Silver Mettle

Being from Oklahoma,

I can’t stand Texas—

but if they got

one thing right,

it’s chili.

•

Chili shouldn’t

have beans.

Beans are filler.

People who prefer them

probably enjoy

circus peanuts.

•

Meat,

meat,

and more meat—

brisket burnt ends,

ground chuck,

top sirloin.

A little bacon

to make it sing.

•

Onions,

garlic,

celery

cooking down.

It smells like

Heaven’s kitchen door

is open.

•

Heat,

heat,

and more heat—

habaneros,

jalapeños,

chipotles.

•

The pot is loaded

with peppers—

a cauldron

that could make

a dragon sweat.

I grabbed

every pepper

on the aisle,

except

a pack

of pickled peppers.

Peter would be

disappointed.

•

More spices

than a Turkish bazaar.

•

Honestly,

I couldn’t afford

anything else.

Budgetary constraints—

hopefully not

my downfall.

•

Wait—

who hung

a sign that said

“Too spicy!”

on my pot?

What sort of

interoffice sabotage

is this?

•

Quickly,

I add:

“For weaklings.”

•

It doesn’t matter.

Minds are made up.

•

The voting is in—

•

$200

for second place.

My trophy

eludes me

yet again.

No golden ladle

hanging proudly

in my cubicle.

•

It’s not my fault

they have no taste.

Vanilla is too spicy,

apparently.

•

I lost to Frank—

and his

white chicken chili.

Which anyone

with a conscience

would agree—

is soup.

•

And I nearly

finished third

to a guy who bought

canned chili

and added—

ketchup.

•

I think I’ll take

next year off.

Let this loss

marinate.

•

…who am I kidding.

•

Back to

the drawing board.

•

Next year—

pancetta

instead of bacon.

Budget be damned.