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Philip Spiess
Barbara: At the risk of doing one too many recipes, I offer one more: my grandmother's recipe for what we in the family have always called "Cincinnati Chili." Her recipe predates Skyline (which, I believe, started in Cincinnati about 1947 and is Greek, anyway, not German -- its "secret" ingredient, which many now know, is cinnamon, which is what makes it special; more below, about other Cincinnati chilis); we used to have my grandmother's chili at many a Sunday night supper in Clifton or, later, Finneytown, and occasionally we'd take her chili on picnics, most notably to the old Coney Island (on the Ohio River). It's remained popular with my work colleagues, with our church, and with my son and his set.
GRANDMOTHER GOEPP'S CINCINNATI CHILI:
1 lb. Ground Beef 1 Tbl. Butter 1 and 1/2 large Yellow Onions 1 can (8 oz.) Tomato Sauce
1 can (15 1/2 oz.) dark Red Kidney Beans 1 tsp. Salt 1 tsp. Black Pepper 1 Tbl. (or more) Chili Powder
Melt the butter in a large skillet, then fry the cut-up onions in it until they are golden. (My grandmother chopped the onions; I prefer to slice them and then divide the slices into sixths, thus making longer strips of onion.) Add the ground beef to the onions and fry until all of the pink is gone from the meat (that is, until the meat is well done). Add the kidney beans with their liquid, the tomato sauce, the salt, the pepper, and the chili powder (to taste), and stir all in together until all is well mixed. Cook for about 10 minutes more, stirring occasionally (so it does not stick on the bottom of the pan, though a little sticking adds to the flavor), until the sauce begins to thicken a bit. Skim the fat as desired (I leave it in). It's possibly even better on the next day, and good served with homemade garlic bread or corn bread (recipes on request). [Note: Although my grandmother never added spaghetti to this dish, neither do I, but my wife and son do -- it's perfectly acceptable. They also are apt to add shredded or grated cheddar or parmesan cheese as a topping, which I often do as well.]
Why chili, a seemingly Tex-Mex dish, in Cincinnati, in a northern state, and in a city which has been historically German? (The annual Congressional chili cook-offs in Washington, D. C., between Texan congressmen and Cincinnati congressmen, are legendary.) The answer is simple, my friends -- the "free lunches" at pre-Prohibition Cincinnati-German saloons! Those "free lunches" -- pickles, chili, "wienie-wursts," hot tamales, salted nuts, briny olives, etc. -- were heavily salted and heavily spiced to induce thirst -- in order to have the customer buy plenty of beer (or maybe even whiskey) with which to wash it down (that's where the money came in!). Yes, before Prohibition it was 21 beers for a dollar along the swath of Vine Street that stretched from the river to the Cincinnati hills, where inclined railways then carried imbibers to the bibulous resorts on Price Hill, Fairview, Bellevue Hill (Clifton Heights), Mount Auburn (Main Street Incline), and -- most famous -- Mount Adams. And these were by no means low dives; these were good family establishments, where good Germans -- whether Protestant, Catholic, or Jewish -- could take the whole family for a solid meal and listen to a house orchestra play Bach, Mozart, Schubert, Beethoven, Brahms, and Wagner. Downtown there were Wielert's Saloon and the Atlantic Gardens -- both the classiest -- and in the suburbs, in Mount Auburn, was Mecklenberg's beer garden under its grape arbors. Carrie Nation visited Vine Street in the early years of the 20th Century and threw down her axe in despair -- it was even too much for her!
[Historical note: A song from the period (the canal in question was the Miami & Erie Canal, which ran through the "Over-the-Rhine District"; its route is now Central Parkway):
"I stood upon the old Canal bridge / At the midnight hour /
And fed the little fishes there below / 'Cause the last eleven beers I had were sour!"]
(To review these times, try to find a copy of the Cincinnati Times-Star's 1920s publication, Pioneers of Night Life on Vine Street -- it's a classic.)
Prohibition, of course, shot down all of this, but one of the country's biggest bootleggers was George Remus, a Cincinnati cohort of Al Capone, whose Western Hills estate hid many a shipment of illicit booze headed for Chicago or New York (you must remember that, pre-Prohibition, many of Cincinnati's big industries were brewing and distilling, based on Cincinnati's location in the Corn Belt). After Prohibition, new breweries and distilleries started up (perhaps more on this in another entry). Came the chili parlors back again. My grandfather's favorite was an Empress chili parlor in Camp Washington (where our favorite White Castle hamburger outlet also was located), but I always thought Empress chili too spicy for my tastes (my grandpa was a smoker). Later, when I was in college, I heard many times (and in several parts of the country) that the "secret" to Cincinnati chili was "chocolate" (apparently adapted from the pre-Columbian Mexicans). I have never actually seen a Cincinnati chili recipe -- I mean one that originated in Cincinnati -- that had chocolate in it. I am told that Star Chili (I think that's the name), a supposed Cincinnati brand, has chocolate in it, but I disdain to accept this as actual fact. Again, the "secret" ingredient in my favorite, Skyline Chili, is cinnamon, not chocolate; I have this on the clear statement of the manager of the Skyline chili parlor in Blue Ash (Montgomery?), who was well known to our family. Enough said!
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