One of the longest-running gags in my sister’s social circle is how she loves to compete in cooking events, but she never wins them. In fact, at one local bar she’s taken part in something like five or six straight cook-offs and never finished above second place. “Always a bridesmaid,” her friends like to chide her. Sometimes they’ll even FaceTime me while I’m at work just to boast about her latest disappointment. You could imagine my excitement when the bar scheduled a chili cook-off for this weekend specifically so that I could compete against my sister.
All week, I’ve been accidentally making plans for Sunday. This has infuriated my sister, as she has worked hard to promote the “event” on Facebook and through her various friends. According to her, dozens of people were going to show up to taste and judge and compete in our chili cook-off. Hell, my father was even reported to be in attendance.
I think deliberations about chili recipes began on Thursday. Her boyfriend and another close friend came by for Thanksgiving dinner and possible lists of ingredients were discussed. The conversation about what recipe she would make heated up on Friday. She asked if I wanted to go out to a bar Saturday night or if we should stay in after our dinner plans and cook our chili. Honestly, I hadn’t really thought about it yet. Again, she expressed her displeasure. This was MY event, planned around MY schedule, and I was treating it like it was of little importance.
When she decided on her white chili with chicken — when she headed out to the market for ingredients — I think was the moment (or series of moments) I realized I should probably figure out what I was going to do for the chili cook-off. When she came home and started cubing said chicken, chopping onions and dicing green chiles…when she was measuring out the cumin and the oregano and the cayenne pepper…I started to wonder what the hell I was going to do. As she tasted, re-tasted, stirred and let simmer her creation. When she asked me to taste to let her know if it was too peppery, too bland, too salty, too herbal tasting, I wondered, “Am I going to even get off my lazy ass and cook some chili? Or am I going to disappoint my sister by showing up to the bar tomorrow empty handed?”
Then I had an idea. A great idea. I decided that I’d go to Wendy’s in the morning and just buy a bunch of their chili. I mean…I’ve never had it before, but I remember back in high school my friends would get it when they were stoned, so it had to be pretty good. Good enough for stoners. Aren’t stoners a lot like patrons in a bar? They’re both looking for an escape, right? Maybe Wendy’s chili was just the escape these New Jersey barflies were looking for.
This morning, Elissa had a meltdown before leaving for the bar. Her chili was too watery. Mom suggested using flour to make a roux, then remembered that she could use masa to create a slurry. That might help thicken the chili. Luckily, mom had a homemade chili kit on hand that included masa. She slurried and she simmered some more, and eventually the chili thickened. Dried tears on her mascara-stained cheeks, my sister departed for the bar, chili bowl in hand.
A few minutes after she left I hopped in my car and drove to Rt-10 in East Hanover. I rolled up to the Drive-Thru window at Wendy’s and asked how many ounces of chili came in a Large container. The answer was 16. I figured four larges would be enough for me. I then took *my* chili and returned to my mother’s kitchen, where I dumped the contents of the Wendy’s containers into a pot, brought it to a light boil, and added in cayenne pepper, paprika, cumin, white pepper, and crushed red pepper. Once I was satisfied with the amount of heat I’d imparted (it was borderline blistering, which I assumed would be inedible for most people) I headed to the bar.
The judges started their tastings at 3pm sharp. Our pots were re-heated in the bar’s kitchen area so at they were similar temperatures. Each dish received a number that corresponded with our names, so that the competing bowls of chili were completely anonymous. Everyone was on edge waiting to hear the results. Nerves were fried. Elissa received much support from her friends, and from my father. I received…not as much support. Some guy told me he couldn’t eat my chili in good faith because there were peas in there. I told him I was sorry, I didn’t know I’d put peas in there. Others told me they liked the two different kinds of beans I used. What were they? “Red and kidney,” I lied. Someone asked how I got it to taste so sweet. “I cook with love,” I said.
When the judges stepped outside to deliberate, several people attempted to weasel their way onto the patio to overhear what they were discussing. One person heard that numbers 1 and 3 were in contention for the win. My chili was number one. My sister’s friend Brian was number 3. Others heard that 2 and 4 were neck and neck. My sister was #4, and some guy called Jim was #2. After the judges finished their tasting, everyone else was allowed to sample the five competing dishes.
That’s right, there were only five variations of chili competing in this cook-off. The odds that both Elissa and I would place were quite good. Actually, they were REALLY good. One of the five competing chilis was created by the chef who worked the kitchen in the bar. He was allowed to serve his chili with the rest of us, but he was not allowed to win the competition. Conflict of interest or something. Needless to say I did my best to sell chili #1, but when I tasted the competition I was not so sure of where I stood. Brian’s chili (#3) was awesome. He used a ton of smoked paprika and bacon in his recipe, and the results were delicious. I also really liked #5, which used spicy italian sausage in lieu of ground beef. Until I learned that #5 was the “disqualified” chef from the bar, I would have awarded Brian first place, the chef second, and my sister third place. With the chef unable to place, I decided that maybe I’d win third place, or maybe that guy Jim would win third place. His recipe tasted too much like meat sauce and not enough like chili, but how was I to know what the judges might think.
Finally, it was time to hear the results.
In third place… my sister. Literally everyone in the bar began to cheer upon hearing her name read aloud. I think half of them were cheering because once again she came up short in a cooking competition, thus running her winless streak to…6? 7? Almost half the room cheered and hooted because they knew the odds of me beating her had just increased. A couple people were cheering because, yes, both those things…but also because I’d told them about my “secret” Wendy’s recipe.
In second place… me! In a way I was happy I didn’t win the chili cook-off, because I would have felt really bad cheating (for lack of a better term) and winning the top prize. I collected my $75 gift certificate and returned to our section of the bar, where I received many hugs and handshakes from my sisters friends. After the winner (that guy Jim, and not Brian, which I thought was total bullshit!) was announced, I decided to come clean. I turned to my sister’s friends, who were all making fun of my poor sister for losing to her younger brother, and I let them know the truth.
The key to winning a chili cook-off, I said, was not to spend all Saturday night cooking some unique recipe that showcased one’s culinary abilities or innovativeness. It was not to wake up early Sunday morning and tweak the dish. The key to winning a chili cook-off, I said, was to just drive over to Wendy’s and buy four large containers of chili. Then serve that chili to people who didn’t know they were eating Wendy’s chili. I mean…it’s been on the menu for a while, that must mean it’s pretty good! Good enough to win second place in a cook-off, apparently!
And then the laughs. Oh, the laughs. The laughs about Wendy’s. The laughs about my sister losing to Wendy’s. They were so loud, so boisterous, so warm and sarcastic and biting and hilarious. I loved every second of it. For a moment you’d think I was the culinary genius the fine people at Wendy’s apparently are! Who do you think came up with that recipe anyway? Dave Thomas, co-founder of Wendy’s? I don’t care. I was so happy in that moment. I put forth minimum effort. I spent $10.66 on ingredients. Ingredient. There was only one ingredient and it was the pre-made chili I bought from Wendy’s and then passed off as my own in order to enter a cook-off, WHICH I ALMOST WON.
Maybe next time I’m home there will be another competition I can enter. Maybe it’ll be a cake-off or something. And I go to to the Cake Boss and have him make a cake for me. Or maybe that will be too expensive, and I’ll just swing by 7-11 and pick up an Entenmann’s chocolate cake, take it out of the box and drop it on the table with the other entries. And who knows, maybe I’ll win again without even trying.
Maybe I’ve found my calling, guys.
UPDATE [12/2/13 10:45am]: According to several sources, after I left the bar yesterday it was revealed to my sister that she actually placed FOURTH in the competition, out of four entries. Apparently the owner of the bar — upon learning that she was awarded last place in the cook-off — decided to ad-lib and announced her as the 3rd place winner, so as to protect her fragile ego. Afterwards, the bar owner told Brian — the true third place winner — that she had done this in order to stave off a potential meltdown. Having known my sister for over thirty years, I can’t say I blame her.
HAHAHAHAHA. MY SISTER ACTUALLY FINISHED IN LAST PLACE! AND I STILL BEAT HER WITH WENDY’S CHILI!
Holy Sons – My Lot In Live [MP3]
