Growing up, my mom often made a pot chili on cold weeknights. It featured a mix of pinto beans and black beans, tomatoes, ground meat, onion, seasonings, and chopped hot dogs. I always thought that hotdogs were a normal, necessary chili ingredient, mostly because they were my favorite part (my favorite game was searching the bowl and pairing up each yummy piece of hotdog with some not-so-yummy beans and ground meat, to mask the taste)– but also because they were there for all of my childhood chili experiences. I knew nothing different, until I went to a friends’ house for dinner in middle school and discovered no cut-up hot dogs could be found in the mix. Being that my parents ordered me to eat whatever was served at other peoples’ homes when I visited them, ten-year-old Emily had to struggle her way through a bowl of beans and beef, void of deliciousness. Confused and disappointed, I later discussed the dilemma with my mom and learned that hot dogs were something special that not all families put in their chili. 

My husband Caleb’s chili childhood was a little different than mine. His mother’s recipe was more traditional (sans hot dogs). However, it was ever-changing! In his early childhood, it had a pretty normal mix of beans and ground beef, along with all the other normal chili ingredients. It evolved to have less beans and more meat over time as he, his dad, and his brother all continually complained about the high bean content. By the time Caleb was in high school, it’s final form was beanless, heavy on the ground beef and tomatoes — and it’s still that way to this day. 

In my third year of college, I lived with three roommates and learned all of the ways their families were different than mine — including in their chili preparations! The three of them had all lived together the previous year, and when I came in, it became clear that they had all agreed on a chili recipe that fit the budget and each of their taste buds. It was mostly normal, except for one ingredient – canned corn. After the chili had cooked for a good while, the corn would be mixed in to the medley. By this point in college, all of my picky eating habits were broken and long gone, so I didn’t put up much of a fight; in fact, it became my favorite way to have it! 

I made it that way for so long after that year of college that I forgot that corn wasn’t a chili staple, until I made it for another friend who I learned had very strong opinions on what passed as a chili ingredient and what did not. When she saw the yellow flecks married to everything else in the pot, she became borderline belligerent on the matter, a heated argument ensued on whether or not it was okay for different people to have different ideas of what makes chili actually chili, and she refused to eat it. I still feel very strongly on the matter that though corn is unusual for chili, it should not be against the set of made-up chili rules this friend seemed to hold in high regard.

In my most recent encounters with unique twists on chili, things haven’t become quite so hostile. Some dear friends of ours from Arkansas make a pretty normal chili, but they start off their bowl with something special – homemade cheese grits. In my house growing up, cheese was always a topping, but never a base! We had dinner at our friends’ house last fall and when I saw the big pot of cheesy grits on their stove top, I decided to try out the whole “when in Rome” thing and was pleasantly surprised. If you’ve never had cheese grits in your chili, I can understand you may think they don’t mix well. You may have never seen grits as anything but breakfast or served with shrimp. I am here to tell you to branch out and let it change your life. If you’re like me and still can’t sacrifice the cheese on top, there is no rule against having both (actually, I need to check with that old friend of mine; she’s much more up to speed on how the chili rules work).

As I’ve gotten older — and as I’ve learned what is actually in a hot dog — my chili tastes have broadened. I’ll eat a chili with most kinds of beans, as long as the flavor is right or there’s enough cheese available to cover it up. I’ll also eat a chili with no beans, because there’s nothing wrong with that in my eyes. I’ll even eat a chili with corn, or cheese grits, or deer meat, or maybe with something else I haven’t heard of yet. This is because all of these different chili recipes can give us a glimpse into someone else’s home. It’s a way to see food through someone else’s eyes (and stomach), and learn about their family traditions. Contrary to what my friend might think, there are no chili rules, and that’s what makes chili so right.

Chili is usually a winter meal, but in the Lay household, we love it so much we just turn the thermostat down and pretend so we can have it year-round. I’m making chili tonight the way my Arkansas friends do it — how will you make yours?