food
Superior Vegetarian Chili Recipe (hyper-annotated)
Rejoice, nerds and ascetics alike (and you know who you are), for your humble servant, the Irrev. Fr. Andrew, is passing on to you in tradition this, the recipe for the finest vegetarian chili you will ever eat. (If it is not, then that means you’re doing it wrong.)
This recipe originally started with a certain Mr. Gorski with whom I shared living space years ago, but in my vanity and wanton abandon, I took it upon myself to experiment with making it without any meat. And lo! there was an angelic-esque visitation, placing upon me not the monastic schema (for such a thing would never fit me, anyhow), but rather this recipe for perfect nourishment without the flesh of animals.
The annotation is for the nerds.
Superior Chili (vegetarian, hyper-annotated version)[1]
Ingredients
6 cans (12 cups) of beans (black, red or pinto, or a combination), soaked or at least somewhat cooked[2]
3 bay leaves
6 tbsp paprika[3]
2 medium sized dried peppers, ground[4]
1 tsp cayenne or other ground hot pepper
6 tbsp cumin
6 tbsp oregano[5]
4-6 medium onions
4 big-sized fresh hot peppers[6]
6 cans (12 cups) of tomatoes[7]
1 bulb of garlic, peeled and smashed[8]
vegetable oil[9]
splash of red wine (optional)
Preparation time: about 45-60 minutes
Cooking time: 3-5 hours
Put the beans in a big stock pot (as big as you got; no, bigger), under about an inch of water, along with the bay leaves. Bring the pot to a boil, and then back it off to a simmer. Now, make your chili powder.[10]
Combine the paprika with the ground dry peppers and cayenne.[11] Set aside. Heat a small pan to between medium and medium-high heat. Put in the oregano and cumin. Toast them in the pan, mixing continuously with the edge of a spatula to keep them from burning. When they start to give off a strong aroma and give off just a tiny bit of smoke, they’re done—this may be only 20-30 seconds, depending on heat, ambient humidity, etc. Add the paprika/pepper mixture, stirring for a few seconds until the whole thing is mixed up and warm. Remove from heat and set aside. This is the chili powder.
Chop up the onions and fresh peppers (exclude the seeds for milder spice level). Put some oil in a skillet and sautée the onions and peppers until the onions are translucent and the peppers are soft.
Add the peppers and onions to the big pot, being sure to include the oil, which is now full of oniony and peppery goodness. Add tomatoes. Add the chili powder. Add the garlic.[12] You may also add a splash of red wine.
Stir pot, sample, adjust spices as necessary. You may wish to add some salt, but you should probably wait until it’s more done.
Stir occasionally, letting simmer uncovered. Expect at least 3 hours of simmering time, but 4 may be better. It really depends on how much liquid you’ve got in the pot. It’s done when the thickness is what you expect chili to have.
Feeds a small army.
Various notes:
Shopping: When shopping for spices, go directly to the Mexican/Hispanic section of the grocery store first. They often have bulk paprika, oregano, and cumin available at a fraction of what you’ll pay elsewhere in the store. They may also have your dried peppers in this section. Also be sure to know your fresh peppers by name, because the clerk at the checkout line will have to call in reinforcements while trying to look up what you’re buying.
The Joys of Capsaicin: Capsaicin is the chemical which makes hot peppers hot. When a pepper is dry, capsaicin remains relatively contained, but when you cut up fresh peppers, even the mild ones like I prefer, you get it all over your hands. It’s invisible. If you’re like me, you absentmindedly touch your face often in your life. If you do this while you’re making this chili, YOU WILL FEEL PAIN. Capsaicin doesn’t just burn your tongue and make things have that nice flavor, but it also will make your skin feel like it’s glowing. It’s not too bad until you rub your eyes or (God forbid) do anything involving the inside of your nose. Avoid touching your face if at all possible, and wash your hands multiple times when you’re done. A friend of mine (an accomplished cook) recommends using latex gloves for handling the peppers.
The Spice Must Flow: This recipe is made to feed a small army. Many armies like spicy food, especially if they are composed of Indians or South Americans. American armies, however, tend to have a variety of preferences, so I recommend that unless you’re planning on just feeding Indians, South Americans, or otherwise spice-enhanced peoples, you should plan for a milder chili and make extra cayenne available for those who want it. If you accidentally overspice, don’t panic! Add more tomatoes and beans. (You can also soak a raw potato in the pot for a while. It will absorb both saltiness and spice. Don’t leave it in there.)
Meat: This recipe can handle meat, but the addition of it will magnify the spiciness. Be forewarned, and be prepared to back off on the dry peppers and cayenne. If you do put in meat, use steak. (Why settle for ground beef? This is Superior Chili.) Sear it, then throw it in the pot after everything else.
Adjust, adjust, adjust: I tend to follow this same pattern pretty much every time, but I always end up adjusting as I go. The world’s a crazy, chaotic place, and this isn’t a formula. It’s a recipe, which is a starting point, not a commandment. This recipe is what it is here because I decided to keep trying things. I eventually learned that using a bean to tomato ratio of 1:1 provides a hearty flavor even without meat. (Most chili recipes use a 2:1 ratio.)
Timing: Especially because there are so many variables that can affect the liquid level, the cooking time is going to be long and could vary. Start this around lunch time to be ready for dinner. If it gets done before dinner, put the lid on, lower the temperature even more, and let it simmer so that the flavors keep blending. Longer is better. (And this will taste even better tomorrow after it’s sat a night in the fridge.)
Enjoy!
Footnotes:
1. From the Rev. Andrew Stephen Damick, based on a recipe received from Mr. Christopher P. Gorski.
2. I really like using a 5:1 ratio of black to pinto. I honestly don’t know if the flavor would be as hearty if it were a majority red or pinto pot. In any event, they should already be cooked. The ones in cans are somewhat cooked, but the dry kind are most certainly not. If you use the canned kind, do not throw away the syrupy liquid but include it in the pot. If you use the dry, throw away the initial water you used to cook them. You’ll need to add more water when you put them in the pot. Dry beans are cheaper and will also tend to retain their shape better in the final product, but you also have to soak them overnight.
3. The chief export of Hungary is paprika. Support the Hungarian economy. Make more chili.
4. I like anchos, which really are simply what poblano peppers are called when dried. W hen grinding the peppers, you can use your coffee grinder, but be sure to remove the stems first. Empty out the seeds unless you like your chili extra spicy. (Clean your coffee grinder out by grinding dry rice in it, then wiping out with a cloth or paper towel.)
5. Powdered or finely ground is best, but coarse is usually cheaper. If you buy coarse, you can grind it up more finely with a coffee grinder.
6. I like to use 2 ancho/poblano peppers and 2 anaheims. If you like heat, add serranos, habaneros, and/or jalapenos.
7. Fresh really is best, but if you get canned, make sure they’re not the kind with anything added to them. We’ll season and spice our own food, thank you very much. If you use fresh, you’ll need to dice them.
8. You can mince your garlic if you like, but smashing really is better. The best method is with a mortar and pestle. A secret I learned from Palestinians is to salt the cloves before you smash them into a pulp. It brings out the garlickiness much better. Of course you don’t have to use a whole bulb, but how can you ever have too much garlic?
9. A relatively flavorless oil is best. Olive oil or other oils with their own strong character don’t usually work here, but of course your mileage may vary.
10. DO NOT pansy out and buy pre-made chili powder. This is what makes this recipe Superior. Thank my former roommate. (I will not even tell you how to use pre-made chili powder with this recipe.)
11. You may also add a little garlic powder if you wish, but really, don’t bother. You have a BULB of FRESH garlic going in later.
12. No wait, add more garlic. MORE. Make sure you scrape every tiny morsel of garlic into the pot.
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The Locus and Economy of Community (The Transfiguration of Place, Part II)
The following is Part II of a talk I gave on April 2nd at the St. Emmelia Orthodox Homeschooling Conference at the Antiochian Village. The full talk is entitled “The Transfiguration of Place: An Orthodox Christian Vision of Localism.” Read Part I. There are six parts in all.
Let’s think about this effect for a moment: What if transportation became so expensive that you could no longer travel easily? What if you lived your whole life within about a mile of your house? What if your community really had an actual locus to it, that is, a place? What if you walked almost everywhere you went? What would life look like?
Because you would see them all the time, you would probably know almost everyone in your neighborhood. Because the streets would be filled with walking people, you would have a porch on the front of your house and probably not a patio in the back—a porch is a place of public connection, while the patio is for privacy. You would be more concerned with how your lawn looks, not just whether it’s mowed but whether it actually frames the life you want to live. You would have a garden in your yard, because a lot of the things you want to eat just wouldn’t be at the stores in your neighborhood. And those stores in your neighborhood would be less specialized and more geared toward the general basics of the home and garden.
I think it’s hard for us to imagine what this would be like because we’re so oriented toward constant mobility. Our societal watchwords are easier and faster. All our technological development seems to be pointed in that direction—things that make life easier and faster. The ATM is faster: I don’t have to go in and see a bank teller, and I can use it any time, day or night. Online bill-pay is easier: I don’t have to send an envelope to some far-off place, nor do I have to practice my penmanship. The superhighway is faster: I don’t have to drive through all those small towns with their stoplights. My smartphone is both easier and faster: I don’t have to look things up in a book, call an informed person on the phone or even be inconvenienced by sitting at a computer.
But all these technological wonders—which, it must be admitted, have also been used for much good—leave us both freed and also enslaved. Every time I use another “labor-saving device,” I am almost inevitably cut off from another person with whom I had an opportunity to have a relationship. Every time I prefer centralization over localization, I am de-localizing myself. Every time I login to Facebook, I am neither seeing actual faces nor reading a book. This is the nervous system of the simulacrum commonly called “globalization.”
The essence of globalization is supposedly interconnectedness, that all of us who were formerly cut off from one another now have the possibility of becoming networked. But if we think about what is actually happening here, we are not more connected but more isolated. We may have more connections, but they are much more anemic relationships. A man with a thousand friendships will have a hard time maintaining one good one, because he just won’t have the time. His interconnectedness actually limits or prevents real connection.
Or consider something like the supermarket. In that one building, there are products from all over the world. Probably tens of thousands of farmers contribute to the products in one supermarket, not to mention those who work in the packaging and shipping industries. With one full shopping cart, I could be contributing to the livelihood of thousands of people. And yet these days, I do not have to interact with even one. I can even use the self-check-out machines rather than letting an employee scan my bar-codes for me.
We hear about how we are now a “global community” and a “global economy,” but I wonder what exactly that means. In the grocery store, my money is distributed in miniscule amounts in tens of thousands of directions. On television and on the Internet, I read and watch about people suffering in far-off places. I have opinions about politics in North Africa and Wisconsin. My tax dollars go to people not only throughout my state and my country, but also the whole world. I know more about musicians from another country than I do in my own Pennsylvania borough. But I don’t know any of those people. It is almost impossible for me to have a relationship with any of them. Our web of economic and political interdependence is essentially anonymous. I don’t know them, and they don’t know me. Public life has become about policies and publicity, but there is little in the way of the palpable.
But why does that matter? Why shouldn’t I give my one thousandth of a cent to a produce farmer in South America and another thousandth to a Malaysian chair maker?
It is because we do not really depend on one another, at least, not very much. I have no sense of loyalty to them or responsibility for them. Our interdependence is so diffuse that there is almost no possibility that any of our hearts would be stirred to gratitude or to admiration for the work we do for each other. We cannot even look each other in the eye. And that is a spiritual problem.
