A hodgepodge of history, folklore and recipes, A Bowl of Red is less a cookbook than a paean to chili con carne. Frank X. Tolbert expresses his devotion to this dish in nearly religious tones, and parts of the book read like a Leviticus for chili-eaters, proscribing the correct ingredients and acceptable toppings for a bowl of red. A proper chili, in Tolbert’s view, will not include tomatoes or onions. Beans, if they must be served, should be offered on the side, never in the chili. Adding a bell pepper is an invitation to violence. As for toppings, Tolbert never mentions the minced onion, shredded cheese, or sour cream that restaurants often pile upon their chili. Saltines appear to be acceptable to him, but he does not encourage their use. Tolbert’s ideal bowl of red gets its color only from ancho peppers and is served unadorned: I imagine toppings would only interfere with the spiritual experience that he’s seeking.
Tolbert may be a fundamentalist, but at least his book acknowledges that others may have a different perspective. Indeed, Tolbert once found himself on the wrong side of a doctrinal conflict, when, for health reasons, he began to advocate skimming the grease off the top of a pot of chili. Only the high cholesterol counts of the movers and shakers within the Chili Appreciation Society stopped their crusade against greaseless chili.
But Tolbert’s chief antagonist in the chili wars came from outside the Society. Humorist H. Allen Smith and his recipe with tomatoes and beans represent everything that Tolbert despises.: “A chili-flavored, low-torque, beef and vegetable soup.” Smith represented the non-Texan style of chili in the first cookoff at Terlingua. That contest ended in a draw, but Tolbert is convinced that Smith bribed one of the three judges and that his terrible chili rendered another unable to perform his duties.
Tolbert’s history of the cookoffs contains many such amusing anecdotes, as do his forays into other areas of Texan cooking: the chapter on son-of-a-bitch stew is a personal favorite, and the recipe for jalapeño cornbread is one of the best in the book. Most cooks will find many of the recipes impractical: prison chili, for instance, requires 25 pounds of ground beef, and measures its seasonings by the quarter pound. If you’re like me, you’re only willing to do so much math to make a pot of chili. But the fundamental recipe for Texas-Style chili serves as an excellent guide, even if you wish to make a less traditional bowl of red. I use many of the proportions learned from this book in my own dishes.
