The chili dispute

by Katie on October 27, 2010

I made a pot of chili for supper last night. We had our first cool, fall-like evening of the year, and it just felt right.

The problem was, making chili this year reminded me of last year’s chili.

Prior to Brandon’s week-long elk hunt with lots of boys in tow last year, I cooked a ton of food. Seriously. I hashed it all out back then, if you’re interested. Anyway, included in that was a container of chili.

Most of my pre-hunt cooking was accomplished by throwing something in the crockpot, each of us eating a serving for supper that night, and the rest going into a container to freeze and await the sacred hunt.

This is what we did with the chili. And I swear, it tasted good. I’m not just saying that. Typically, if I make something that’s so-so, or not all that great (which, thankfully, is not often at all), I am first to speak up about it. But it was good chili.

Brandon, on the other hand, will tell you it was like eating canned dog food. He agrees the flavor was perfectly fine, but says the meat was on the soggy/mushy side.

Where I come from, we eat rice in our chili (which is a whole other debate around here), so I guess that’s why I didn’t notice.

But back to the elk hunt. He goes away with all that food, right. And returns with almost none of it. The lone survivor? The chili.

When I unpacked it, I, half-joking, said, “What’d you do, tell them not to eat this?”

“Well…yeah.”

Not the answer I was expecting, to say the least. I was half angry, half embarrassed, at the thought of a bunch of guys coming in for dinner, eying the chili, and Brandon saying, “I wouldn’t get into that if I were you. It’s like eating dog food.”

Which I know is not how it happened. He’s much more tactful than that when it comes to defending my honor. But a girl can’t help but get that impression.

The thing is, if I would have thought it was bad, or even not that great, I would be completely okay with the whole thing. But I still stand behind my claim that it was good chili.

Anyway, the dogs ended up eating that chili a few months later. And every night, as I took some out to them (it was a big pot), I would say, “I can’t believe we’re feeding this good chili to the dogs. What a waste,” loud enough for Brandon to hear, of course.

So I guess I also made chili last night to prove a point.

That I make good chili.

And it worked.

But I’m still bitter.

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