What's for dinner?

There are certain traditions you just don't mess with. One of them has to do with camping and eating chili. It was always the same when we went out to the cabin. First, the "pit" had to be emptied. This was a thankless job that the newest member of the group was given; it was a sort of hazing but always done in a good-natured way. One of the things retrieved from the enormous void in the earth was a large black pot, more of a cauldron really. This was important because it would be involved in a second time-honoured tradition. The production of chili.

The recipe was never really important, although for it to be chili there had to be tomatoes, beef, and kidney beans. After that came the spices. Sometimes they came in the form of an all-in-one mix while other times they were delivered individually according to taste. Then came some of the ingredients that always caused a stir amongst the temporary residents. Onions, mushrooms, and green peppers. Most of us accepted these as part of the process, but there was always one person who vociferously rejected the idea. Charles.

After a fire got going the ingredients had to be prepared. Dell was usually the one organizing it all. It was something he seemed destined to do. The pot was placed on a grate or hung from a tripod structure. Hamburger was cooked and the various components added. When it was time to put the questionable parts in Charles would voice his opposition; all the time Dell laughing at his picky brother. It was going in and there was nothing anyone could do about it. I suppose the whining was as much tradition as the meal itself.

There was something missing. What was it again? Oh, yes. The vital ingredient to make it a camping chili. Burnt stick. There was always a long stick near the fire which was used to arrange the logs and coals in a desirable manner. It would get quite charred on the end. It would be thrust into the boiling concoction and cast about to keep the contents from burning. After all, there would be burnt stick in there, why add to perfection? And so the process would continue until dinner was ready.

We all were hungry from the day's activities and engrossed ourselves with the task of eating. Buns were buttered, drinks poured, and stories told. Inevitably you would find Charles with a heaping bowl of the stuff with a growing mound of onions, mushrooms, and green peppers being removed. There was always lots; seconds were often procured and everyone ate their fill. There was just one more thing.

It seems that burnt-stick chili (recipe above) always generated a copious amount of flatulence. The first to experience its effect was Dell, who would proudly expel the intestinal gases with as much force as possible and announce to all that the chili was indeed working. Indeed, you could be anywhere within the camp area and become aware of what just took place. All the senses were simultaneously assaulted. Tradition was not something to be messed with.

Thanks for reading.     Ericspix     Eric Svendsen