The temperature is 48 degrees, it’s windy and it’s raining as I am writing this, and temperatures are expected to drop down to 35 by morning. By the time you read this, temperatures will have risen to a more reasonable 50-plus degrees.
This is not a column devoted to the weather. It is instead an observation of the two days out of the year in which we get to experience a climate that isn’t hot as hell. It is officially caldo weather. And I would love nothing more than to share my favorite caldo recipe with all you lovely folks who have never had a negative thing to say about me or any of my colleagues.
Unfortunately, I don’t know how to make caldo. Caldo de res, caldo de pollo, caldo de mariscos, caldo de whatever the hell you want to throw in there. I don’t know how to do it.
I do know how to make a damn good pot of chili though. It is both a blessing and a curse. A blessing because, well, it’s the best damn chili you will ever try. It’s a cure because, well, I made the mistake of sharing a video of said chili on my Twitter once and now I’m sitting here writing this.
When I was asked (forced) to write this, it was with the impression that I’d be able to lend some context to the great chili debate about whether or not beans belong in chili.
Wait! Don’t go! Hear me out, please. It’s not like you have anything better to do on a cold, rainy Sunday. What are you going to do? Watch the Cowboys?
OK, I just made myself sad.
Just bear with me, and let’s take a closer look at this so-called argument that for generations has pitted Texan against Texan. Brother against brother. Monitor reader against Monitor reader. Do beans belong in chili? Sure. Why not? You don’t like beans? The way I see it, the more crap you can throw into a pot of chili without ruining it, the better. And beans aren’t going to do that.
Don’t believe me? OK then. I’m going to share with you, my favorite reader, the best chili recipe. I share this chili recipe with great reluctance because not only will it result in opening a pot of the best damn chili you’ve ever had, it will also open a can of worms for our brothers and sisters who refuse to be enlightened to the musical fruit.
Wait… this is the second column I’ve written for this publication, and it’s another food-themed editorial. I’m not a food columnist now, am I? Oh man, am I the food columnist now? Can’t I just write a board meeting or something? I guess this is a conversation for another time. I’ll be calling my editor soon.
YOU’RE WELCOME
The first thing I do is I chop up some bacon, and I throw it on a pan. Then I turn on the burner. This is crucial. I read somewhere online that doing this is the best way to render fat, and everything on the internet is true.
Let that bacon just start to brown, then remove it from the pan. Next, I’ll throw on some spicy sausage and brown that for a bit in the bacon fat. Once it’s almost fully cooked, I’ll remove it as well.
Now here’s the kicker, next I’ll add some ground bison to the pan. That’s right, you read that correctly: ground bison. My dad likes to hunt, so he always has some ground bison stored away that he buys from some online store.
Anyway, brown the bison meat for a few minutes, and then remove from the pan.
It’s now time to put everything together. In a crockpot. Just like Sam Houston did right before he woke up Antonio López de Santa Anna from his nap at San Jacinto… Turn your crockpot on to high and add three cans of Rotel (I prefer hot, but you do you), two 4-ounce cans of diced green chilies (if you can find them), a 6-ounce can of tomato paste, a 15-ounce can of tomato sauce, a can or two of green chilies, a large diced onion and a few minced garlic cloves.
Drain a can of pinto beans and a can of kidney beans and add them to the crockpot. Add your bacon, sausage and ground bison (or ground beef, if you’re a bum), and add a couple tablespoons each of chili powder, dried oregano, ground cumin, and some cayenne pepper (at your own discretion).
Feel free to add a few tablespoons of your favorite chili powders as well, like chili de arbol, ancho chili powder — whatever you like.
Finally, and this is the most important part, add a 12-ounce can of your favorite beer. I like to add Shiner to mine. If you don’t drink, then just add some water. Just don’t add Bud Light. Don’t do you.
Stir the pot, cover it up, set it and forget it. Then remember it and check on it every now and then, stirring occasionally. It’s ready when it reaches your preferred consistency. I like mine a little thicker, but to each their own I guess. I also like to add some shredded sharp cheddar cheese on top and eat it with a warm bolillo.
Give it a try. What have you got to lose? A first round playoff game? Nah, you’re fine. I’m fine. We’re all fine. All of us. Stay warm.
