Cooking in Corners

The title of this entry is a bastardization of one of my favorite Nanci Griffith songs:

Working in Corners.

Times are hard. My father is wandering slowly but surely toward his grave, and I've been back and forth from Tennessee to help my mother more times than I care to count. It might go without saying but the business of dying wears on the living. And no one ever seems to have the will or means to cook anything to eat. My mother and I have had made do with room service, fine lunches, hasty on-the-way lunches, and plates of salami and cheese instead of supper. For her part, Spouse in SF has kept the children fed with a steady diet of cold ham, pasta with butter and cheese, Green Chile Kitchen takeout, and Thai take-out. Everyone is feeling irritable and unappreciated.

Now usually my mother's freezer is a wonder to behold, stuffed with homemade stocks of all kinds, chili, goulash soup, beef stew, etc. When I arrived most recently at my mother's house, on the heels of the most bitter snowstorm in a century, the freezer was nearly bare. I found beef stock and some vegetable soup. I cannot abide vegetable soup. Something would have to be done. I fixed a martini and slumped over some cooking magazines. Snow, sorrow, and winter. Of course, I would make a pot of chili.

I hit on a recipe in Cooks' Illustrated, which I usually find much too fussy. I try to remember that these folks get paid to refine recipes ad nauseam, but I am usually just resentful and occasionally scornful (of course, you wouldn't add bread crumbs at that step!). I was intrigued, though, by two things in the chili recipe: (1) The opportunity to create a custom dried chile powder; and (2) the use of a 1-hour brine to prepare dried pinto beans for the chili pot. Hot dog. The next day, I hit the local Whole Foods, looking for pastured chuck roast (or blade roast, which was recommended as cheaper and more flavorful) and whole dried chiles. I found some pastured chuck roast, although it turned out to be pricey plus loaded with tendons and silverskin, and two dried chiles of a mild type. One was guajillo and the other was one I'd never heard of and have since forgotten but it had the advantage of listing its Scovill rating, which was in the medium-hot range.

Back in my mother's kitchen, I set to while she knitted in front of the fire and called out companionably once in a while. First, I took a cup of dried pinto beans (rinsed) and put them in a large pan with 4 quarts of water and about a quarter cup of salt. It seemed like an awful lot of water for one cup of beans, but I suppose they are earning their salaries at Cooks' Illustrated. Bring beans to a boil and then soak for one hour. While your beans are brining, take four or five of each kind of chile and remove the seeds and membranes. I always use powder-free surgical gloves when I work with chiles, fresh or dried, and you should, too. Then toast the chiles in a dry cast-iron pan until they are nice and brown but not burning. Take the pan off the fire and let the chiles cool.

Now you have two balls in the air, the beans and the chiles - time for more. You will need to add to your agenda at least two cups of homemade stock (preferably beef but chicken is fine), one large can chopped tomatoes, two medium onions (peeled and quartered), three tablespoons corn meal, a lager beer (I made do with a Miller Lite), three or four peeled and chopped fresh garlic cloves, and one fresh jalapeño (sans seeds and membranes).

Get out the food processor. Grind the dried chiles, add a pinch kosher salt, and a tablespoon of oil. Add one cup stock and the cornmeal, and pulse until it forms a paste. Scrape your chile paste into a bowl and set aside. Throw the quartered onions in the processor and chop. Add jalapeños to the chop. If you are using homemade stock, bring to a boil while fiddling with the paste and onions, then set aside.

Remove all silver skin and tendons from meat, and cut into bite-sized pieces. This can sound way easier than it turns out to be, but persevere. You want to end up up with at least three pounds trimmed beef. Brown in batches in a large cast-iron pan, salting lightly while in pan. Place browned beef on a big plate where you can collect the juices. When you are done with the last batch, you will deglaze the frypan with a half can of beer (make sure it is a lager style) and then add the beef, juices, and frypan lager to the mixture below. Take a slug of the beer remaining in the can and then set aside.

In a large pot, heat a couple of tablespoons of oil and sauté the onions and jalapeño until soft. Add a bit of salt. Add the garlic and sauté just until fragrant, about one minute. Add the tomatoes and mix well. Add the drained, brined beans and mix well. Make sure you really rinse the beans before adding to the pot. Now add the chile paste and bring to a simmer, stirring to ensure the paste is thoroughly blended. Add the beef with its juices, the leftover stock, and the remaining beer. Simmer covered for about an hour and a half, stirring occasionally.

Adjust seasonings and pick your garnish. Great accompaniments include grated sharp cheddar, sour cream, chopped onions, avocados, and chopped fresh cilantro. And you must drink beer if you are a drinking person. My current favorite is Mama's Little Yella Pils by Oskar Blues. The chili will feed about 6 hungry people.

Errata and Additional Comments

I made this chili last weekend to freeze for the Super Bowl and realized I left out a few key additions to the main recipe above. Once the mixture is together in the pot, add cumin, oregano, and cayenne pepper to taste. You also should add a tablespoon of molasses, particularly if you are using spicier chiles in the chile paste. For my latest batch, however, I toned down the kick by using only guajillo chiles for the paste - advisable for kids but not for grown-ups. Guajillos and ancho chiles are going to go in my next grown-up version. I also used masa harina instead of cornmeal, which didn't thicken as well as the cornmeal. This chili also would be good nacho-style, ladled on tortilla chips with melted cheese and all the fixings.