Chasen's Chili - a classic, but not historically accurate.
There was a video made by my sister some time ago when I was maybe 11. You won’t find it on YouTube; it was filmed on Betamax and remains in that format. In it, I play a young fellow named Dennison who is a fan of canned chili. I eat a bowl of Hormel’s and the sounds of flatulence (and hilarity) ensue. As a fan of videography, my sister went on to become a successful director. As a fan of canned chili, I went on to become a successful glutton with a blog nobody reads.
Back then, I knew of two types of chili: with beans and without beans. From those two cans, I formed my concept of what chili was. As my palate became more sophisticated in college, I learned to make my own chili, substituting fancy little black beans instead of vulgar kidney beans, and ground turkey meat instead of industrial grade beef. It’s a pretty basic recipe: ground meat, browned with some onions and garlic. Add some cooked beans, canned tomatoes, chili powder, cumin, maybe a little cocoa, more chilis, fresh peppers and some liquid (a beer and some bean juice) and after an hour of simmering, you’ve got chili.
I was eating lunch at the school lab when a woman from Texas scoffed at my Tupperware bowl saying, “Real chili doesn’t have tomatoes or beans.” I shrugged through a mouthful of deliciousness, “So?” I kick myself that it’s taken me 20 years to get to the root of what she meant.
As it turns out, the roots of chili are found in 19th century Texas, where it was made as a stew from cheap meat. Similar stews were made previous to that but it wasn’t until the 1850s that there were reports of a “brick chili” made of pressed mashed chile peppers, beef and spices that was often reconstituted and eaten on long journeys. This happened to emerge at the same time that there was an influx of Polish immigrants into Texas. Coincidence? I think not. Think of how paprika was such a big deal in Europe thanks to Columbus and subsequently, the influence of the Austria-Hungarian Empire. The immigrants came here and used the next best thing: Mexican chiles.
The chili vendors of San Antonio
To be honest, I’m totally talking out of my ass. I have no evidence to back up the Eastern European roots of chili but it kind of makes sense, right? Goulash? Chili? Both are bowls of red?
I now continue with my out-my-ass history: Chili became popular in Texas and then traveled northward to the 1893 World’s Fair in Chicago. In its six-month run, 27 million people attended the fair and witnessed firsts like the Ferris Wheel and alternating electrical current (yes, I read Eric Larson’s Devil in the White City). Those same millions also had the chance to try “San Antonio Chilley” at the Texas exhibit. From there the dish slowly gained in popularity.
"Cincinnati Five-Way" or "Five More Reasons to Never Visit Ohio"
In 1902, William Gebhardt began selling Eagle Brand Chili Powder (now owned by ConAgra. Yay!) and nine years later was the first to distribute canned chili nationwide. In 1922, the Empress chili parlor opened in Ohio, which helped popularize the Cincinnati style of chili, which is a tepid, blandish version served over mushy spaghetti. But there were other Midwestern versions that predated them, like in 1913, Chili John’s opened in Green Bay, Wisconsin where it still exists today. Their only other franchise is in Burbank, California, where they serve hot and mild ground beef chili as well as a bean variant. It's a slightly gutsier version of the Cincinnati style (as gutsy as a spicy dish from Green Bay could be). But the ground meat tastes so institutional. My guess is that the ground beef so popular today came out of laziness – it takes a long time to stew chunks of meat vs. ground meat. And beans came out of cheapness. These were lean times in American history and the spices married pretty well with beans. Why not add it to stretch out the beef?
Gladwell on Moskowitz (if you haven't seen this, you should)
Thus it’s no surprise that chili took off in the canned food revolution, from which, thanks to food expert, Howard Moskowitz, we have 12 varieties of Hormel’s chili, 12 of Stagg and 9 of Dennison’s. Not to mention all the other generic and froofy chilis.
This explosion of made up varieties is when I entered the chili fray. But to me, the different cans all tasted basically the same – fine, but vaguely dog-foody. The Los Angeles regional fast food version of chili is a pasty goo slopped from a metal spoon glistening with bright orange grease on a shriveled hot dog. Maybe edible at 2AM while you’re trying to sober up, but it’s not what you would call “good.”
As appetizing as it looks
In the face of all these less than tasty versions of chili, my recipe for black bean and pasilla chile chili became my ideal chili. Until I learned more about true Texas chili.
Every braise starts with a good browning.
Stem and seed them then toss them in a blender with some water, garlic, oregano, a bit of sugar and toasted cumin seeds. Back in the main pot, sauté a finely chopped onion, then add the browned meat, the chiles, some beef stock and a couple tablespoons of corn meal (for thickening) and simmer for a couple hours. After that, taste it, adjust the seasonings (add cayenne for more heat, or whatever) and add a tablespoon or so of white or cider vinegar to liven things up. Cook it another few minutes and adjust seasonings and thickness (add more water if it’s too thick). I usually cook it a day ahead of time to give time for the sauces to permeate the meat.
My new chili standard
The result is stunning for such a simple preparation. Where my ground meat chili is all about secret spice blends, fresh peppers, exotic beans, outrageous hotness, weird meat mixes and other culinary obfuscations, this Texas chili is just about the beef and the chile. That’s all you can see and taste. This past weekend I made it for a campout and I spent most of dinner just sopping up the sauce with cheap white bread. It was a revelation.
