Judges in the Great Hawaiian Chili Cookoff reach for tastes from official International Chili Society contest cups.
Competitive chili cooking is a
serious business -- but not too serious
For a clue to how these people think, check out No. 16 of the rules and regulations: "All contestants ... who plan to arrive by special vehicle (i.e. decorated cars or trucks, hot air balloons or parachutes) are asked to notify the sponsors at least three days in advance ..."
Or, consider this tasting tip on the judging sheet: "Use the F.A.R.T.S. System (Flavor, Aroma, Richness, Texture, Smell)."
This is international chili cook-off competition -- a combination of rules, ritual and nonsense that manages to be both deadly serious and seriously silly.
One such event has taken place on Memorial Day for 14 years at the Roundtop Drive home of Jack and Donna Scaff. Actually, it's been more than 14 years, but the Scaffs didn't start keeping track until they'd done it for a awhile -- four years, Jack thinks, but he's not sure. Such precise imprecision seems totally in keeping with the theme.
Jack is a physician and locally renowned trainer of marathon runners; Donna is a nurse. When it comes to chili, the judge's sheet informs, "Neither has any credentials whatsoever but have judged at a half-dozen or so International Chili Society World Cook-Offs bla bla bla."
Monday's competition drew no hot-air balloons or parachutes, but there was a very big blast from a very little cannon to kick off the cooking, and a bagpiper to herald the announcement of winners.
There was also a National Guard flyover (it happens every Memorial Day within sight of Roundtop so the competition claims it for its own).
The Great Hawaiian Chili Cookoff is sanctioned by the International Chili Society, meaning that the winner goes to the October finals in Las Vegas to compete for a $25,000 top prize.
Now, to make it to the finals you must win a regional title someplace, and it doesn't have to be in your home state. Serious "chiliheads" will travel the country, competing weekend after weekend until they quality. Which explains why four out of 14 competitors Monday were from the mainland.
For example, Ed Pierczynski of Carson City, Nev., who was the 1992 world champion and has qualified for the finals 13 years in a row. Is that a record? "I wish it was," Pierczynski says. "There's this gal who's done it 14 times. I keep hoping she'll miss one year."
Pierczynski has his eye on another record -- to compete in all 42 states that host sanctioned chili cook-offs (so far he's made 37). And he'd like to complete what they call a "wheel," which is to collect a winning ribbon for first place through fifth. "No one's ever done that." He just needs one second-place finish to make it.
Attempts to qualify have taken him to 10 competitions this year in Mexico, Texas, Nevada and California. It's a costly hobby, he admits. In his championship year he spent $17,000 and the cash prize barely made up for it. "Anybody doing it for the money is just crazy."
So what's the attraction?
A) The company's good: "Chili cooks are great people. I've never met a bad one," Pierczynski says.
B) Competition is healthy: "It's just so much fun in your free time to compete in something that's kinda stupid," says Donna Leird of Galveston, Texas. "It's not life and death."
C) Good causes: "The big thing for me is the charitable aspect," says Jim Stoddard, a Texas cook-off veteran who was a judge on Monday. Most competitions dedicate a portion of entry fees and other funds raised to a particular charity. The Mexican cook-off, Stoddard says, keeps several nonprofits in operation all year. Pierczynski says he is asked regularly for chili donations and will often give up test batches from his freezer. A gallon recently sold at auction for $1,550.
There are individual side benefits as well: Leird met her fiancé, Kevin Foley, on the chili circuit. They now share a home and a mini-refrigerator filled with chili spices.
Judge Jim Stoddard takes a peek into Ed Pierczynski's pot. Both are chili contest veterans, Stoddard from Texas and Pierczynski from Nevada.
For his part, Jack Scaff says he hosts the annual competition for the love of spicy food and parties. Expenses run "several thousand," he says, to hire bands, make T-shirts, provide food for an all-day buffet. Plus there's all the effort put into setting up and organizing. "Clearly it doesn't make any money, but I use it as my big party of the year."He does have lots of assistance. "People realize we're not doing this to hustle anyone and they say, 'How can I help?' "
Now, how do you win these competitions?
"I used to think chili had to make your nose run and your eyes water," Pierczynski says. "I kept getting comments like, 'Tastes is good ... too hot.' I milded it down and that's when I started winning."
Balance is the goal, says Stoddard, who served as chief chili judge. "If immediately you taste garlic or you taste cumin, or it's real hot, that's not good." The meat should be tender but not mushy -- "al dente, I guess."
As for that all-important quality of heat: "It's gotta say, 'Yeah, I'm chili,' but it can't jump out at you so much that you can't taste the other flavors."
Beans are not allowed and big chunks of vegetables are frowned upon, as are grittiness and fattiness. Meat of choice is beef tri-tip, but it is important to respect regional preferences, Pierczynski says. In Texas, judges prefer a cut called chuck tender, in parts of the Midwest they like ground beef. In Ontario, Canada, the recipe should include maple syrup and "taste like chili-flavored candy."
The key, he says, is to qualify in a region by following those tastes. Then you can go to the finals and cook whatever you like, or what you imagine judges at that level like -- which goes back to Stoddard's key points.
Pierczynski makes constant small changes to his formula and figures he's on recipe No. 96 of his cook-off career. "And that's just since I started keeping track."
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