Chili
"Wish I had time for just one more bowl of chili" — Kit Carson's alleged last words.
Chili is one of those standard, classic American dishes that I want to learn; to comprehend; to understand; to be able to cook reasonably well, and if possible, well — even to perfect (as best I can, with my abilities). Well, screw that. You gotta pick your battles.
Chili is overblown.
Yeah, I said it. Seriously, I see no difference between cooking a good chili at home, and simply heating up a can of supermarket chili. It takes a lot of work to create a decent chili. And it takes a lot of work, and a lot of experience and knowledge, to create a good chili. And you need a helluva lot of experience (ie., a lot of bad chilis) to create a really great chili.
Chili is hard work, and trying to create one, has given me renewed respect for those that are capable of doing it. But as far as I'm concerned, the law of diminishing returns comes into play at this point. I think this was an okay chili — or if you're very generous — perhaps even a halfway decent chili. But I'd stretch the truth if I were to say that it was a good chili. It certainly wasn't a great chili. And I'm realizing that while I might technically be capable of creating a truly great chili, it would take far too much effort and time.
I mean, chili isn't a food. It's a religion. It reminds me of the whole "PC vs. Mac" thing, to be honest. It's all very angry, deranged, and generally crazy. People say things like "If it has beans in it, it isn't a chili — it's a damn bean stew!" and "If it doesn't have beans in it, it isn't chili — it's a damn meat sauce!" It's all far too fanatical for me; it's really put me off the whole thing to be honest. As far as I can tell, chili can be a stew, and chili can be a sauce — and whatever else you want it to be.
Yeah, a couple of pictures of the accouterments for the chili, both completely out of focus. Oh well.
I overcooked the garlic bread. It's so simple to create this — just use a garlic press on a couple of cloves, mash it into some room-temperature butter and spread it on a slice of bread, and toast it and Bob's yer mother's brother. But I overcooked it. D'oh. Oh yeah, and I didn't get the camera focused either. D'oooooh.
Chili is one of those standard, classic American dishes that I want to learn; to comprehend; to understand; to be able to cook reasonably well, and if possible, well — even to perfect (as best I can, with my abilities). Well, screw that. You gotta pick your battles.
Chili is overblown.
Yeah, I said it. Seriously, I see no difference between cooking a good chili at home, and simply heating up a can of supermarket chili. It takes a lot of work to create a decent chili. And it takes a lot of work, and a lot of experience and knowledge, to create a good chili. And you need a helluva lot of experience (ie., a lot of bad chilis) to create a really great chili.
Chili is hard work, and trying to create one, has given me renewed respect for those that are capable of doing it. But as far as I'm concerned, the law of diminishing returns comes into play at this point. I think this was an okay chili — or if you're very generous — perhaps even a halfway decent chili. But I'd stretch the truth if I were to say that it was a good chili. It certainly wasn't a great chili. And I'm realizing that while I might technically be capable of creating a truly great chili, it would take far too much effort and time.
I mean, chili isn't a food. It's a religion. It reminds me of the whole "PC vs. Mac" thing, to be honest. It's all very angry, deranged, and generally crazy. People say things like "If it has beans in it, it isn't a chili — it's a damn bean stew!" and "If it doesn't have beans in it, it isn't chili — it's a damn meat sauce!" It's all far too fanatical for me; it's really put me off the whole thing to be honest. As far as I can tell, chili can be a stew, and chili can be a sauce — and whatever else you want it to be.
