Lyfting Me Up

The Whisper Creek Activity Committee sponsored a Chili Cook-Off today. It was a well-promoted event, complete with a jumping castle and all the chili trimmings. MK spent the better part of a week with our consulting chef, grandson Zach, constructing her entry.

In the past, I was always the chili chef when we had the annual chili contest at our Fall Festivals at South Broadway CC. I gratefully turned over our family honor to her. I NEVER won at the South Broadway event. Once I came in third, but the competition there was very stiff. I did learn that one of the secret ingredients of a two-time winner was apple juice. (His mom coached him.)

I remember trying different mixes, including the very hot Pueblo chiles from DiSanti Farms. One of the things we would do at the end of the Cook-Off was combine ALL of the leftover chili into one giant concoction. On more than one occasion, the consensus was clean bowls and big smiles.

Today was interesting. There were some folks there who took it really seriously. One guy was casually walking around talking about all the “wins” in his Cook-Off past.

We only got to vote once. Of course, I voted for MK’s—it was very good. Actually, they were all very good and unique.

They narrowed the field down to the top three. One lady had never made chili before, another was the Chili Lobbyist, and the third was a gal whose entire family of at least ten occupied the back wall.

Needless to say, she won.

I noticed the look of slight despair on the Cook-Off pro’s face.

They were all asked about their recipes. Mr. Chili said he uses smoked buffalo meat that he smokes himself. A person sitting at my table said one of the chilies had a pound of butter melted into it.

You can get heartburn and a heart attack all in one bowl, I thought.

The gal who took third was the one who had never made chili before. She couldn’t even remember everything she had put in it.

“I just sort of made it up as I was going along.”

I so wish she had nudged out Mr. “Buffalo Chili,” as low-grade Schadenfreude is one of my favorite emotions.

Tomorrow I head off with nephew Jed and his daughter Emily to her first-ever Bronco game. I assure you, the one thing I won’t get at the concession stand is chili.

It feels more like a brat day.

Onward and Upward,

Mark