Adventures in Chili

Every Christmas Eve at my parent's house, they make chili. I wasn't there this year, but I can tell you exactly how it went down.

Mom: Puts raw onions in the chili because that's how my parents like them. (I never liked onions as a child, I have since discovered that I like them, just now on the verge of raw.) And here is where it gets good. She doubles the amount of spices because she is thinking about how my dad doesn't think he has eaten unless he can't feel his tongue at the end of the meal. Mom wanders out of the kitchen to let the chili simmer.

Dad: Wanders in and thinks that there is no way mom could have put enough spices in the chili and besides his sinuses need to be cleared out. So he dumps some more in. Dad wanders out to watch whatever sporting event is on TV.

Mom: Comes back in and remembers all the leftovers from last year and thinks that it must be because she didn't add enough spices. So she dumps some more in.

End Result: Dad is crying by the end of the meal and loves it. The rest of us are wishing we had a fire hose handy and have mostly subsisted on the peanut butter crackers. We can't feed it to the dog because she won't even eat it.

Lest you think I am joking, I have watched them do this dance many times. Well tonight I made some chicken chili from a Barefoot Contessa recipe. I figured I would be safe since the woman isn't afraid of spice, but she knows when to quit. One problem, I halved the recipe except I forgot to halve the spices, and what I ended up with was very close to my mom's chili. An avocado mashed up in a bowel and some tortilla chips made it eatable, but sure brought back some scary memories.