It’s colder than a well-digger’s ass. I’ve got a freezer full of South Texas venison. Let’s make some chili and pray the grid doesn’t shit the bed.
Step One: The Meat
Last year, I got lucky and bagged a beautiful eight-point South Texas whitetail during a late-season hunt, and my freezer is still overflowing with venison. There’s something beautiful about making a dish out of meat you harvested yourself using ingredients that grow in the same sand and scrub the animal spent its life in. But if you’re a non-hunter (or a bad hunter), a cubed beef chuck will work just fine. There’s something uniquely Texan about cooking chili, deer hunting, and worrying the power might crap out.
Step Two: Make What You Like
People have a bizarre obsession with chili recipes. Thousands of hours have been wasted by inane tweeters tilting at windmills over chili blends, cocoa powder, and (gasp) beans. I’ve got a simpler theory to chili cooking: Make what you like, don’t worry about following a recipe, and use ingredients from Texas.
For my money, the best bowl of chili you can find is at the Texas Chili Parlor on Lavaca Street in Austin (if it’s good enough for Guy Clark, it’s good enough for me). I would never have the hubris to suggest I could recreate the alchemy they’ve perfected at the Chili Parlor, but we’ll be using their chunky chili as inspiration.
Making chili is more art than science, so this isn’t a recipe so much as my experience. If you follow along, I’m sure yours will be both different and equally as good.
Step Three: Treat Your Chiles Right
I’ve got ancho, guajillo, pasilla, and chiles de árbol bagged up behind my spice rack — a great start. (If all you’ve got on hand is chili powder that’ll do fine too). Those chilis are going to be the backbone of this dish, so they need to be treated with the respect they deserve. You’ll need about one or two of each of you chiles — anchos provide smoky sweetness, pasillas give depth and warmth, and chiles de árbol deliver the heat.
After trimming the stems off and removing the seeds and ribs, I toast them in a dry cast iron skillet until they’re fragrant but not burnt. This should only take a few minutes — let your nose tell you when they’re done.
Once your kitchen smells amazing, pour boiling water over the toasted chilis and let them steep for a bit while you prepare your other ingredients. If you’d like to level up, you can also steep the chilis in Shiner Bock. Once the chilis are totally softened, toss them in a blender with some of the steeping water (or Shiner), and blitz until smooth. Already, we’re on our way to a better chili than anyone north of the panhandle would make.
Step Four: Cook
Next, take your cubed meat and sear in a bit of oil in a heavy-bottomed pot like a Dutch oven until your cubes develop an even, deeply-browned crust . Take your time on this step! The sear on the meat and the fond that it leaves behind in the pot are the cornerstones to a great chili.
I’m going with a base of onions, garlic, and a jalapeno because that’s what I’ve got. Add those in and sauté them until fragrant. Pour in your chilis and revel in the smell emanating from your pot. I’m adding cumin because I like cumin — you should too, if you like cumin. I’ve got a can of crushed tomatoes, so that’s going in now as well. I’ve also got some homemade chicken stock, so I’ll add stock until there’s enough liquid in the pot. Just feel this part out. You want it to look less like a soup and more like a chili — but no need to measure anything.
Step Five: Let it Ride
Bring the pot to a simmer, and let it ride. This is a great time to get a fire going and check in with friends to see if they still have power. Check the chili periodically — add more stock if it looks like it needs it — and cook it until it’s done. I usually let it go until I can easily pull apart a meat cube with two forks.
Step Six: Thicken
Once the meat is cooked to your liking, cut the heat. If you’ve got some masa harina kicking around (and let’s be honest — you really should), mix some masa with stock or water to make a thick batter. Add that to your chili until the sauce is as thick as you want it. Season with salt to taste. Look, don’t be afraid to add what seems like a lot of salt — under-seasoned chili is an abomination and should not be tolerated.
Step Seven: Add Cornbread
I have a box of Jiffy cornbread in the back of the pantry, which is the perfect companion to a bowl of chili. I chopped up my preferred toppings — white onion, pickled jalapenos, and cilantro — while the chili cools to a less-molten temperature. Now enjoy the fruits of your labor, preferably with someone you love or, at the very least, someone who can help keep you warm if the lights go out.