I appreciate Kristen’s attempt at describing her version of “chili” yesterday. But, with all due respect to our dear young Kansan, she’s so, so wrong.

I mean, kidney beans? KIDNEY BEANS? Unlike those who come from that land of filth and depravity called Baja Oklahoma, I do like beans in my chili. But KIDNEY BEANS? Pintos are cheaper and more regionally appropriate. And they taste a heck of a lot better.

And serve it on PASTA? What the hell? Are you assuming that Cincinnati Chili is REAL CHILI? What IS the matter with Kansas, anyway? Don’t they teach you anything in those schools — other than creationism?

Arrgh.

Let me tell you what chili is to me. I don’t even use a recipe. I just play it by ear based on what’s cheap at the store and what mood I’m in. Mind the cut….

THE MEAT
In Oklahoma grocery stores, they sell “ground beef for chili.” This is usually some lesser cut of chuck or round that’s been coarsely ground. Around here, it’s almost impossible to find, since beef is almost always ground fine by your mega-mart butcher (if, of course, he/she does the grinding him/herself.) So, if you want chili meat, you need to get friendly with a butcher, or pick yourself up a meat grinder and do it yourself. Look for a chuck roast. If it’s not there, grab a slab of round. If all else fails, try sirloin, but I’ve found them to be a little too lean.

Oh, and we’re using beef here. The “carne” in chili con carne almost always refers to beef, being Texas and all. Turkey chili is fine, but it’s like ordering Mexican food from people who think “quesadilla” rhymes with “armadillo.”

2 lbs chuck or round (or both), coarse ground

THE SPICES
You need chili powder. And by chili powder I don’t mean “cayenne” or “ground habanero.” Chili powder is a blend of spices, primarily ground dried red pepper, paprika, garlic powder, and cumin. I grew up on Cain’s chili powder, so that’s what I use (bought a pint-sized container last time I was in Tulsa, in fact). But it’s all mostly the same. You could make your own, too, if you really have time to kill.

Chili powder is a nice base, but I like to reinforce some of the seasonings to meet my personal tastes. So, I also have ground cumin, ground oregano, onion powder, garlic powder, salt, black pepper, a dried pepper or two, and a liquid hot sauce (like tabasco or Crystal) to add to the party.

The trick here is taste, not measuring. You’re looking for bold, but not hot. This is supposed to be a stew here; the flavors are supposed to meld, without letting any one thing dominate.

We didn’t have fresh garlic growing up, so I never added it. I’m sure it would be fine in there. I just don’t know how much to add. 3 cloves? 6? A bulb or three? Also, you don’t have to peel and mash garlic powder.

I don’t like adding vegetables to my chili. If you do, keep it simple, like 1/2 an onion (finely chopped) and a can of tomato paste. Don’t use green peppers; they’ll only turn mushy and taste like green peppers.

This is usually what I start with in the pot, spice-wise:
3 tbsp chili powder
1 tbsp onion powder
1 tbsp garlic powder
1 tbsp cumin
1 tsp salt
1 tsp coarse ground pepper
1 tsp dried oregano
1/2 tsp cayenne
10 shots of Lousiana Crystal
1 dried ancho, seeded and chopped

I usually expect I’ll be adding cumin and salt from there. And again, I don’t like it hot. (Yes, I’m a heat wimp.) If you do, add more peppers and more cayenne.

THE BEANS
Pinto beans. Not kidneys, not turtles, not limas, not haricots verts, not cranberries, and certainly not refried. How much beanage to put in is up to you. I usually go with one 14 oz can (or whatever size they come in nowadays) and dump the full can in. If you want to be less… aromatic and noisy later, you should rinse them. If you really want to save money, get 2 cups of dried pintos, soak them overnight in cold water, dump the soak water, and use them. (Some would argue to use the soak water since that’s where the vitamins are, but that water is also where those long-chain saccharides go that your intestinal fauna turn aromatic and noisy later.)

The nice thing about canned beans is that they make instant protein padding for soups and stews. Someone suddenly coming over for dinner? One can in the chili pot and bam, it’s dinner for three (with leftovers). Just make sure it’s not some rich Texas relative who’s appearing at your doorstep that doesn’t believe in beans in chili.

So:
1 ~14oz can pinto beans

THE BEER
I add beer to my chili — one bottle or can’s worth, usually an amber or a bock. If I can find it, I use Shiner Bock. I think it gives the chili a little body. Most Texans who use beer throw in a can of Lone Star, which is a lager.

Keep this in mind, though — beer is a flavoring, it is not the flavoring. It’s going to mostly cook out, anyway. So, just put a beer in, then save the rest for the long cooking time and dinner. You did buy a six-pack, right?

1 bottle/can beer (preferably amber or bock, but most anything will do)

THE REST
Older recipes call for beef kidney suet. Nowadays, you can’t find it in the stores, and everyone just goes “EWW” at the sight of the word. I don’t use it. But if you’ve had chili made with suet, you know the difference from other chilis — it’s much richer.

The only liquid I put in is the beer. If you’re not using beer, use 1 1/2 cups of water.

The meat’s going to produce a lot of fat, especially if it’s not the leanest cut in the world. I recommend skimming some of that fat off during cooking. Slimy, fatty chili just isn’t appetizing.

COOKING
Put a little bit (a teaspoon or two) of oil in a Dutch oven or a stockpot and turn the heat to medium-high. Brown the meat until it’s brown you have some fond on the bottom of the pot. Turn the heat down to low. Add the beer and use a spoon or spatula to do a quick deglazing. Add all the other ingredients. Turn the heat back up and bring the ingredients to a boil. Once it’s at a boil turn the pot back down to low and cover the pot. Let it simmer for an hour. After that hour, check the taste and see what adjustments need to be made flavorwise. (Hint: Add a little more salt, a lot more cumin and garlic powder, and reach for the bottle of Crystal for a couple more blasts.) Cover it back up, give it another hour and check the flavorings again. Let it simmer until the liquid is thick enough to be called chili. Usually, it’s going to be three hours, but your mileage (and stove) may vary.

PRESENTATION
Pasta? Hell no.
Rice? Reasonable, but not my first choice, or even my second.
Potatoes? Please.
Cornbread? On the side, yes. With chili on top, no.
Nachos? Maybe at a Seahawks game, but not for dinner.

No, I believe there’s only one thing chili should be put on top of: Corn chips. Specifically, Fritos. The Frito pie, after all, is the ultimate heart attack comfort food. If you’re going to die of a massive coronary, then you might as well feel good about it as you clutch your chest in agony (in between bites of chili).

But what goes on top of chili? In my family, it’s shredded longhorn colby cheese. Finding colby cheese around here is as impossible as finding chili meat (and almost as impossible as finding a Republican), so any brick cheese will do. Scallions or green onions might be nice. No sour cream, please.

And there you are. That’s real chili. No kidney beans. No pasta. No Kansans posing as food experts just because they get to eat at Michelin-starred restaurants while I subsist on peasant food. (No, not bitter, though if she starts going on about French Laundry again I really will be bitter.)

And the best thing about chili? Not only is it easy to make, it’s almost impossible to get wrong, which is why there are hundreds and hundreds of variations. And even if you do screw it up, just take a bottle of Sriracha, dump the whole thing in, and call it “five-alarm chili.” No one will notice that you accidentally dumped the entire salt cellar in the pot, because they’ll be screaming in agony too much to even care.