PHOTOGRAPHS MYLES NEW
Since it was frst cooked back in the early 19th century, chilli con carne has been the root of much debate. Is it Mexican or American? What are the ‘proper’ ingredients – and what should never be added?
Well, it’s not properly Mexican, although its roots can be traced to south of the US border. “Chilli isn’t what I would call part of Mexican gastronomy,” says expert Isabel Hood. Historically, Mexican cooks have made no secret of deeming the dish a bit of a gringo thing. Frank X Tolbert writes in his chilli chronicle A Bowl of Red, “One contemporary Mexican dictionary has this scornful defnition: ‘A detestable dish sold from Texas to New York City and erroneously described as Mexican.’”
But it’s not, strictly speaking, American either, as chilli morphed into being around the time the Republic of Texas (previously part of Mexico) was preparing to join the Union as the 28th state (which it did in 1845). Rather, it’s a dish of the frontier, a melting pot of two cultures… Tex-Mex, basically.
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So, on to those ingredients. “The original chilli was simply bite-size or coarsely ground beef or other mature meats (never veal), cooked slowly and for a long time in boon companionship with the pulp of chilli peppers, crushed powder from the curly leaves of oregano, ground cumin seeds, and chopped garlic cloves,” writes Tolbert. That’s a pretty short list.
Although a little cooking oil was acceptable, you’ll notice there’s no mention of stock (soaking water from dried chillies was okay), onion or tomato. “The olden-day chilli makers had a horror of putting tomatoes and onions into chilli,” Tolbert explains. “They fgured these additions would convert their beloved meat dish into a stew.”
You’ll also notice a lack of beans. American food historian John F Mariani writes in The Encyclopedia of American Food & Drink, “Texas chilli purists consider the addition of kidney beans to their favourite dish tantamount to a criminal act.”
What we understand as chilli today has come a long way from its rough-and-ready rancher roots. The ingredients used by our contestants would have raised the ire of an old-school Texas wrangler. But our judges, sensibly, know that seeking authenticity tends to be a shortcircuit to creativity. “There’s no such thing as authenticity really, when you look back through the ages of food,” says Thomasina Miers.