"What do you want for dinner?" my husband asked.
"I don't know. What do you want for dinner?" I responded.
He shrugged.
I shrugged.
We were at a culinary impasse, which meant only one thing; we would have to resort to the recipe jar.
I started the recipe jar our first year of marriage. I love to cook, and, before the recipe jar, the magazines and cookbooks would pile up and up until my husband, a neat freak, developed a facial tic. As a compromise, I began to rip out and stash away only the recipes I wanted to try.
Over time, we turned my collection into a game of chance. Whenever we were stumped on what to eat, we randomly picked a new recipe from the jar.
That night, we picked a white chili recipe. The ingredient list alone looked to be a whole grocery store's worth of items and we didn't have the time. Our first challenge was to cut corners on time and costly ingredients.
"Did you know there's lime in this?" my husband asked, his tone doubtful. "What kind of person puts lime in a soup?"
"What is a poblano pepper? And why do I need jalapenos and poblano peppers?" I asked.
"Exactly how hot is this chili going to get?" My husband sounded nervous.
"I don't know, but the recipe jar has spoken and we must obey."
"Yeah, but it doesn't have taste buds and we do. Should I go ahead and order the pizza now?"
I laughed. "No! Don't be such a pessimist. Have a little faith."
He gave me a wary look. "If you say so, but can we at least buy some antacids?"
In about an hour, we were eating a surprisingly delicious chili. The lime added a sweet-sour contrast to the broth, the cilantro gave it a fresh flavor, and the broth diluted the heat of the chilies to a pleasant warmth. What follows is our quick version of the original recipe, no antacids required.
Ingredients
Cooking Instructions
