New Year's Chili...

There's a relatively sound argument to be made that chili lacks culinary "weight"; just meat and beans in a bowl. Spend a New Year's Day with us, and you may feel a bit different. For 15 years I've been doing chili to mark the start of the calendar, and have had many a sweaty browed, sauce smeared, smiling face to show for it. As with most of the best things in life, this was begun through spontaneity and accident. Hunting acting work when not pouring drinks at the Odeon in TriBeCa quite a few years back, someone was foolish enough to get me out to Los Angeles for an addition. (A job I didn't get.) A painter friend back in N.Y.C. offered up an old Craftsmen place that she had below the Hollywood sign, easily more appealing than the buddy's couch or cheap hotel alternatives. The place was massive, and empty except for a bed, couch, very old t.v., and full size male mannequin (recollection has his name as Dennis) that was completely "tatted" out apparently courtesy of being passed around at an Oakland summit of skin artists. A "Charlie Brown" tree was added as I extended my stay through the Holiday's, the string of lights holding it together helping to offset the lack of lamps.
 So New Year's Eve comes, and wrapped in good spirit along with my fair share of Single Malt, I invited any and all within ear shot over the next day for bowls of chili, cold beer, and morning to night college football. Hittin' the sheets about sunrise, it was on hour two or three of sleep when the pounding began on the front door, signaling the arrival of the masses. Little else to do than put on the "joe", crack a beer (It was great to be young.), and start cookin'. Somebody brought a big pink box of donuts, crullers, and apple fritters from Tang's down on Franklin (A fine product did Mr. Tang serve.), and this would have to do, as there would be little else to chow until The Rose Bowl. Oh, I did manage to put together some pico de gayo and a couple random salsa's along with tortilla chips, but the chili would need patience. That first year there were two offerings: turkey and black bean (heavy in cummin) and beef and pintos (leaning towards the Southwest), with numerous bowls of "fixin's" (cilantro, green onions, sour cream, several shredded cheeses, etc.). Cornbread was cobbled together from an old recipe which was not far removed from Jiff. Couldn't tell how many passed through the door that day, but two massive vats of chili went down, not to mention several tins of cornbread, untold cases of beer, several bottles of tequila, and... whatever else.
 It's evolved over the years, especially once Katie came on board. Her first year (year 6 in chili terms), she wrestled us out of the kitchen, the better to do her magic. And magic it was, with variations of the two chili's mentioned above (each I'm reluctant to say was significantly better that my best effort) along with a white bean version bearing chunks of beef shoulder that significantly raised the bar. Her little present hidden among the various roasted fresh chili's used that day were a few Scotch Bonnets that had us all drippin', old gym towels I'd managed to salvage draped about our necks. The three types of cornbreads were simple and delicious: plain, sharp cheddar, and roasted jalapeno.
 This year was a comparatively small group, with Katie breaking the golden rule of-all-things-meat by doing a vegetarian version inspired by friend George, a "veg"practitioner of more than 25 years. Thus it was that we had two takes on black beans: one rich in turkey thigh meat, and the other of roasted corn (bless those Summer jarring sessions) and cubes of firm tofu. Both had there share of cummin, Early Girl tomatoes (another gift from Katie's jarring efforts-over 50 lbs. of these this year), roasted Santa Anna's, jalapenos, and a long skinny one whose name escapes me, to go along with some of the dried Calabrian's we have drying in bunches all about the kitchen. The cornbread followed a similar divide: plain, except for bits of the roasted corn, and it's more decadent cousin studded with carmelized cubes of pork belly roasted initially on high then long on a low heat, including some of the rendered fat. The beer was in deed cold, but competed with a bottle of bubbly brought by friend George (a Pierre Peters Les Chétillons 2000) which gave way to offerings from the Rhône and Burgundy (most notably an '04 Faiveley). Chocolate truffles, which we surely didn't need and somehow attacked, finished us and the day off.
 Time and travel have had us thinking once or twice of giving it a miss, but any thought of this is easily pushed aside when the calls and e-mails start flowing, even from those too far away to join in. A few years back when sitting with a good buddy in the last couple of days of a health battle he would not win, he kept referring back to those early days of "chili fest". Clear and detailed were his recollections, including the day he arrived late from work to find that we'd upgraded to a big and beautiful new t.v. It wasn't until half time of the the final game of that day (The Sugar Bowl?) that he realized it was his t.v.; his roommate, a coconspirator in the "heist",  making a hasty exit out the back by way of the garden. Yeah, we'll keep making New Year's Day chili as long as there are other's with a keen appreciation for a warm bowl, a cold beer, and a bit of college football. (Recipes on request.)

 Chez Gautier Cooking School: http://www.chez-gautier.com