Thank God For Pizza

My favorite part of football season is the food. Don’t get me wrong I love the game, especially the playoffs. If fact, if it wasn’t for my season tickets to the Patriots I would have never found real BBQ or hot sauce. I prepare for the tailgate with the same intensity that fuels Belichick’s coaching. Anyway, my parking lot tailgate opportunities ended last week when the Patriots trounced the Jets. Sorry to my New York contingent, but now at least we can all root for the better team.

In my zeal to continue in true tailgate tradition I thought I would try a new chili recipe. I shot to the market at around 8 AM to purchase today’s ingredients and a few pancake making essential for Anthony’s breakfast. On my return I immediately whipped up a quick batch of Sunday morning Mickey Mouse shaped pancakes. While Anthony and “Moringzilla” ate I began to chop, seed and sauté. There are few things better than the smell of frying pancetta on a rainy football Sunday morning. All was well; I even had every ingredient for the chile, a rare occasion in my kitchen and usually a bad omen.

Everything was going swimmingly (I have been dying to use that word) the meat was browned and all I had to do was add the wet ingredients and the first round of spices. Well, after seeding chilies in adobo sauce for what seemed liked an eternity all was prepped. I poured a beer over the perfectly browned beef, added a healthy shot of Jack Daniels and reduced the liquid by more than half. The aroma of whiskey steeped beef was absolutely intoxicating. I poured in a can of kitchen ready tomatoes, dumped in the chilies and adobo and began to add my spices. This is where it all went awry and became one of those times when I needed to take my own advice.

I always tell people when they cook to relax and remember that it’s only food. I have written many times reminding people that a pizza is only a phone call away. I live by the ideal “it’s only food”. Well today I was bested by a chili recipe. Overcome by a one pot meal and almost brought to tears by a commercial size container of Cumin. As I was adding the cumin, directly from the spoon side of the shaker top, the cap feel off. The entire brand spanking new bottle, 14 ounces, emptied into my magic chili pot.

This is one of those errors that chili doesn’t recover from and brings the pizza guy to the front door. I couldn’t think of anyway to fix it; the pot is not nearly big enough to add any amount of ingredients to balance off the flavor. There will be no homemade chili for game time today. Thank God for pizza and Chinese food. Enjoy the playoffs.