I Made Chili Today

I live in paradise.

Not really, but the northerners who transplant themselves in Florida couldn’t be happier with the 360+ days of sunshine and hot temperatures. You could say St. Pete is a paradise of sorts, an oasis of culture and inclusivity in a state where book banning is the de riguer and the hashtag, Florida Man, was invented.

St. Pete, with the 3rd largest urban waterfront park system in the United States, world-class museums, and rankings as one of the “happiest” and “most dog-friendly” places to live, is a great place to live.

We suffer through long sweaty summers, with a different type of seasonal affective disorder that keeps neighbors inside during the hottest months, just as winter halts life in many areas. I’ve never had to shovel my way out of my front door, or scrape ice off the car windshield. I own one wardrobe, and I rarely wear socks.

An easier life in many ways, but I miss fall. I live vicariously through the Facebook photos of apple-picking friends bedecked in matching plaid shirts, posing on haystacks. My husband says in jest that his family escaped from Detroit in 1972, but every year he reminisces about the Franklin Cider Mill in Farmington Hills. Instead of growing up with the ritual of apple cider and plain donuts, I sweated in Halloween costumes with and gasped for air behind matching plastic masks that slid down my face, despite the tight elastic that left red marks behind my ears.

This isn’t a complaint, but more of a lament, for we tire of anything that goes on too long. The reward for getting out of bed before 8 a.m. on a Sunday morning was the chance to enjoy a 65-degree morning. Coffee brewing, bagel toasting, I promptly opened the French doors and the dining room sliders. As I breathed in the cross breeze, I told Alexa to add chopped tomatoes, cilantro, a jalapeno pepper, and corn to the shopping list. The rest of the ingredients for my favorite chili recipe resided in the pantry.

My daughter Jordan shared this 1-Pot Red Lentil Chili recipe from Minimalist Baker with me in 2020. Like many students, the Covid pandemic meant that she finished her senior year of college at home. Like thousands of families across the country, we hosted drive-by horn-honking graduation parties in our front yard and toasted her around our kitchen island as we watched the virtual graduation ceremony.

We were luckier than most. We stayed healthy, and we had a puppy to distract us from staying home. Hannah was a Golden Retriever/Labrador and the 11th pup we raised for Southeastern Guide Dogs. In addition to teaching cues and house manners, we take the pups to public places, anywhere a visually impaired person would go. Covid prevented that, but each day we completed virtual challenges assigned to us by the trainers. We dressed Hannah up in hats and scarves, created an indoor obstacle course, and played siren, fire truck and fireworks sounds on the computer. This helped compenstate for the lack of external stimuli.

The pandemic was unprecedented. We were all finding our way, trying to new things.

During lockdown, I discovered that Jordan was a fantastic cook. She’d been away at college, so she hadn’t had the opportunity to cook for us. My first job as a mother was to feed her. From breast to bottle, then learning how to eat and enjoy a variety of solid foods, meals were a form of sustenance only. Now, we were exchaning recipes like the vegan chili that has become my annual fall ritual and others that we either text to each other or send via direct message on Instagram.

Food is mechanism for connection and community. It doesn’t replace personal interaction, but cooking for others and sharing a meal with friends and family can foster new relationships and nurture familial bonds. Memories emerge whenever I cook a favorite recipe.

In the first few years of our marriage, my husband, Rick, and I were on a tight budget. He’d just opened his law office and only got paid when cases settled. My job at the newspaper and his part-time job at another law firm paid the bills. Still, money was tight. Our Bon Appetit subscription was an indulgence that inspired our weekend dinners.

Each month we dog-eared pages of new recipes. Over the years, we built a collection of favorites. Instead of choosing to cook from home for financial reasons, we do so more than we eat out because it elicits memories and the pride in creating.

We’ve been married almost 31 years, but every Thanksgiving Rick cooks the Apricot Glazed Turkey with Roasted Onion and Shallot Gravy from a 1994 Bon Appetit.

Somehow, this and all our cookbooks survived a 2008 house fire. Many photos did not, but at least these traditions remained. Stained and a little tattered, this and other treasured recipes are preserved in plastic in a one-inch binder.

I know the Bon Appetit Penne with Two Cheeses recipe by heart. It’s a crowd pleaser and my go-to when someone I know needs comfort food.

Ina Garten’s Rigatoni with Sausage and Fennel reminds me of the time I was lucky enough to be the guest of my friend Kathy, a former food writer for our local newspaper, when Garten came to town. I enjoyed a girls’ night out with Kathy, her daughter Julia, and Janet (the newspaper’s former food editor) to hear Ina speak of her husband, Jeffrey’s favorite recipes. When I choose a recipe from my signed copy of Cooking for Jeffrey, I’m reminded of that evening’s engaging conversation, and how it felt to be a few hundred feet away from one of my favorite chefs.

I’ve come a long way since the best “meal” I cooked was a tuna melt. When Rick and I first started hosting family gatherings, I had to convince my mom that I really did cook part of the meal. Cooking for friends and family brings joy. I still get nervous about whether everything will turn out okay. I quickly banish those thoughts because obsessing over perfection prevents us from truly enjoying life.

Food is a celebration of life, and I try to live the mantra that every day should be celebrated. My next pot of chili will be for my friend, Carolyn, who is battling breast cancer. She’s going to be okay, and even those she has the benefit of an early diagnosis and better prognosis than most, her treatment has been grueling. If there’s a side effect or mishap, it finds her. Carolyn’s journey makes my 6 months of chemotherapy and radiation look like a walk in the park.

The fragility of life is a reminder that we are here to serve, share, and love as we can. Whether that’s through food, sharing your words, or something else, believe in the power of connectedness. It’s food for the soul.