I am backdating this post for good reason. My writing done on 2/16 was in the form of recipes. While I’m using this writing thing to ultimately publish books and get money and get money to get women and get women to get crazy and get crazy to get out of the house and get out of the house to have peice of mind, what I’m really doing is trying desperately to establish a legacy.
And so, within a Moleskine notebook I purchased years ago with the idea of using as a beer journal before Moleskine came out with said Beer Journal Moleskine notebooks (and subsequently purchased 3) I’m also writing recipes. The idea is that my children then, in turn add pages, purchase their own Moleskine and pass mine down to my grandchildren who will likely be old enough to have a fond memory of their grandpa and fondness for the man he was. I’m hoping they then pass that on to their children who remember their grandma and grandpas.
And so on.
The recipe today was Chili, of which I am quite fond of browning beef, chile peppers, and absolutely adding zero tomatoes and zero beans. This does not mean I don’t enjoy beans nor tomatoes; I assuredly do. However, in my Chili, of which I am possessive, of which I speak of with a capital C for importance and reverence, neither bean nor tomato have a place within the bowl or vessel. No, this Chili with a capital C is enjoyed best with a cool beer as it takes half the liquid from beer. It takes seasoning from ample chile powder, lower case this time as it is not as important as the Chili itself, Chili as a whole.
And there is, of course, my secret ingredient, the one that keeps them coming back for more. An unassuming and yet deliciously paired with chile since the beginning of time — chocolate.
Those fortunate enough to taste will sing the praises. Those who research well have been given ample ability from the above paragraphs to piece the recipe together, or at the very least a reasonable facsimile of.