If You’re Snowed In, This One’s for You

Chili is one of those dishes. You know the kind I’m talking about. Chili is the thing you crave when it’s been snowing, and it’s cold, and the wind knifes through your coat on your way home from work or the store. It’s the dish you make on a cold, dreary Saturday with everyone trapped in the house because it’s cloudy and freezing and precipitous outside. On a day like that, you need a big pot of chili. You make it, and it’s delicious. It’s so good you eat some more the next day. It’s even better. On the third day, tired from work, you have another bowlful. By the fourth day, you’re royally sick of chili and want something like fried chicken. You put away the big chili pot and swear you’ll never crave it again.

But along comes another cold front, another snowstorm, God forbid another blizzard, and you start to long for the warmth of a big bowl of chili. That’s the kind of dish chili is.

When that urge strikes, this is the chili you want. It has big chunks of beef, not the ground stuff that disappears underneath the kidney beans. Mind you, this chili has kidney beans, and tomatoes, and all the flavors you look for in chili, plus a few surprises. One of those surprises is chicken. I love how the smokiness of the chipotle infuses the chicken. The chipotle is another surprise. Here I use it in two ways—chopped in its adobo sauce, and powdered. Coriander, cumin, chili powder, and red pepper flakes round out the heat. And don’t be shy about the cinnamon. It’s probably not the most orthodox of ingredients for a savory dish, but this is food we're talking about, not religion, so go ahead and throw it in. It’s the thing that brings all the flavors together.

Sometimes when I cook chili, I add a few handfuls of elbow macaroni at the end of cooking, just to give more body to what is essentially a stew. Feel free to do the same.

All you need to go with this meal is a big spoon. A pan of cornbread wouldn’t hurt, either. For all you folks snowed in, you have my sympathy, and now you have my chili recipe. Hang in there, spring’s coming. Make this chili before it does.

Smoky Beef and Chicken Chili
2 pounds beef for stew
4 skinless, boneless chicken breasts, cut into 1- to 2-inch cubes
salt and pepper
2 tablespoons canola oil, plus more as needed
1 large onion, diced
1 large sweet green bell pepper, seeded and diced
1 stalk of celery, with leaves, chopped
3 cloves garlic, minced
2 tablespoons finely chopped chipotle in adobo
3 15-ounce cans diced tomatoes, drained, liquid reserved
2 16-ounce cans light red kidney beans, drained and rinsed
about 2 cups beef broth
1 tablespoon chipotle powder
1 tablespoon cumin
1 tablespoon ground coriander
2 teaspoons chili powder
½ teaspoon red pepper flakes
½ teaspoon dried thyme
½ of a stick of cinnamon
toppings: shredded cheddar cheese, sour cream, thinly sliced scallions

Pat the beef and chicken dry and season with salt and pepper. Heat the canola oil in a large heavy Dutch oven over medium-high heat. Brown the beef in batches, then the chicken, and remove to a bowl with a slotted spoon. Add more oil as necessary. Reduce the heat to medium. Cook the onion, bell pepper, and celery in hot oil until softened, but not browned. Add the garlic and chopped chipotle in adobo and cook another 30 seconds. Stir in the tomatoes and kidney beans and cook until tomatoes start to break apart a little, about 3 minutes.

Meanwhile, pour the reserved tomato juice into a measuring cup and add beef broth to equal 3 cups. Pour the liquid over the vegetables and beans in the pot. Add the chipotle powder, cumin, ground coriander, chili powder, red pepper flakes, and dried thyme. Stir well to combine. Drop in ½ stick of cinnamon. Return beef and chicken to the pot, along with any juices accumulated in the bowl. Bring just to a boil, cover, reduce the heat, and simmer 2 to 3 hours, or until the beef is tender, stirring occasionally. Remove the cinnamon stick before serving.

Serve with a sprinkle of cheddar cheese, a dollop of sour cream, and a few sliced scallions scattered on top.