perfidy

A good buddy of mine (who, it should be noted, would be amused and bemused if I were to say to him, "10-4, good buddy," for he is not the sort of person to whom such an address is naturally directed, but still believes himself so in his more delusional moments) has hatched a biennial tradition that I'm proud to be part of.

Two years ago, for reasons unknown, the phrase "chicken cheesecake" became current among my good buddy's crowd, mainly to refer to someone whose skirt (metaphorically speaking) was too long for them to successfully complete a manly task. A puss. A pansy. A milquetoast.

The phrase stuck around in my good buddy's head long enough for him to decide it'd be a great idea to actually make chicken cheesecake and have a bake-off.

Blech.

I came in last in that competition, because I chose poorly. I made a nice three-layered Italian-style ricotta cheesecake, the bottom layer flavored with sundried tomatoes and herbs (basil, thyme, oregano), the middle layer being diced sauteed chicken, and the top layer flavored with a basil and spinach pesto. It was a nice red-and-green cross section that actually looked appetizing on the plate. Tasted pretty good too. Unfortunately, Italian-style ricotta cheesecake has a grainy texture very different from the smooth cream cheese New York model, and that texture in a savory application with big flavors absolutely killed me.

The winner was some poor schlub who'd made a poundcake with cream cheese and a couple pureed chicken breasts whizzed into the eggs and milk; you couldn't taste no chicken in that! The runner up, my good buddy, made a yellow cake and festooned the top with shake and bake chicken strips. A cheesecake? Only in the broadest possible sense.

Clearly, I wuz robbed.

This year, the big event is a chili cookoff in which 40% of the score is original and creative use of ingredients. I feel pretty good about my chances; I've got one hell of a secret ingredient; corn smut.

Better known to the Azetcs and their Mexican descendents as "huitlacoche," corn smut is a grey-black fungus that infects ears of corn (maize), growing in and around kernels into distended blobby mutant shapes that look like a particularly malevolent cancer. I hear it tastes great; smoky, woody, sweet and corny.

And wouldn't you know, you can get it through Amazon.

My plan for Corn Smut Chili

1 lb stew beef
1 lb pork butt
1 lg onion, roasted
2 bell peppers, ditto
2 poblano peppers, ditto
much garlic
vegetable stock
beef stock
beer
1 28-oz can tomatoes
1-2 Tbsp chili powder
2 Tbsp cumin
1 Tbsp dry mexican oregano
2 tsp dry thyme
1 tsp dry epazote
1/2 tsp cinnamon
1/2 tsp cocoa
1/2 tsp allspice
1 tsp coriander
3 Tbsp chipotle peppers in adobo
3 cups roasted frozen corn
1 lb dry black beans, cooked
1 12 oz can pozole (lime-cured whole corn kernels)
2 7.6 oz cans huitlacoche
2 dashes liquid smoke

I may also try to find room for two cups of blueberries in there, because why the hell not? That all sort of depends how the master recipe comes out.

I plan to bribe the judge by serving the chili with a garnish of fresh pico de gallo with plenty of cilantro, a side of corn chips, and a tequila shooter in a hollowed-out lime that's been rimmed with salt.

[wik] I won! Oh yes, I won. And this may have been the best pot of chili I have ever made. With or without the corn smut (which did add some very welcome flavor nuances just as I'd hoped) this is a dynamite recipe.