Serendipity

How else to call it? I was craving for chili con carne when a large bag of dried árbol chilies landed on my lap, courtesy of a friend’s aunt who had no idea what to do with them. That’s one of the benefits of being a food blogger; not that I solicit or encourage freebies, but it takes a lot of guesswork out of giving. If it’s edible, I am assumed to be interested. And I am. I don’t mind that I’m only getting it because others have no use for it (or don’t know how). I’ve snagged a few packs of vanilla bean pods that way. That stuff’s darned expensive.

So, thank you, Inday M. Chilies are woefully under-appreciated in this corner of Asia. Dried chilies, even more so: they’re practically unheard of. I’m having trouble trying to think of a single Filipino dish that utilizes dried chilies and just about convinced there’s none. Now I have my work cut out for me: that's a lot of peppers to go through.

By the way, did you know that peppers contain a compound that helps prevent age-related memory deficits? Check it out. Did you know as well that spontaneous recall is more common than the deliberate, voluntary kind? We like to believe we are in control of what we remember that we are genuinely surprised when someone or something we have not thought about for a long time suddenly springs to mind. In contrast, we all agree that forgetting is more or less beyond our control. At least it gets easier as one grows old. If only it didn’t also involve your e-mail password or the whereabouts of your keys.

But I digress. I was at the grocery yesterday and came upon Sunflower crackers. I couldn’t even recall the last time I ate those, or that I was particularly fond of them. But the crackers did remind me of SkyFlakes, and that, in turn, triggered the thought of chili. Who knows why? It’s not like I deem chili comfort food. As for SkyFlakes, my fondest memories of it are definitely with boiled egg and Royal Tru-Orange, usually on the boat to Cebu. But that’s a voluntary recollection. The unbidden one was of drunken afternoons at Tia Maria’s back in college. Do they still serve their chili with SkyFlakes these days? This old soul wants to know.

Suffice it to say, then, that my idea of how chili con carne should taste more or less took root on a palate numbed by too much piña colada (or was it the zombie?), with undertones of vomit and the occasional joint. I don’t even know if Tia Maria’s chili was in any way traditional, but it was the cheapest food item on the menu and filling enough.

Trivia

Chili (the dish) did not originate in Mexico. According to this article, the Diccionario de Mejicanismos (1959) defines it as “detestable food passing itself off as Mexican, sold in the US from Texas to New York.”

So there I was with a pound of dried chilies and an unusual craving. You want serendipity? Enter Rachael Ray doing chili on cable! How’s that for a two-fer? The universe was definitely telling me something. The recipe below is loosely based on hers, cobbled together from whatever I could find in the kitchen and what I remembered of her instructions. It suited me just fine, as did the árbol — it wasn't that much different from siling haba (finger chili), in looks as in heat. The real surprise was the cracker: Sunflower tasted even better than I remembered. I have a feeling I’ll be seeing more of it around here. That’s if I don’t forget to buy some on my next grocery run. What can I say? It’s how my cookie’s crumbled.

Chili con Carne

Rachael Ray’s recipe called for dried ancho and guajillo chilies, portobello mushrooms, beer(!), and two kinds of beans. As long as you have meat and any kind of chili, you’re good to go. I don’t remember if her recipe called for masa harina, which I didn’t have, anyway, so I used ground nacho chips (if it’s good enough for Alton Brown, it’s good enough for me).

• 1 dozen dried árbol chilies, stems and seeds removed
• 1½ cups beef stock


• 2 tablespoons oil
• ½ kilo ground beef
• 1 dozen sweet chorizo, skinned and crumbled
• ¼ cup tomato paste
• 1 14.5-ounce can crushed tomatoes
• 1 15-ounce can pinto beans, drained
• 1 15-ounce can black beans, drained


• 2 medium sweet onions, minced
• 2 cloves garlic, minced
• 1½ teaspoon salt
• 2 tablespoons brown sugar
• 1 teaspoon chili powder
• 1 teaspoon sweet paprika
• 1 teaspoon ground black pepper
• 1 teaspoon ground cumin
• ½ teaspoon cayenne
• 2 tablespoons Worcestershire sauce
• ½ loose cup nacho chips, coarsely ground
• grated cheddar cheese, for topping

1. In a saucepan, dry-roast chilies for a minute, then add beef stock. Simmer for 10 minutes, then purée until smooth. Set aside.
2. Heat oil into a large pot over medium high heat. Add ground beef and crumbled chorizo. Sauté until browned (drain drippings if desired), then stir in the spiced stock, tomato paste, crushed tomatoes, and two kinds of beans. Mix well. Bring mixture to a boil and reduce heat to low.
3. Add the rest of the ingredients (except cheese) and stir to combine. Let the chili simmer for at least 30 minutes and up to 2 hours to allow the flavors to come together, stirring occasionally so the sauce doesn’t burn at the bottom. Season to your taste. Serve hot with grated cheese on top, and crackers, chips, or rice on the side.