February 25, 1998
Monkfish and chocolate? Chili recipes are a gas
Concoctions transcend mere beans and burger at annual Downtown Chili Cook-off
By Garret Leiva
Herald staff writer
It can take a mortician's breath away. It can cause a Cistercian monk to shout. It can even bring a circus strongman to tears.
It is chili, a seemingly simple food that evokes a soulful passion seen on every sweat-beaded brow and greasy smile.
For the well-seasoned connoisseur, anyway you boil, simmer or cook it, chili transcends mere beans and burger. After all, what other food could bring more than 600 people to downtown Traverse City on a Saturday afternoon to sample monkfish and chocolate with the same spoon?
For five bucks residents delved right in, as they let out their belts a notch and suppressed their acid reflux to partake in the fourth annual Downtown Chili Cook-off at the City Opera House.
With spoon in one hand and ballot sheet in the other, participants voted for their favorite chili concoctions whipped up by area chefs and cooks. These culinary artists, armed with ladle and a cayenne pepper quick-draw, duked it out all afternoon in hopes of being declared the undisputed No Bean champ or Three Alarm (Hoo-eee!) title holder.
Now for those not smitten by savory spices and powerful peppers, the idea of ingesting multiple bowls of chili may be a bit much to stomach. But as Brad King sees it, not liking chili is tantamount to turning up one's nose at baseball, apple pie and Chevrolet.
"As Americans we are genetically predisposed to be chili eaters. It goes back to the chuck wagon days where they would mix it up on the trail," said King, part owner of Cathie's Tote and Dine of Traverse City, which provided samplers of "Fire in the Hole" green chili and Tandoori India Chili.
Of course, King failed to mention that our cowboy forefathers of the Old West would often throw bulls eyes into their chili. (At the cook-off, there was no category for "Hit the spot" chili.)
Even if Gene Wainiola can't trace his ancestry to a home on the range, chili runs in the veins of the Traverse City resident.
"It's a family thing; everyone brings their own personal heritage into the mix," said Wainiola, who during deer camp in November serves chili made with - and get this - venison, of all things.
As a country known as a melting pot, Americans bring a diversity to the stovetop and to the kitchen table. Many home brewers of chili constantly experiment with their recipes, tweaking their tamales and fine-tuning their favorite spices.
Sometimes, like in the case of Paula Rahn of Traverse City, the result is an instant family favorite. Take for example the Kahlua chili created by her father's continual tinkering with the family dinner.
"It was his best creation by far," said Rahn, who remembers the recipe consisting of a "ton" of Kahlua with some venison thrown in for good measure.
Other times, chili can be taken to the extreme edge of digestibility. For chili aficionado John Puetz of Garfield Township, his strangest trip into the dark bean world of chili was at an Arizona restaurant where he consumed rattlesnake chili. "Little chewy," recalled Puetz, a self-professed user of the motorcycle-grip shovel technique of spooning up chili.
For Ric Dittrich, a chef with Pepper's Tavern and Grille in Traverse City, rattlesnake would seem mild. Several years ago while visiting Texas, Dittrich plunged his spoon into a bowl of baby lion with habanera peppers chili. He didn't ask for seconds.
"You don't see those exotic chili culinary salons anymore serving lion and elephant," said Dittrich, who served up tamer dishes of shrimp and scallop chili and smoked chicken chili at the cook-off. "That kind of came and went with the end of the '80s."
Not that Dittrich is afraid to experiment when it comes to chili. In fact, one creation he had a hand in caused a real out-of-body experience.
"While I was down in Florida several chef friends added some wild mushrooms to a white bean chili. It was a complete out-of-body experience," Dittrich said, adding, "It's not often that someone calls and says, 'Hey, we're making chili tonight so bring your sleeping bag because you're staying over.'"
While not everyone may take their passion for chili to such heights, professional chefs and kitchen counter cooks alike appreciate the accolades of a batch well done.
For Cathie's owner King, a good belch can be regarded as a compliment, as are watery eyes and losing one's voice. Others, like home brewer Puetz, a loosening of the belt and unbuttoning of the pants is testimony to his gastronomy.
For Dittrich, getting people to simply try the unexpected and enjoy it goes beyond any chili cook-off award. After all, as he sees it, eating the right chili is close to a religious experience
"Anyone can cook a bunch of red bean chili, but when you give people the unexpected and they like it, even if they thought they wouldn't, you've made a convert."