Chilly Day Chili

As COVID lockdowns were starting to ease, my wife’s and my closest couple friends had not seen each other in what seemed like years. So, we planned a camping trip for the six of us. The crew had mixed levels of camping experience and there was a considerable amount of borrowing of other peoples’ gear to make the trip happen. And as someone who has borrowed gear sight unseen, I know that you’re rolling the dice with the kit and hoping and praying the weather cooperates. We locked in our camping dates and there was no turning back, so when the weekend arrived, we set off to our lakeside campsite, despite the more than 100mm(!) of rain forecasted. Recognizing that we might be in for a soggy few days, I’d picked up a cooler’s worth of ingredients from the local farmers' market en route, in case of a culinary emergency. 

I find that the only times that meteorologists are correct in their predictions is when it’s bad news; they were bang on this time. We had just enough time to set up our tents before the skies opened up and the sun went down. Torrential downpour throughout the night. 

We awoke to discover there had been at least one complete and utter tent fly failure as one couple dragged themselves sopping wet into our camp just after breakfast. They had positioned their tent in a depression, resulting in several litres of water pooling in the corner, which completely soaked their sleeping bags. The other couple hadn’t fared much better. Morale was at an all-time low and we’d barely started camping. 

When the going gets wet, the tough get a fire going. With everything drenched through, starting a fire can be an exercise in futility. But the morale boost a fire and a hot meal can provide was, at this point, mandatory. These were desperate times and would require desperate measures. After quite the struggle, a fledgling flame managed to survive and grow into a roaring fire. 

My all-time go-to comfort foods in camp are a hearty chili and cornbread. As such, I set about charring some corn tomatoes, peppers and onions over the flames. Our friends had never camped with us before, so I was determined to bring the trip back from the brink of abject failure the only way I knew how: through their stomachs. A couple cheeky IPAs and the sight of the charring veg began to pique our campmates’ interest. Once the corn had a strong char, I cut the kernels off the cob into the dry ingredients for the cornbread. In this recipe, my secret weapon is a 50/50 mix of buttermilk and creamed corn for the wet ingredients. For an extra kick, I folded in some diced jalapeño havarti, sharp cheddar and jalapeños. I could see eyes widening as the cornbread sizzled in a totally appropriate amount of butter in my cast iron Dutch oven. On with the lid, a covering of coals, and the cornbread was set aside to bake. 

Returning to the chili, the charred and diced veg hit another cast iron Dutch oven to start building up the flavours. Chili can be whatever you want it to be; in this case, we had some vegetarians in the crew, so I used veggie ground seasoned with smoked paprika. 

As the chili bubbled away against the sound of rain pelting the tarp, and the scent of baking cornbread emanated throughout our campsite, smiles started to emerge from underneath the rain gear. Things were on the up and up. All good things take time, from a change in the weather, to chili, to cornbread. Thankfully, we’d gotten to a place where dice had been unpacked, corks on boxed wine had been popped and laughs and chuckles rang out. Over shouts of “ten-four, good buddy,” a meal (that I was quietly quite proud of) cooked away in the background, waiting to lift our spirits even further. 

Laying out a spread of camp accoutrement, notably some cheese, diced avocado, sour cream, cilantro and jalapeños, the excitement came to a head: it was time to eat. 

By the time the chili and cornbread hit our tin bowls, it might as well have been a 30°C bluebird day. Cognisant that food always tastes better when you’re hungry, this was a particularly good one. Despite an absolutely abysmal weekend of weather, this pot of chili provided the kick in the backside we needed to see the weekend through, and the cornbread provided a platform for a host of subsequent meals. To this day, the six of us reminisce about how a pot of chili turned around an entire weekend of suffering, bringing us all closer together—and that all it took was a spark.