Mea Culpa and a Bowl of Red

A while ago, I wrote about Dove Creek Pinto Beans and my spontaneous, demented purchase of an immense burlap bag of the same. I feel compelled to update this post for two reasons.

First, I must report that I still have an apparently bottomless sack of these beans, and that they are still unusually good. Predictably, though, they will not still be wondrous for their freshness by the time I use them up, should that day ever come. Indeed, I am kicking myself for not taking the opportunity of foisting some off on my children during their recent visit. Thus, as before, I caution you against following in my footsteps, unless you are in the Colorado vicinity, or have some other way of buying your this-years-crop pintos in reasonable quantities.

Secondly, and more importantly, I have discovered that I was entirely wrong about the little old man in the little old chili shack. He was not a narrative device, but a real person. I found this out when I stumbled across the original version of the ill-remembered internet account I had referred to. I found it in a collection of travel tales about food called True Stories of Life on the Road: Food, though it was originally published in "Chili Pepper Magazine"(I kid you not), in the September/October 1991 issue. It is called "A Man and his Chili," and was the work of Mr. Dick Beeson, a professor emeritus at the University of Idaho. The elderly cook he described was Mr. Pete Benevidez, the proprietor of an actual cafe in Albequerque in the 50's and 60"s called "Videz."

The original Videz cafe was buried by a freeway right-of-way, and though it was reopened, it wasn't the same. I don't know whether any vestige of the place exists, but its owner was elderly in the 1960's, so he's probably not still at the stove.

Mr. Beeson basically maintained that the original Videz served the best beans and the best bowl of red ever. With respect to beans, Mr. Benevidez had a number of notable tips, which were passed on to readers of the article. One was this: The light spots on pinto beans darken with age, so if there is not much contrast on the pinto beans you're thinking about buying, they have been on the store shelf for a good while. He liked his beans very plain, and did not believe in pre-soaking, or adding salt until the very end. And of course, they did not belong in the chili.

To atone, in part, for assuming that Mr. B was not a flesh and blood human being and cook, I thought I would make a bowl of red adapted from his recipe, as passed on by Professor Beeson. I actually had on hand the requisite 6 dried medium hot New Mexico chilis (surely this was meant to be.) I removed their stems and seeds, and soaked them in hot water to cover for half an hour.

I added a clove of garlic and a teaspoon of regular old dried Greek oregano (as opposed to Mexican, which I didn't have), and a little salt to the water, and whirred the whole thing up smooth with the immersion blender. ( Note: Be careful with the blender. You do not want even the tiniest drop of this to fly up your nose. I will say no more. Stop hooting.)

I added a pound of raw cubed pork shoulder (cubed very small), and cooked it very very slowly, for 2 and a half hours, adding a bit more liquid as it evaporated, to keep the level the same. In the original, the pork is taken out, and used for other purposes. I was a heretic, and left it in. I then added 1 pound of ground beef, without pre-browning it, and cooked it for 40 minutes more. Into the fridge to chill and defat. Best next day. Excellent- it's coming to work with me for several lunches. I admit, I eat it with saltines, though Mr. B scorned them. Plain as can be, and so good.

I hope I am forgiven.

Comments

[anapestic]

Where would the world be without heresy? I would mix the bowl of red with an equal quantity of cooked pinto beans and risk the wrath of the Southwest.

[Kimberly]

This Texan will confess - but only here - to having once or twice added beans to her chili. I won't hoot if you won't turn me in to the Texas chili police.