Lessons of life learned from a pot of chili

By Brendan Buhler

Friday, Oct. 24, 2008 | 2 a.m.

Chili, Fred Wieland said, would make me humble.

We were standing in the judges tent of the World’s Championship Chili Cookoff and outside, hundreds of pots bubbled with sweet spicy chili, and more than a whiff of garlic. On tables inside the tent, tables were being set with unmarked chili samples and, for palate cleansing, sour cream, tortillas and beer. Weiland, in his capacity as emeritus chief judge, recommended the beer, even though it wasn’t especially effective. It’s traditional, he said.

“People ask me ‘What’s the best beer with chili?’ ” he said. “Whatever they have on the table, that’s the best beer.”

The chili, he said, would teach me to be humble, sure as it taught him. “It taught me to be patient and how to have friends, a lot of friends. And it can make you very humble.”

All this from a spicy meat stew, something made to disguise too-fresh or too-old meat, a food that, in hard times, you can stretch out with beans or pasta, or by pouring it over a potato. Could a food sometimes cooked with and usually consumed with beer teach humility, patience and friendship?

More importantly, how soon can I find out?

Wieland wasn’t prepared to tell me his chili recipe, which he said he changes all the time anyway, but he would talk to me about chili theory. If a chili is too hot, add brown sugar. Too bland, add salt. Too bitter, add garlic (and, if you’re at a contest, add the garlic at the end so it’s a rich aroma for the judges).

I started the next night at home, using, more or less, the winning recipe from the 1999 cook-off winner, which you can find on the Web site for the International Chili Society, along with all the other winning recipes. This one just happened to be the simplest: ground beef, stock, meat and onion, tomato sauce, cumin, garlic and lots of chili powder.

The only major change I made to the recipe was to use stew meat (it was on sale) and to add roasted jalapenos out of my garden.

Trimmed of fat, there wasn’t a lot of stew meat left.

After two hours, when the chili was supposed to be done, there were a couple of problems.

One, there was too much liquid for the small amount of meat. Two, it set my lips on fire.

Right. Add brown sugar, let it go for half an hour.

Patience.

Still too hot. Try a little ground carrot to muffle the heat.

That works, but now the chili has cooked down to a spicy meat paste.

Humility.

So the next night I try again, using ground beef. This time I add a little corn.

It tastes much better.

This time I end up with about four pounds of chili, so much that the only thing to do is to take it to work and invite people to try it.

It is gone in less than 10 minutes and I’m surrounded by smiling co-workers.

I try the little bowl I set aside for myself. It is not nearly spicy enough.

Humility, again.