My New Chili Standard

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.

The basic recipe is take a few pounds of beef chuck (or sirloin or something similarly stew-friendly), slice it into 1 to 1 ½ inch cubs, season and brown them in batches. At the same time, toast 2-3 ounces of dried chiles on a hot pan on all sides. I used ancho, which are pretty mild. I might mix them with a couple hotter ones for a little more kick next time.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.

An Occasional Carnivore

My favorite cut of beef is the ribeye. It’s tender and it has the most marbling of any of the steak cuts. And marbling = fat = decadence. When you get a ribeye from a Wagyu cow, it’s uber decadent. Of course, this is the breed used for the famous Kobe beef, which is massaged with sake and fed beer (though this may be superfluous). The real deal can cost several hundred dollars per steak but I managed to procure some Australian stuff at Harmony Farms for under 20 bucks a pound. Here they call you "Ma'am" and "Sir" Of course grain fed beef from halfway around the world is not very carbon friendly – it takes 11,000 pounds of grain on the feedlot for the cow to add another 700 pounds of cow flesh, not to mention the diesel used on the freight journey. But I’ve already admitted to being a hypocrite in the previous entry and I had a tough day. Most of all, I’ve never actually cooked Wagyu before and I thought it was my duty to give it a whirl. So how to do it proper(ly)? Aussie Wagyu @ $20/lbTrue Kobe @ $135/lb If I were in Japan, I’d slice it super thin and dip in boiling water shabu-shabu style. But what is more uninteresting than boiled beef? There is a reason that Ruth’s Chris cooks their steaks at 1800 degrees and not 212. My sister insists that shabu-shabu is worth it for the sauces to which I say, gimme the sauces but grill the meat. Win-win. But slapping my steak on the Weber isn’t necessarily the best choice, either. Wagyu has a lot of unsaturated fats which means that they melt at a lower temperature. I don’t want to drain out all the good stuff so I had to figure out a way to cook it at a low temperature while still getting all the caramelized goodness of a well cooked steak. It is heat-safe. Enter sous-vide. Basically, it’s the fancy pants version of boil-in-a-bag. You take your food, dump it in a plastic bag and cook it for a long time at a low temperature. Though it’s exploded into the culinary zeitgeist over the past few years, it’s been in use in haute cuisine since the 1970s. It’s great because it cooks food while giving it a very tender, luscious texture. If I were to do it like food nerd/consultant, Dave Arnold, I would get a vacuum sealing machine and then comb eBay for a thermal circulator that some lab is trying to get rid of. But since I’m cheap and lazy, I use a Ziploc bag and a big pot of tepid water. The goal is to bring your meat to around 125 degrees internally, so my thought was to sous vide-ify my beef at around 110 degrees and sear it in a hot pan afterwards for a minute a side. I lightly seasoned my beef with salt, pepper and mustard powder out of reverence to my carnivorous grandfather. I popped it into the pot for around 15 minutes. At this stage there is no real fear of overcooking it since you’re cooking it basically at the temperature of a cow with a fever. A NOTE: Sous-vide translates from French to be “under vacuum,” meaning that there is no air in the plastic bag that holds your food. Vacuum sealers have air pumps that do the job for you but humans have a God-given air pump that works just as well. Just use a decent zip lock bag, close it 90% and, too paraphrase Lauren Bacall, you just put your lips together and suck. If the seal is good, you should get all of the air out and you won’t suck in any beef juice.No air bubble via sucking So after pulling my sack of beef out of the McGuyver-esque sous-vide set-up, I slapped the beef on a hot, dry pan and seared it for two and a half minutes on one side, a minute on the other. It still felt pretty soft pulling it off but after letting it rest for a few minutes, it was clear that I screwed up and overcooked my precious Wagyu. Good but not great Don’t get me wrong. It was still delicious and luscious and tender – almost to the point that it had the soft texture of liver – but the meat was medium and I, like any rational, respectful beef eaters, am a medium rare kind of guy. After my tears dried, I had a cursory self-debriefing where I determined that my method was correct (duh) but my meat was cut too thin. For a half inch thick piece of steak, either I should have done it sous-vide and eaten it all lukewarm and unbrowned, which is weird, or I should have just grilled it without that hoity-toity sous-vide business. Next time, I’m keeping the technique the same and doubling the thickness. Sorry, cow.