Trox's Cherry Poppin' Chili!

         Here's the scene, I am out with a group of 7 or so of my closest friends. It's a Saturday night and we are getting after it pretty hard. We visit a few local watering holes, as the night is winding down we awkwardly stumble to a divey little sports pub down the street from my place. It's around 1:00am, so there is about an hour until last call, and we were looking to finish the evening right! It's been my experience that after many rounds, including a few tasty shots called a "German chocolate cake" which require you to bite a lemon dipped in sugar upon completion,  ANYTHING can start to sound like a fantastic idea. I've seen guys go hoggin' in an attempt to convince chubby girls with low self-esteem to come home with them. I've seen girls go slummin' where they ask the most homeless looking hipster to come over for a "night cap". Hell, my own friends, in an altered state, have jumped into bushes, knocked over pop machines, stolen cars, argued with law enforcement, and generally made complete asses of themselves, not because they are bad people, or because they are greasers from an S.E. Hinton novel...Bottom line: alcohol can inspire some pretty strange behavior..It's just that not every night are these brilliant ideas posted in bold letters on a hot pink piece of paper practically screaming at you in your inebriated state. On this particular night, one was!

       Have you ever gotten something so ingrained in your mind that there was no way you could ever be convinced otherwise? Try to understand, for me, this idea of participating in a chili cook-off became politics, my heritage, and religion all roll into one. I would not be swayed. I could not be deterred. I was going to enter this G.D. chili contest, and I was going for the gold! All night I kept telling everyone who would listen, "I'm entering this bitch and I am going to own at chili." Some rolled their eyes, others sneered, and some flat out told me to stop breathing so hard in their general direction because I apparently smelled like Betty Crocker had fornicated with a gas tank...The point is no one believed in me, and that only made my desire to change lives with my crockpot even worse. There was just one eensy weensy teeny tiny little obstacle I need to overcome (apart from sobering up)..I had never once even attempted to make anything even slightly resembling a pot of Texas style chili. The closest I had ever come was blogging about the Crosstown Shootout. (Sponsered by Skyline)...Needless to say, most of my group had forgotten about my quest by the time we all decided to crash a little after 4am..
        Apparently, sometime throughout the course of the night, I had managed to set an alarm on the ol' BlackBerry entitled "Wake yo' ass up and make some chili!" So, at 9:30 I took heed of my ebonic speaking, yet surprisingly coherent, alter ego from the night before. I vaguely recalled flashes of the nay saying mob on the patio outside the bar and running my mouth to last years champion, who was one of the bartenders, about how crappy his chili probably was, and how the hillbillies in the surrounding area wouldn't know about culinary prowess (or how to spell "culinary prowess") if it walked up and baked them a soufflé. After throwing salt like that. There was no way I could afford to stay in bed.
        I hopped up, didn't shower, jumped in the car, and immediately called up Gram Trox to let her know that her favorite grandson was coming over to borrow her chili pot, pick her brain on some recipe ideas, and ransack her kitchen. Then I informed her that I was going to butcher her instructions and leave her house a complete mess.. "See you in 20.."
        When I arrived I had her meet me in the driveway, still in her PJs to hit the grocery store. I would have let her change clothes, but time was of the essence. I gathered up all the things she said I'd need trying to make upgrades wherever I could. Ground sirloin, Italian sausage,1 onion, 1 green pepper, tomato sauce, kidney beans, and a few spices that she told me she was low on at the house. I spent about $27 total. I only mention the ingredients and the price for the sake of the story. This isn't a Martha Stuart cooking blog.
        I used my Gram's classic recipe to make the chili that I have eaten for as long as I can remember. I've loved it and requested it for over two decades and it has never once failed to satisfy...until I tried to make it. It tasted like..well... runny tomato poop is probably an accurate description. Even when she tried to help me I just couldn't get the flavor right...Then she suggested some drastic changes.

 This is my Gram. She is the sweetest most wonderful person in the world.

      She suggested I try adding three more odd ingredients. Grape jelly, yellow mustard, and more onions (I HATE onions! I once tried to fight a Jimmy Johns delivery guy for not removing the onion from my Totally Tuna as requested. He didn't even make the sandwich. Sorry, guy.) That's when I lost my mind. I figured if we were going to go tossing a buncha random stuff in the pot, and I was going to stand no chance in the big chili cook-off, and I was going to be shamed by my competition and peers, by God I was going out with a BANG! THUMBS UP LET'S DO THIS!! On top of Gram's suggestions I added a healthy dose of cinnamon and a packet of Swiss Miss dark chocolate cocoa mix to the equation..It was a risky move, but a wise CopyMat employee in the movie Jerry Maguire once said, "That's how you become great, man. Hang your balls out there."

Not lookin' too shabby.

        We let it all cook for a couple of hours and then I rushed to the site with just a few minutes to spare. The air was thick with competitive tension. I no sooner arrived and realized I had gravely misjudged what I was up against. What started off as a goof had me nervous beyond belief and had become something out of a nightmare. You know those dreams where you are standing in front of your geometry class naked, and you don't know the answer to question #6, and someone apparently left a window open, and it's inexplicably cold for high noon in May? That was me setting up my crock pot of chili next to the delicious-looking, well thought out, and soberly premeditated dishes around me...I was doomed. I waited nervously for the inevitable fate I was to suffer. How embarrassing...

 Pretty little maids. All in a row.

       The competition wasn't the only thing I underestimated. The judges for the cook-off were a group of local fire fighters who knew chili (I really didn't), loved it spicy (mine really wasn't), and had been doing this sort of thing in the community for years (I just moved here). The men entered in the competition were all late 40's roughneck types who took their respective recipes VERY seriously. And the women were worse. They were a sort of cackling "Real Housewives of Anderson Township" gaggle who would have used weapons for this challenge if allowed to do so. Ruthless. I could tell most of them thought it was "cute" for me to try to get on their chili-level. I sampled pretty much all of the competition. I'm not going to lie virtually all of them were among the best chili I had ever tasted. They don't serve stuff like this at Frisch's Big Boy. It was hardcore chili! Man's Game chili! 

         The Cincy FD arrived and immediately got down to business. Most of the contestants stood around schmoozing and kissing fireman ass in hopes of getting a leg up, but the judges, for the most part, were too preoccupied with stuffing their faces to notice these not-so-subtle advances. (It was their lunch hour after all.) I played it cool. I sat back and let the judges eat.  Then I noticed something remarkable. A number of the fireman were going back to chili #5 for seconds... 

That's me. Lucky #5...

       Everyone with an entry waited in anticipation. Most of them had probably looked forward to this tasting for months. They perfected their recipes, put in the time, and now it all came down to this. Their moment in the spotlight where they were more than just a housewife, a bartender, or a pedo on disability..today they would be chili GODS! You could cut the tension with a knife as the hungry firemen reached a verdict...and then.... I WON!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

The envelope of triumph!

      OK, so I technically didn't win...I came in 3rd, but it was still pretty bitchin'. The envelope contained a gift card for $20 which means I netted -$7.00 on the deal. Sometimes when you take a loss on an investment you actually win. (*MESSAGE!*) It felt great to place in such an amazing field with such expert judges. It felt even better to take a gamble on something that was completely outside of my comfort zone.
      This one was a little long winded, so thanks for sticking with it. It took a couple of extra days, but it won't take as long to throw up my next post. I told you when I started Trox Talk that there would be a little something for everyone. We've had something for the sports nuts, something for the motorheads, and now this one was for the food people. Up next I think maybe we'll do something for the ladies...I'm going to talk some Oprah. Stay tuned! If you dig it click the follow button, or you can hit me up on Twitter @troxtalk, or you can just swing by my place sometime for dinner. I AM an award winning cook now.

Warmest Regards,

                                                                                                                                                       Trox