I’m the perpetual “Chili Cookoff Loser.” They have a special category for people like me. I find new venues from year to year, seeing if I can find a pliable judge. But no matter how much the recipe is tweaked, or bribes offered, or rosy talk about batch #11 (which just happens to be mine) is discussed with the judges, I can’t seem to get over the hump.
That’s okay. It’s really not about the winning. I love cooking. Chili is a journey, like any dish that you spend time simmering, tasting, adding and subtracting ingredients. It never comes out the same, even when you follow all your steps exactly. Maybe it’s the stove that changes, and that can be used as an excuse for losing.
Even second or third place seem out of reach to me. It’s easy to accept not finishing first if there are 25 contestants, or even if there are 10. That’s a 4% or 10% chance, respectively, to win. There will be 24 or 9 losers in those two scenarios. If you add the opportunity to finish second or third though, the odds go up. You’d think at some point that the pot of goodness my family enjoys and I labor over would win enough hearts and guts to get some recognition.
Everyone goes into the contest thinking the same thing: Mine’s the best. Over the years, you refine your technique to get the spices just right, the hotness factor dialed in, and the consistency to the point where others enjoy it.
That could be the problem. If you cook to the lowest common denominator, you don’t please anyone. It may need heat that smokes your sinuses. You may need to overload it with beans, so the lovers of the pinto bean beat their chests and produce excess methane. Conversely, if you go the Texas chili route, you eliminate the beans and ratchet up some other component of the batch.
Regardless, I plan to change. If I’m going to lose, I’ll go down trying something new.
The dish I made most recently was Mexichili, a mixture of Mexican salsa with black beans, corn and ground beef (or made with chicken instead as a change of pace; I’ve lost with both types of meat). Since it’s clearly a losing trend, that gets put on the back burner.
Similarly, I have lost in the past making vegetarian chili and a modified version our mom shared with us once we started cooking on our own. Those have lost when I made them plain, and they lost when I added ingredients, trying new things, throwing in vegetables like okra or field peas. No one ever said, “Mmmm, what is this green thing in here?” Or, “What are these things that look like pinto beans but are smaller?”
Rather than creating a chili kaleidoscope, it might be best to re-ignite the basics: High quality meat; lots of chili powder, cumin and garlic. Dice up some ripe tomatoes. Simmer it. Taste it. See if you sweat.
Or the next time I enter, I could make white chili, which I know nothing about. Chicken, white beans, onions and jalapeno peppers visually stand out in versions I’ve seen other people make.
I’ve got to change. It’s time to either get out a cookbook (boo) or steal something I’ve seen someone else make.
Theft is easier. But I still need to give it my landmark stamp. The tough thing is figuring out what that should be.
Everyone likes something different. Ask about pizza and each person you speak with will rave about a different type. The same holds true for chili. Find a common denominator, and you win. I’ll keep searching.
That’s okay. It’s really not about the winning. I love cooking. Chili is a journey, like any dish that you spend time simmering, tasting, adding and subtracting ingredients. It never comes out the same, even when you follow all your steps exactly. Maybe it’s the stove that changes, and that can be used as an excuse for losing.
Even second or third place seem out of reach to me. It’s easy to accept not finishing first if there are 25 contestants, or even if there are 10. That’s a 4% or 10% chance, respectively, to win. There will be 24 or 9 losers in those two scenarios. If you add the opportunity to finish second or third though, the odds go up. You’d think at some point that the pot of goodness my family enjoys and I labor over would win enough hearts and guts to get some recognition.
Everyone goes into the contest thinking the same thing: Mine’s the best. Over the years, you refine your technique to get the spices just right, the hotness factor dialed in, and the consistency to the point where others enjoy it.
That could be the problem. If you cook to the lowest common denominator, you don’t please anyone. It may need heat that smokes your sinuses. You may need to overload it with beans, so the lovers of the pinto bean beat their chests and produce excess methane. Conversely, if you go the Texas chili route, you eliminate the beans and ratchet up some other component of the batch.
Regardless, I plan to change. If I’m going to lose, I’ll go down trying something new.
The dish I made most recently was Mexichili, a mixture of Mexican salsa with black beans, corn and ground beef (or made with chicken instead as a change of pace; I’ve lost with both types of meat). Since it’s clearly a losing trend, that gets put on the back burner.
Similarly, I have lost in the past making vegetarian chili and a modified version our mom shared with us once we started cooking on our own. Those have lost when I made them plain, and they lost when I added ingredients, trying new things, throwing in vegetables like okra or field peas. No one ever said, “Mmmm, what is this green thing in here?” Or, “What are these things that look like pinto beans but are smaller?”
Rather than creating a chili kaleidoscope, it might be best to re-ignite the basics: High quality meat; lots of chili powder, cumin and garlic. Dice up some ripe tomatoes. Simmer it. Taste it. See if you sweat.
Or the next time I enter, I could make white chili, which I know nothing about. Chicken, white beans, onions and jalapeno peppers visually stand out in versions I’ve seen other people make.
I’ve got to change. It’s time to either get out a cookbook (boo) or steal something I’ve seen someone else make.
Theft is easier. But I still need to give it my landmark stamp. The tough thing is figuring out what that should be.
Everyone likes something different. Ask about pizza and each person you speak with will rave about a different type. The same holds true for chili. Find a common denominator, and you win. I’ll keep searching.