A big bowl of red: Texas chili
When the weather turns cool, and things start to look a bit desolate outside, there’s few thinsg more comforting than a bowl of red—Texas chili. Now there’s a lot of different styles of chili in the world, but there’s only one style that mimics what I often ate in Texas. First, you start with a nice cut of meat.
In this case, a roast that was cut into 1/2” chunks. These are tossed with a bit of flour. Then, they’re added to a pot that I’ve rendered down about 3-4oz of salt pork and browned thoroughly. This is an absolutely critical step, and no substitution of ground meat is acceptable. You will probably need to do this in a few batches.
Then, in a blender, I combine a small can of whole peeled tomatoes, 1/3C of good chili powder, a tablespoon of toasted cumin seeds (ground in a mortar), a table spoon of oregano and 3-4 chipotle peppers packed in adobo sauce. Give it a whirl for 15-30 seconds and it should come out as a very thick slush. Set aside.
Once you’ve browned all the meat, you should have a good bit of fat in the pan. This is when I add 2 medium onions, chopped up and some salt to cook them down a bit. Once they’re starting to get translucent, in goes the tomato/chile mixture and the browned meat. Bring back to a simmer and reduce to the barest heat that will cause a few bubbles to break here and there. I then add about 1oz of unsweetened Mexican chocolate for flavor, which brings somewhat of a mole-complexity to the whole thing. It can be skipped, or even substituted with regular baking chocolate (no sugar!). Cook for 2-3 hours.
If you like beans, and I’m someone who does, then about 30 minutes before everything is done, I add either reconstituted (or canned if I’m in a hurry) kidney or pinto beans and allow them to finish off. If the thickness isn’t enough—and the flour will help with that—then I add a slurry of masa harina and water or beer and allow to cook another 15-20 minutes.
The end result is dark, rich and complicated. Serve with good cornbread. This is not something you’ll want gigantic amounts of, as it’s a very dense satisfying flavor.
Someday, I mean to write down an actual recipe, but I don’t know that I’ve ever made the same chili twice. It’s a technique, not a recipe to me.
This entry was posted at 2:01 pm on 3 December 2008 and is filed under Food. You can follow any responses to this entry through the post-specific RSS 2.0 feed.
While I know that many people will consider me unfair, I simply don’t consider the slightly-spiced spaghetti sauce that is called “chili” in Cincinnati to be in any way related to what is served in Texas and New Mexico. They’re simply rooted in totally different worlds. You can even look at the ratios to get a feel. In a Cincinnati Chili, you might have 1Tbsp chili powder for 1lb of meat. In a Texas chili, from let’s say Terlingua, you’d be looking at 5-6x more spiced and a much, much thicker consistency.
I realize this is a religious debate, but to me, if it doesn’t make your tongue tingle and your sinus water some, it’s simply not chili.
Never mind the boiling of the meat. Ack.
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Cornbread is great with a hearty chili. As a Cincinnati transplant from Texas, I originally found the local chili, created by the Greek immigrant community, strange and I wasn’t sure it could be called chili. I’ve learned to like it, but Texas chilis are the best. Thanks for the morning food pr0n :)