Give it Your Best Pot

I’ve always been a disappointment to my mother, one of the top ten cooks in the northern hemisphere. But never more so than last Christmas, when my culinary fiasco was second only to the time my sister accidentally grabbed the bottle of green food coloring while mixing together the sweet potato casserole when she thought she was liberally adding vanilla.

The holiday table looked like a Dr. Seuss yarn about green yams and ham.

Now I boldly recognize the truth of Romans 12:6 (NLT): “God has given each of us the ability to do certain things well.” I also recognize that for me, culinary prowess isn’t it. Therefore, I usually compensate by frequenting the local deli. But sometimes during the holiday season, I get wrapped up in the spirit of giving and want desperately to show my love for my precious peeps by producing something gustatorily delightful with my very own hands.

I should stick to slice and bake.

My yuletide disaster started when I came up with the idea of cooking a pot of homemade chili in the slow cooker while we were at church on Christmas Eve. How hard could that be? I have a no-fail chili recipe – what could go wrong?

With ten extended family members in tow, it seemed like a great idea – we could enjoy the worship service unhindered by hurry, worry, or stress, and then come home to the wafting fragrant aroma of a delicious dinner all ready for the munching.

So I dressed for church early and while everyone else was getting ready, I prepared the chili, making sure to double the batch and fill my jumbo-sized Crock Pot to the brim.

But something didn’t look right. The soup looked too, well, soupy. Who likes runny chili? It’s supposed to have rich bountiful body. It should be thick enough to stick to your ribs and give your tongue a workout licking it off the spoon. Something must have gone awry when I doubled the recipe.

So I did what any kitchen weekend warrior worth her chain mail would do … I added corn starch. One heaping tablespoon. Two. Aw, heck – three for good measure. Then I stirred it in, plopped the lid back on the simmering pot, and scurried out to the car cheerfully singing, “Tis the season to be jolly …”

When we arrived back home, the house indeed smelled heavenly. In high spirits and with taste buds tingling (I’m pretty sure I saw dribbles of saliva exiting the corner of a mouth or two), everyone grabbed a bowl and eagerly lined up at the chili pot. Brandishing my trusty red ladle (perfect for Christmas chili because of its festive color that doesn’t show tomato stains), I removed the Crock Pot lid and reached in to scoop out the first sumptuous serving.

But what was this? My ladle bounced back off the surface of the chili like a rubber ball on a concrete floor.

With 5-alarm dismay, I discovered that my chili had congealed into a solid block. To actually eat any, you’d have to chisel off a chunk with an ice pick.

Heavy sigh.

I try so hard to give good things to my family each Christmas … warm sweaters, cool toys, loving hugs, a (store-bought) birthday cake for Jesus complete with candles to remember what the season’s all about, even wonderful homemade food that I have high hopes will become a cherished holiday tradition.

But I have a feeling it won’t be chili. My mother has already made Cracker Barrel reservations for next year.