Daniel Vaughn

Just got back from judging Chili in Terlingua, so I can properly take “beans do not belong in chili” a bit further. I’ve been attending the Tolbert cook-off for 19 years and for the last 9 I’ve judged on the finals table with Kathleen Tolbert whose father, Frank X. Tolbert, founded the cook-off. The term Chili con carne means Chile with meat. That’s what the Chili Queens who are credited with inventing it, sold in San Antonio. When chili emigrated to the dinner tables of families outside of Texas is when beans began being added. In the early days it was done to stretch the pot, which is totally fine if you’re feed a crowd, but that’s different than competition chili. The cook-off itself started in response to an article H. Allen Smith wrote in which he said leaving beans out was to “flout one of the basic laws of nature.” Frank Tolbert in response called his recipe vegetable stew and coined the phrase, “If you know beans about chili, you know that chili has no beans.” They decided to settle the disagreement with a cook-off on “neutral” ground. Terlingua, Texas was selected and has been home to the cook-off ever since. In competition chili, beans are considered a filler no different than noodles or any of the other ungodly things I’ve heard people add to their bowls of red. And I know for those of you who like beans, your very tired response will be something to the effect of, “you must have been rich if you ate chili with no beans.” I wasn’t. My Mom made our clothes. She grocery shopped with a tackle box full of coupons. I rarely got brand named clothes as a kid. We weren’t extravagant eaters. And truth be told, we didn’t eat a lot of chili. My appreciation and understanding came from my 19 years, nearly half of my life, of attending the cook-off, subsequently reading Frank X. Tolbert’s A Bowl of Red, and eating a lot of bowls of red, some homemade and some at a restaurant. I’ve had it with beans. I’ve had it with diced onions. I’ve had it with cheese, sour cream, and plenty of crackers crunched in. I love chili. But the original and best of the best that holds up well to sitting in a cup for several hours awaiting judging, reheats well, or simply will be enjoyed right out of the pot with loved ones around a kitchen table is a bowl of red with no beans. You can call me wrong if you’d like. But I rest easy knowing I eat chili the right way, without beans, just as God intended.