Eric's Second Chili Recipe
Each cook will swear that the only chili worth eating is his or
her own: rich with slow-cooked meat and redolent with chile peppers and
spices, all bound in an unctuous sauce. But chili is basically just
meat cooked with ground chiles; how could one be so much better than
another? The key, any chili-head will tell you, lies in the all
powerful "secret ingredients." I lost count of the references unearthed
in my research to the intriguing additions that could magically improve
a humble pot of chili, but the specificswere hard to nail down.
(Chili-heads are as secretive as they are argumentative.) It took a lot
of digging to compile a list.The Internet yielded fascinating new
leads, like prunes floated atop the simmering chili (removed before
serving), and obscure cookbooks revealed a couple of others (chocolate,
beer). Chili-heads were reluctant to reveal the key to their own
success; luckily, they could occasionally be coaxed to divulge the
details of other cooks' recipes, including one chili that was thickened
with "just a touch of peanut butter." Inspired by these inventive
cooks, I was determined to make my own ultimate chili. Before I began
developing my recipe, I looked one more place for ideas: chili
cook-offs. Who, I reasoned, would know more about producing the
ultimate chili than these die-hard cooks who labor 40 weekends per year
to defend their bragging rights? It roms out that the chili cook-off
circuit is a fascinating world unto itself, but my sleuthing yielded
little in the way of practical instruction.
Enticing as my ever-increasing list of secret ingredients
was, it was getting me no where until I developed a basic recipe that
these strange additions could embellish. Adopting the opinionated
swagger of a veteran chili cook, I brashly laid down my own ground
rules: To live up to my high expectations, my chili would have to be
all beef (diced, not ground), and it would have pinto or kidney beans,
tomatoes, onions, and garlic.These last four ingredients are actually
highly controversial in some parts of the United States, but: my
recipe, my rules. It's the chili-head way. I began by testing five
different cuts of beef: flap meat, brisket, chuck-eye roast, skirt
steak, and short ribs, all In 3/4-inch dice, and all browned before
going into the pot with sauteed onions, jalapenos, and garlic; diced
tomatoes; beef broth; and quick brined pinto or kidney beans. For the
sake of simplicity, I seasoned each pot with 1/3cup of chili powder.
Though the short ribs were extremely tender, some people felt that they
tasted too much like pot roast. (Not to mention that it took $40 worth
of them to make just one pot of chili. ) The brisket was wonderfully
beefy but lean and a bit tough. The clear winner was chuck -eye roast,
favored for its tenderness and rich flavor. The beans were praised for
their soft, creamy texture (attributed to the hour-long brine), and
tasters embraced the addition of the tomatoes and aromatics. But I was
far from home free: My friends and co-workers also complained that the
chili powder gave the dish a gritty, dusty texture, and the flavor was
"less than vibrant."
Making my own chili powder seemed the best way to solve
both of those problems, so I decided to give it a try. Of all the dried
chilies that are available in most supermarkets, I chose anchos for
their earthiness and arbols for their smooth heat. I removed the stems
and seeds from six dried ancho chiles and four dried arbol chiles, then
toasted the anchos in a dry skillet until they were fragrant (the very
thin arbols burned when I tried to toast them). After cooling the
anchos, I ground them in a spice grinder along with the arbols and 2
teaspoons each of cumin and oregano, both common seasonings in
commercial chili powder blends. The sauce in chili made with my own
blend was not only much more deeply flavored but also remarkably
smooth. Why was the batch made with the supermarket chili powder so
gritty in comparison? Research revealed that at many processing
plants dried chiles are ground whole stems, seeds, and all. The stems
and seeds never break down completely, and that's what gives some
commercial powders that sandy texture. Making chili powder is
undeniably a time-consuming step, but for my ultimate chili it was
worth it.
Nevertheless, before venturing into the world
of secret ingredients, I wondered if I could streamline my recipe a
bit. Finding I was spending far too much time trimming the chuck-eye
roast of fat and sinew, I switched to blade steak or boneless short
ribs, which also comes from the chuck and was simpler to break down
into 3/4-inchchunks; it took half the time and my people were none the
wiser. Rather than grind the chiles in successive batches in a tiny
spicegrinder, I pulverized them all at once in the food processor,
adding a bit of stock to encourage the chile pieces to engage with the
blade rather than simply fly around the larger bowl. The puree still
wasn't quite as fine as I wanted it to be, but I'd address that later.
I also used the food processor to chop the onions and jalapenos. Since
stovetop cooking required occasional stirring to prevent scorching, I
moved the bulk of the cooking to the gentler heat of the oven, where it
could simmer unattended for 90 minutes.
Happy with my basic recipe, I was ready to spring a series
of unlikely ingredients on my friends. My research had indicated that
chili cooks' secret weapons tended to fall into five categories:
cooking liquids, complexity builders, sweeteners, meat enhancers, and
thickeners. In a series of experiments, I set out to separate the
wonderful from the simply weird. At this point, the only liquid in my
recipe was the predictable beef broth. In my next four pots of chili I
added Guinness, red wine, coffee, and lager to the mix. The stout gave
the chili a bitter edge and flattened out the bright notes of the
jalapenos and tomatoes, and the wine was too tangy. Tasted just 30
minutes into the cooking time, the coffee seemed promising, but it did
not end well, becoming as bitter and acidic as the dregs in the office
urn. The lightly hoppy flavor of the lager, however, complemented the
tomatoes, onions, and jalapenos beautifully-not so surprising perhaps,
since chili and beer pair well by tradition. lager was in.
Next up: the complexity builders, ingredients that add
depth without being readily discernible. Cloves and cinnamon were
deemed too identifiable and sweet, but members of the chocolate family
unsweetened chocolate, unsweetened cocoa, and bittersweet
chocolate-performed well, with people appreciating the complexity that
each provided. Since I would be sweetening the pot in the next test, I
named the unsweetened cocoa the winner in this round and added it to my
recipe.
The aim of adding a sweet ingredient to chili is to smooth
out any sharp or acidic flavors without making the dish noticeably
sweet. I had high hopes for the two prunes left to float on the top of
the simmering chili, but that technique was too subtle for my tastes.
Four ounces of Coca-Cola added to the pot had the surprising effect of
enhancing the tomato flavor too much, and brown sugar was OK but kind
of boring. The winner in this round? Molasses, which lent the chili an
earthy, smoky depth that people loved.
The next category, meat enhancers, yielded the most
surprising results. Many cooks swear by the practice of augmenting
their chili with "urnarni bombs" in the form of anchovies, soy
sauce, mushrooms, or even Marmite (and competitive cooks tend to go
straightfor the MSG in the form of stockcubes or SazonGoya). I found
that adding such ingredients dramatically increased the meaty flavor of
the chili, but in doing so they threw the balanceof chiles, aromatics,
and spices out of whack.It was just too meaty, or as ,y boss observed,
"like chewing on a bouillon cube." People even persuaded me to switch
from beef broth to chicken broth, citing better balance. Good-quality
meat was meaty enough.
On to the most eagerly anticipated test of them all:
peanut butter. I have been told over the years that this "secret
ingredient" is the key to making the ultimate chili. Intended to
thicken the chili, it's not as bizarre as you might think. Mexican
cooks often add ground seeds and nuts to mole to give it
richness, texture and depth, so why not add peanut butter to chili? I
tested more prosaic thickeners as well: flour and the traditional masa
(dough made with limed corn, then dried and ground). The flour subtly
thickened the chili, but it didn't offer anything in terms of flavor.
The peanut butter, on the other hand, left a "big roasted flavor" to
the chili, but it also left a strange after taste that
had people simply saying "yuck." The masa was well received for its
thickening properties and the subtle corn flavor it contributed, but
even for ultimate chili I balked at buying a 4-pound bag of masa just
to use 3 tablespoons. This is where I introduced my own quirky
ingredient to the pantheon of secret ingredients. I found that when I
added 3 tablespoons of cornmeal to my food processor chili paste, its
bulk helped me achieve a finer grind, and it accomplished the
thickening goal admirably. Other cooks might accuse me of being full of
beans, but this chili, with its tender beef and complex sauce, plus its
own secret ingredients, is one I will defend with the vigor of the most
seasoned chili-head.
Finally we can compile a list, shorter than my previous
recipe, and honestly easier to make.
Table salt
1/2 pound dried pinto or kidney beans (about 1 cup),
rinsed and picked over
6 dried ancho chiles (about 1 3/4ounces),
stems and seeds removed, and flesh torn into 1-inch pieces
2-4 dried arbol chiles, stems removed, pods split,
seeds removed
3 tablespoons cornmeal
2 teaspoons dried oregano
2 teaspoons ground cumin
2 teaspoons cocoa powder
2 1/2 cups low-sodium chicken broth
2 medium onions, cut into3/4-inch pieces
(about 2 cups)
3 small jalapeno chiles, stems and seeds removed
and discarded, flesh cut into 1/2-inch pieces
3 tablespoons vegetable oil
4 medium garlic cloves, minced or pressed
through garlic press (about 4 teaspoons)
1 (14.5-ounce) can diced tomatoes
2 teaspoons light molasses
3 1/2 pounds blade steak, 3/4-inch thick, trimmed
of gristle and fat and cut into 3/4-inch pieces
(12-ounce) bottle mild lager, such as
Budweiser
Now for my ever confusing instructions, Like i mentioned before this
recipe is different form the one i previously gave you, but i find it
to be simpler, and more maintenance free. As you can tell from my chili
novel above, these dishes are always evolving and changing as the brave
cooks behind them dig deep into their imagination for fresh and bold
new ideas. Feel free to share this and post it on the family site, i
never shy away from sharing my cooking tips and secrets with friends
and family.
1. Combine 3 tablespoons salt, 4 quarts water,
and beans in large Dutch oven and bring to boil
over high heat. Remove pot from heat, cover, and
let stand 1 hour. Drain and rinse well.
2. Adjust oven rack to lower-middle position and
heat oven to 300 degrees. Place ancho chilies in 12-inch
skillet set over medium-high heat; toast, stirring frequently,
until flesh is fragrant,4 to 6 minutes, reducing
heat if chilies begin to smoke. Transfer to bow of food
processor and cool. Do not wash out skillet.
3. Add arbol chilies, cornmeal, oregano, cumin,
cocoa, and 1/2teaspoon salt to food processor with
toasted ancho chilies; process until finely ground,
about 2 minutes. With processor running, very slowly
add 1/2cup broth until smooth paste forms, about
45 seconds, scraping down sides of bowl as necessary.
Transfer paste to small bowl. Place onions in
now-empty processor bowl and pulse until roughly
chopped, about four 1-second pulses. Add jalapenos
and pulse until consistency of chunky salsa, about four
1-second pulses, scraping down bowl as necessary.
4. Heat 1 tablespoon oil in large Dutch oven over
medium-high heat. Add onion mixture and cook, stirring
occasionally,until moisture has evaporated and vegetables
are softened, 7 to 9 minutes. Add garlic and cook
until fragrant,about 1 minute. Add chili paste, tomatoes,
and molasses; stir until chili paste is thoroughly
combined. Add remaining 2 cups broth and drained
beans; bring to boil, then reduce heat to simmer.
5. Meanwhile, heat 1 tablespoon oil in 12-inch
skillet over medium-high heat until shimmering. Pat
beef dry with paper towels and sprinkle with 1 teaspoon
salt. Add half of beef and cook until browned
on all sides, about 10 minutes. Transfer meat to
Dutch oven. Add 1/2bottle lager to skillet, scraping
bottom of pan to loosen any browned bits, and bring
to simmer. Transfer lager to Dutch oven. Repeat
with remaining tablespoon oil, steak, and lager. Once
last addition of lager has been added to Dutch oven,
stir to combine and return mixture to simmer.
(the process above is often refereed to as De-glazing)
6. Cover pot and transfer to oven. Cook until
meat and beans are fully tender, 1-1/2 to 2 hours. Let
chili stand, uncovered, 10 minutes. Stir well and
season to taste with salt before serving.