, so the Pats haven’t squared off against Chargers yet. So while I’m planning out the menu for the big event, I haven’t done the shopping yet. If you are reading this and the Pats didn’t win the AFC, then just imagine me crying in my beer and my bowl of chili.

Chili, of course, is the main thing on the menu. And by chili, I mean Chili, not that stuff that comes out of cans that Southerners put on hot dogs.

Chili is a little like barbecue in that every region has its own ideas of how to make it, and arguments can get quite heated over what should and shouldn’t go in the pot. Its origins are lost in the annals of time, although some folks say that it first appeared at the 1893 Columbian Exposition in Chicago as the “San Antonio Chili Stand”. My favorite story is that chili was invented by cowboys at campfires along the early western cattle trails—where there the little meat available to them was tough and tasteless. So the cattle hands invented a stew that spiced up the unaged beef, and even took to planting oregano and herbs along the trails—partly to keep the cattle from grazing off the trail, and partly to have the herbs available when they made camp for the night. It’s a nice, but probably untrue story. The truth, I suspect, is more pragmatic; Chili is an excellent way to prepare tough cuts of beef, and to use up otherwise inedible parts of a cow, like the suet. It also makes a little beef go a long way and is tolerant of variation. Like all great peasant food, it goes well with almost anything you have to hand.

It is so tolerant of experimentation, in fact, that when the first chili contest was held (in 1967, according to Bernard Clayton in his fabulous book The Complete Book of Soups and Stews) people started to go a little overboard with “secret ingredients” that included things like chocolate (not so unusual), peanut butter, applesauce, artichoke hearts (perish the thought) and even goat cheese. One woman attributed the key to her winning recipe to the fact that she tied her chile peppers up in the toe of her discarded panty hose.

I do not wear panty hose, and have no hope of winning any contests. My favorite chili recipe comes out of a book called Chili Nation by Jan and Michael Stern, who are these people who somehow get paid to travel around the country and eat stuff. Each page in the book features a recipe from a different state—some of them quite weird. I use the recipe from Missouri called “Mule-Kicking Hot Chili.” I chose it firstly because I usually have most of the ingredients on hand, and secondly because it didn’t arouse any of my own prejudices. Nothing makes me quite as annoyed as being served un-natural versions of great dishes: Vegetarian chili? What’s the point? “White” chili? If I want white food I’ll have a slice of Wonder bread. I want chili that acts like chili, and doesn’t get too weird in the process. The Sterns’ Hawaiian Chili recipe uses macadamia nuts, the Arizona recipe–you’d think they’d know better–involves cream cheese. And the Alabama “Whistle Stop” chili uses, (good lord), rolled oats. By contrast, the weirdest thing in the Mule Kicking Missouri chili is a can of Budweiser. Which is only to be expected, since Missouri is the home state of Anheuser Busch.

Mule-Kickin chili is an entirely meat-based recipe; no beans, and no tomatoes. I am not one of those people who feel strongly one way or the other about beans and tomatoes in a chili. I know some people do. For some folk, the phrase “add a can of crushed tomatoes” is chili-fightin’ words—tantamount to finishing the sentence “well your mother was a…!” But not me. Missouri Mule-Kickin’ Chili has all the necessary things from my point of view—it has meat and lots of it, and it had chilies, and lots of them. The base is made by soaking dried chili peppers (ancho and chipotle) in hot boiling water until they are soft, and then pureeing them in a blender. Otherwise it is just browned cubes of steak and sweet sausage, a dash of mustard for some kick, and a little bit of onion and garlic. And a can of beer.

The first time I made Mule-Kickin Hot Chili I stayed true to the recipe and ended up with a spicy hot, sharp-tasting stew that really hit the spot. But it was even better reheated the next day, and even better the day after that, when I caved and dumped in a can of crushed tomatoes to balance out the beery flavor. It is perfect for a Super Bowl Sunday meal because you can keep it simmering on the stove indefinitely, just adding more beer as the liquid cooks down. Serve it with cheap corn chips and sliced extra sharp cheddar cheese, and more of the same kind of beer you put in the chili. To make it really, really three-alarm-fire hot, add a few dried cayenne or scotch bonnet peppers to the mix.

Jan & Michael Stern’s Mule-Kickin’ Hot Chili

3 dried ancho chilies
2 dried pasilla peppers
2 dried chipotle chilies
½ cup chopped onions
2 garlic cloves, minced
2 tablespoons vegetable oil
1 lb beef round steak, trimmed of fat and cut into 1/2 inch cubes
1 1/2 lbs sweet Italian sausage
1 tablespoon sugar
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon fresh ground black pepper
1 teaspoon dried Mexican oregano
1 1/2teaspoons prepared hot mustard
1 (12ounce) can Budweiser beer (or your choice of non-yuppie brew)
1 tablespoon masa harina (dissolved in 1/4 cup water)

1. Put the chiles in a large heatproof bowl; add boiling water to cover.
2. Let stand 30 minutes, until soft; stem and seed them.
3. In a food processor, puree the chiles with some of the soaking water; set aside.
4. In a large pot, sauté the onion and garlic in the oil until soft.
5. Add in the beef; cook until browned; drain any excess fat; set aside.
6. Preheat the broiler; cook the sausages under the broiler until they are cooked through and crisp skinned.
7. Cut into 1 inch discs and add to the beef/onion mixture in the large pot along with the chile puree, sugar, salt, pepper, oregano, mustard, and beer.
8. Stir well and bring to a boil; decrease heat and cook at a simmering boil, partially covered, for 40 minutes.
9. Add in the masa harina mixture; cook for 10 more minutes.