Amuse Douche.
Totally Somewhat disingenuous Cincinnati-style chili:
Contrary to what has been documented on any given travelogue program on Food Network, Cincinnati chili's hallmark is not that it's served on top of spaghetti like some common jarred pasta sauce. Rather, Cincinnati chili gets its particular regional designation owing to its skewed list of spices; in addition to the de rigeur foundation of cumin, chili powder, and tomato, Cincinnati chili also includes cinnamon, allspice, cloves, and cocoa powder. Now, anyone who's been to even a halfway-authentic Mexican restaurant will recognize the latter adulterants are also key ingredients in making mole poblano; and indeed, a pot of chili made this way does turn out darker in color and richer and more complex in flavors.
And like most regional gastronomic favorites, this one comes with its own flowchart; Cincinnati chili doesn't have beans, it's served with oyster crackers only, the spaghetti goes down first, (unless you order beans, then they go underneath the spaghetti, or sometimes not, it depends on which dive diner in the Queen City you order it from) etc., etc. With this level of anal retention paid just to construction, it's no wonder people think of the spaghetti-presentation when they think of Cincinnati chili (if they think of it at all) and not the chili itself.
Other than veganizing the chili with TVP, we stuck more or less to the mole-style flavorings for this batch, although we did add a can of drained and rinsed black beans to the pot because...because...erm...uhm...
EFF YOU CINCINNATI I DO WHAT I WANT
Vegan cheezy sauce on top, and that's not spaghetti underneath; not exactly, anyway:
At hips_lips_tits's suggestion, we employed the peculiar characteristics of garden oddity cucurbita pepo, the spaghetti squash. Whether baked, boiled, or irradiated, when cooked the flesh of this ordinary-looking winter vegetable blooms into ribbony strands which look like something from the special effects department on the set of John Carpenter's The Thing. They also taste nothing like semolina.
Tip: spaghetti squash is relatively cheap, but you'll get more yield if you cut up your squash first and scoop out the pulp and seeds before you cook it. It's a little more work to hack it apart when it's still raw, but it's worth it, if only to avoid grindhouse-grade scenes like the one above.
⎋
Contrary to what has been documented on any given travelogue program on Food Network, Cincinnati chili's hallmark is not that it's served on top of spaghetti like some common jarred pasta sauce. Rather, Cincinnati chili gets its particular regional designation owing to its skewed list of spices; in addition to the de rigeur foundation of cumin, chili powder, and tomato, Cincinnati chili also includes cinnamon, allspice, cloves, and cocoa powder. Now, anyone who's been to even a halfway-authentic Mexican restaurant will recognize the latter adulterants are also key ingredients in making mole poblano; and indeed, a pot of chili made this way does turn out darker in color and richer and more complex in flavors.
And like most regional gastronomic favorites, this one comes with its own flowchart; Cincinnati chili doesn't have beans, it's served with oyster crackers only, the spaghetti goes down first, (unless you order beans, then they go underneath the spaghetti, or sometimes not, it depends on which dive diner in the Queen City you order it from) etc., etc. With this level of anal retention paid just to construction, it's no wonder people think of the spaghetti-presentation when they think of Cincinnati chili (if they think of it at all) and not the chili itself.
Other than veganizing the chili with TVP, we stuck more or less to the mole-style flavorings for this batch, although we did add a can of drained and rinsed black beans to the pot because...because...erm...uhm...
EFF YOU CINCINNATI I DO WHAT I WANT
Vegan cheezy sauce on top, and that's not spaghetti underneath; not exactly, anyway:
At hips_lips_tits's suggestion, we employed the peculiar characteristics of garden oddity cucurbita pepo, the spaghetti squash. Whether baked, boiled, or irradiated, when cooked the flesh of this ordinary-looking winter vegetable blooms into ribbony strands which look like something from the special effects department on the set of John Carpenter's The Thing. They also taste nothing like semolina.
Tip: spaghetti squash is relatively cheap, but you'll get more yield if you cut up your squash first and scoop out the pulp and seeds before you cook it. It's a little more work to hack it apart when it's still raw, but it's worth it, if only to avoid grindhouse-grade scenes like the one above.
⎋