The Chili Diary

Discovering the true meaning of heartburn

By Sara Bir

Some people get silly about chili. I don’t like to think I’m one of them. I’d like to think that I’m very rational and reasonable when it comes to chili. Real chili is red, chock full o’ beef, and has no beans. Right? That’s reasonable, I think.

But not to my friends. Last year a couple of them invited me to their inaugural 4th of July Chili Cook-Off, a casual but competitive affair with perhaps 20 people in attendance. I weaseled my way into judging, figuring that with three other chefs constituting the panel, we’d all be in clear agreement. Nope. Some green stuff with sausage got first place because it “had the best flavor.” Flavor my ass! Chili isn’t green, and it sure as hell don’t have little chunks of sausage floating around in it.

My favorite chili that day was actually vegetarian and laden with beans (which will get you shot in certain parts of the country). But its classic chili flavor (and color–red) was robust, its texture hearty, and its finish long and satisfying. It didn’t win first place.

The chili that I usually make is not, according to the rigid meatless-and-beanless-red definition, truly chili. This de facto chili, a concoction of pinto beans, tomatoes, carrots, parsnips, zucchini, and textured vegetable protein (I call it Hippy Chili), I keep to myself. I should be kind and share it, but I feel the same way about Hippy Chili as I do about the first Mötley Crüe album: I’m too embarrassed about liking it to display my fondness in public.

This is why, upon deciding to enter the second annual 4th of July Chili Cook-Off, I resolved to show all of these misdirected makers of chili what the real deal is. Needing a partner in enlightenment, I drafted my boyfriend, who is slightly inept in the kitchen but a very good sport. Most importantly, he has the most acute sense of smell of any human I’ve yet encountered. My Chili Sous Chef would be a powerful one-man focus group.

All elements in place, the path to Independence Day chili domination began.

Early June, Saturday morning Pounds of beef chuck in a heap on the cutting board. Making special test batch. Am finely dicing beef by hand to make chili extra full of love.

Later Beef almost diced. Criminy, this is tiring.

Still later Blood everywhere! Beef not my undoing: onion was. Pick dime-sized circle of fingertip off cutting board. Swaddle fingertip in masking tape and press on. Figure that I know where my blood has been, whereas the cow’s blood is anybody’s guess–and it’s the cow we’re all eating. Hours later Bloody Finger Chili all cooked. After so much labor, it’s a bit disappointing. Needs more depth. “What do you think of the texture?” I ask Chili Sous Chef. “Is it too thick? Does it seem greasy at all? Can it stand more spice?” No, no, and yes.

Considering last year’s cook-off, I’m curious if effort is worth it. People were taking themselves too seriously. It was dangerous being a judge. The last place team ganged up on me while I was lazily splayed, drunk and full of chili, in the hammock and swung it around in a most violent manner. Very disagreeable to a drunk girl full of chili.

June 29, 8am Make competition chili today, five days in advance. Freezing allows flavors chance to meld properly. You don’t need a freezer to accomplish this, only time, one day of rest–a chili Sabbath.

8:45am Bloody Finger Chili on stove, minus namesake blood; no cuts this time. Had blended my own chili powder, a carefully calculated mix of hot New Mexico chili powder, dusky Pasilla chili powder, whatever constitutes the chili powder in Oliver’s bulk spices, and Asian chili powder, brighter in tone and flavor than North American chili powders. Am hoping this untraditional but not wholly uncouth addition will underscore earthiness of other chili powders and propel them to be truer to own flavor.

Then toasted spices (chili powder, cumin, paprika, cayenne) in dry skillet over low heat, stirring. Don’t lower nose to loose ground spices in the skillet to check on aroma, lest spices go up nose like low-grade cocaine, resulting in itching and burning.

11am Chili done. Decide to assess new chili in form of chili omelet. Mmm. Chili omelet.

11:15am Urgh. Don’t eat chili for breakfast.

1:45pm Can’t move. What was I thinking?

7pm Time for dinner. Not hungry; vile chili burps destroyed appetite for whole day.

July 4, 1:15pm Pack up car with soon-to-be legendary chili and drive off.

1:45pm At hosts’ house. Guns N’ Roses on the stereo. Flags everywhere. Patriotism!

“Where is everybody?” I ask host, actually meaning “Where is the rest of the chili?” Had imagined a dozen clashing chili mercenaries hauling in wily and smoldering chili.

“No one is here except Todd and Selvi,” he says. Geez! What kind of chili contest has only two contestants? Another team came later. They lurk in the kitchen, still finishing their chili. No Chili Sabbath for them! Orthodox Bloody Finger Chili as done as it’s ever gonna be.

3pm Game of backyard jungle croquet gives way to beer-induced pangs of hunger. Everyone gets plastic bowl and spoon; we are to taste all three chilis and then judge them by cheering loudest for our favorite.

Only three chilis and everyone judging? Ominous premonition creeps over me; half of guests are vegetarians. Ninety-five-percent-beef Bloody Finger Chili is doomed.

Chili #1: chunky, meatless, with beans, rusty orange color. Consistency perfect, classic chili flavor and texture. A people’s chili. Chili #2: brothy from whole canned tomatoes, thin, large hunks of bell pepper and some kind of steak hunks floating around in there. Hotter, not as flavorful as #1. Makers of chili #2 recommend eating it with white rice. Rice? Rice is for gumbo, not chili! It was good, their stuff, but not chili yet, having been deprived of Chili Sabbath. Chili #3: our poor dark horse chili. Remember chili omelet disaster and skip it.

3:15pm Try all three chilis mixed together. Our concentrated chili permeates mildness of other two, and all is well and right. Chilis #1 and #2 cannot approach the intimidating breadth and depth of Bloody Finger Chili, but you could eat a big honking bowl of either and feel satisfied, not burdened. Ours is not affable, easygoing chili. It takes active participation to appreciate. It broods.

3:20pm Time to judge/cheer: Bloody Finger Chili garners a few half-hearted “woos”–woos with a lowercase w. It places third.

3:21pm Upon presentation of booby prize–a Bud 40oz–I lose control, shout out, “You guys are just a bunch of wussy vegans, and that’s why we won third place!” Which is not very nice. I think I only half mean it. But I got what I deserved; I had made snob chili, and no one likes a snob. It’s just not fun. I was no fun.

Chili Sous Chef is pleased with our placing–he likes Bud 40s.

We take turns whacking at a piñata. I miss.

8pm Chili and beer all day long take a lot out of you, and what it puts in you is not pretty.

Still have one pint of chili in freezer, sitting like a giant paperweight. Would rather eat secret Hippy Chili, which I should have entered in cook-off. Humbled by chili.

I pass out in Chili Sous Chef’s apartment before most fireworks displays get past preliminary booms and bangs. Have learned lesson, but still contend notion of serving chili over rice.

From the August 15-21, 2002 issue of the North Bay Bohemian.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Joy Liu

Pie of My Eye

As easy as what?

By Gretchen Giles

Whoever it was to first utter the terrible lie “as easy as pie” has presumably already suffered a horrible death. I personally feel no remorse or compassion for this passing. I much prefer to embrace the giddy Gallic truth of “as easy as pâté” or the Italianate flourish of “as easy as pesto.” Either of these phrases need merely be uttered in front of a food processor, and voilà (and Prego)–there they be. Easily.

Pie is a different donkey. And like a donkey, pie is stubborn, unpredictable, follows no known tune, and is changeable from moment to moment. There ain’t nothing easy about it.

To be fair, perhaps that awful liar was thinking of filling when he or she first mentioned pie in easy terms. Filling is indeed a cinch. Peel some fruit, cut it up, sugar and spice it, add a bit of tapioca or flour, let it sit. Pick some fruit, sugar and spice it, add a bit of tapioca or flour, let it sit. Open a can, spoon out the pumpkin, sugar and spice it, add evaporated milk, let it sit. In any case, pour the filling into a pan for baking. Which brings us with mighty immediacy to the rub of all pie plights: the damned crust.

Foolproof evidence that cooking is nothing but chemistry for the mouth, the science of crust makes quantum physics seem like preschool fodder. Poke around long enough, and you’ll eventually figure quarks out completely. Spend a lifetime weeping in an apron over a well-floured board, and you still may never discover all of the disparate miracles that must conspire together in order to form a crust. Temperature plays a part, liquid tends to matter, and surely measurement itself demands a starring role in the bawdy passion play that is crust making.

The rest is pure mystery, sometimes containing vinegar, other times calling for unsalted butter, and often demanding shortening, lemon peel, or frozen orange juice–depending on whose time-honored recipe you wreak havoc upon in the tear-stained privacy of your own home.

But leveling flour, eyeing cold liquid, and determining from the little lines on the cube’s package what five teaspoons of butter might look like requires an exactness of spirit that I simply don’t possess. Nor, warns a chilly voice in my soul, may I ever.

Which is why the telephone is such a great invention. Handily picking one up, I call Condra Easley, co-owner with sister Deborah Morris of the Patisserie Angelica in Santa Rosa. I explain that the backyard blackberries are ripening swiftly and that a sepia-tinged string of maternal lineage demands I try to cook them somehow. (Jam is best not discussed here; suffice it to say that the last of former summers’ exertions has finally been scraped off the ceiling.) Pie it must be.

Wah and help, say I.

“You’ve got two options,” Easley helpfully informs. “The kind of crust my mom made, or the kind for those who feel that Crisco is incorrectly classified as a foodstuff. My mom had a no-fail pie crust recipe, and it did have a dash of vinegar to it. You could do the most obscene things to this crust and it would still turn out.”

Obscene is great, as it is almost guaranteed. I urge her on.

“Pastry making is part science and part art,” she instructs, admitting, “I don’t understand all of the scientific mystery surrounding it; I like the art part.” As one who’s stood over a desk greedily gobbling down in full gulps the little pastry tarts that Easley turns out, I’ll trust her on the art part. Gimme, I delicately request, some science.

“Well, one of the biggest problems for home cooks is measurement,” she responds.

Don’t I know it.

“Three of us could each measure a cup of flour and come out with three different amounts. If you’re not weighing it on a scale in ounces, you’re going to end up with variations. That’s also why most home pie crust recipes call for between 8 to 10 teaspoons of water, to account for the variables in the flour amount.”

Back to art, I plead, already beginning to feel defeated.

“Well, I do mine in the Cuisinart,” she says, sadly beginning to not delineate Mom’s no-fail recipe but rather the tetchy French method of pâte brisée. You want no-fail, you call a mom. You want tetchy French, you call a professional chef. Lesson learned.

“I use cold butter, not frozen, and pulse the machine, not just push the ‘on’ button on,” she advises. “You’re trying to suspend the fat in the flour. That’s going to help give you a lighter, flakier dough.”

“Lighter,” “flakier”–good words. I’m nodding and memorizing. “Heavier,” “crumblier,” and “sodden” are my more usual adjectives.

“When it’s time to add the liquid,” she continues, “I always hold back and continue to pulse until the dough just starts to come together, and then I get in there with my hands because sometimes just by looking at it, you can’t tell if it’s working or not.”

Sometimes I can’t tell if it’s working or not with my hands, I mournfully counter. What do you do when the whole thing inevitably falls to hell, a pile of flour with unsuspended fat sort of avalanching onto the board under even the gentlest of pats?

“Sprinkle water in with your fingers as you go,” Easley counsels. “But be careful! The more you knead it, the more gluten you’ll develop. Of course, if you add too little water you’ll get shrinkage. And, if you don’t let it rest long enough, you’ll get shrinkage.”

That sounds awful. What’s shrinkage?

“When there isn’t enough dough to fit the pan,” she says evenly, beginning to sound like a busy pastry chef and store owner caught smack in the middle of the day by an irritating home cook with press credentials.

Well, I offer sweetly, resting is good. How long does that last?

“Go have a glass of wine,” she advises. “Sip it slowly. Perhaps a cognac.”

Resting and wine. I make note that pie crust has some positives I hadn’t considered before.

But we’re back to flour, presumably now a bit tipsy and wielding a rolling pin. “Use as little flour as possible on the board and pin to keep it from sticking,” Easley warns, explaining that again it’s a gluten thing, meaning that it’s a science thing, meaning that certain mysteries shall remain unexplained.

“The final thing I tell my students is that if you want a round, begin with a round,” she continues somewhat cryptically.

I’ve been daydreaming for a moment about chilled glasses of Viognier.

Huh? I ask in professional journalistic style.

“It’s a lot easier to preform your dough into a round shape and press it down, before you start rolling,” she reiterates.

I can only concur. A moment of silence elapses, the sound of customers purchasing little frangipani or figgy-berry tarts in Easley’s shop begins to filter through the phone. I sense that it’s time to add the filling and pop this conversation into the oven, as it were. I thank Easley profusely.

“Remember,” she says, “the great thing about pie is that even if it’s a total flop–it still tastes good.”

That’s one piece of advice I already knew.

From the August 8-14, 2002 issue of the North Bay Bohemian.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Like the legendary ’49ers, wineries have come to northwestern Sonoma County looking for gold–but this time it’s small, round, and purple

By Tara Treasurefield

Annie and Fred Cresswell are bringing up the third generation of Cresswells in northwestern Sonoma County. They have loved the high ridge tops and deep valleys of the rugged coastal hills since they were children. Until 10 years ago, they had no reason to believe that it would ever disappear. Then Walt and Joan Flowers replaced a nearby ridge top meadow with a vineyard, and the Cresswell’s world fell apart.

“Local Indians once used the meadow as their summer meeting ground,” says Annie Cresswell. “It was bordered with redwoods, fir trees, live oaks, and wild nutmeg. The hill is still there, but it’s been completely cleared of trees. They have taken our tree line.”

Cresswell says that vineyards have also displaced wildlife and that for both human and nonhuman neighbors, the heavy equipment, chemicals, dust, traffic, noise, and lights that accompany vineyards and wineries are persistent annoyances and potential health hazards.

The transition from open space to vineyards accelerated in 1998. Sir Peter Michael, a British lord, hired a logger to clearcut 20 acres of his property, which is behind the Cresswell’s home. Michael intended to plant vineyards there, but he neglected to get the required permits for logging and converting timberland to vineyards. Michael was eventually fined $42,000, and the vineyard was put on hold. But the damage had been done. All that remains of the previously wooded area are sprouting stumps in an open field.

Four years have passed since Michael’s brush with the law for illegal logging, and he still doesn’t have the permits he needs to plant vineyards in the coastal hills. But he hasn’t given up. The California Department of Forestry is considering Michael’s application for a permit to clearcut 40 more acres of woodland behind the Cresswell home.

Michael has also applied to the Army Corps of Engineers for a permit to drain the wetlands on his property and replace it with a vineyard. In addition, David Hirsch, owner of Hirsch Vineyard, is planting more grapes, and Walt Flowers, owner of Flowers Vineyard and Winery, is expanding his production. Little by little, the untamed wilds of the Sonoma Coast are being torn apart and replaced with neat, infinite rows of fenced vineyards, and dotted with wineries.

Prospecting for Gold

It’s not that vineyards and wine making are new to the Northwest County, says Cresswell. When she was growing up, a few local residents converted their cattle ranches to vineyards. But what’s happening now is different.

“The industrial vineyards are not neighbors who are just trying to survive on the land and have an emotional attachment to the land,” Cresswell says. “It’s all about profit and nothing about community. It’s like the Gold Rush, but it’s purple this time. We’ve been discovered. We’re on the map as a premium grape-growing region. It’s gotten to the point where we have to do something or there won’t be any woodland left. It will be all vineyards and wineries.”

Daniel Schoenfeld, owner of Wild Hog Vineyard organic winery in the hills above Fort Ross, is more hopeful than the Cresswells. “Once you get to know the people involved, it’s hard to demonize them,” he says. “There are very few people out here that you can’t work with if you have an open mind.”

Schoenfeld also says that comparing vineyard development to the Gold Rush is an exaggeration. “There was a big rush out here about three or four years ago, but that has changed. At the moment, I can’t think of anyone who plans to come in. It’s really expensive to plant grapes, and yield tends to be low here [on the Sonoma Coast] because of the climate and the soil.

“With the exception of people who have too much money,” he says, “people are looking at slowing down sales. There are a few absolute premium people who haven’t had a slowdown. But that’s the exception, not the rule.”

Reports that the wine boom is over have appeared in the mainstream press. Nonetheless, vineyard and winery expansion continues apace in the Northwest County. David Hirsch has 50 acres of wine grapes and is planting 50 more. In March, the Sonoma County Permit and Resource Management Department gave him a permit to build a winery and produce 15,000 cases of wine each year. He originally requested 30,000 cases, but after a meeting with concerned neighbors, he settled for a lower number.

Once a clothing importer and exporter, Hirsch bought his 1,100 acres 30 years ago. He tried sheep ranching first. “We couldn’t make any money at that,” he says. “A ram was a major customer for the wolf. We couldn’t kill the coyotes anymore [when new environmental laws were passed].”

Then a viticulturist told Hirsch that he’d make a fortune if he planted pinot noir grapes. “He was right!” says Hirsch. “[Before], this ranch couldn’t even support one person. Now there are four families and kids, day laborers, and all kinds of suppliers.” That doesn’t mean it’s easy. Hirsch starts work at 4:30am and doesn’t stop until 5pm or 6pm. But like many residents in the area, he still finds time to plant redwoods and Douglas firs to replace trees lost to clearcutting after World War II and to huge fires in 1954 and 1978.

Walt Flowers now has 80 acres of vineyards and says that’s all he’ll ever need. But he does want to make more wine, and to do that, he needs a larger winery. On July 25, the PRMD approved Flowers’ request to increase production from 9,500 cases per year to 20,000. Defending the expansion, which will involve heavy construction in a fragile environment, Flowers says, “We have really tried very, very hard to fit into the community and deal with their concerns. Altogether, our winery, plus the winery expansions, plus all our buildings, totals less than one acre. If you consider vineyards as open space, our property is 87 percent open space.”

It’s generally understood that “open space” is undeveloped, unfenced, wildlife-friendly land–not vineyards.

Land of the Free

In June, environmental consulting firm Leonard Charles and Associates of San Anselmo released a draft report on the environmental impacts of wine industry expansion in northwestern Sonoma County. Residents requested the report and have passed it on to the PRMD. Water tops the list of concerns addressed in the report. Leonard Charles writes, “Vineyards and wineries are diverting the few natural springs, pumping from wells, and/or diverting runoff or stream water to provide water for their operations. These withdrawals deplete stream flows, particularly at the end of the dry season.”

Echoing this concern, Annie Cresswell says, “The South Fork of the Gualala River is on or crosses both [the Flowers and Michael] properties. The river supports coho and steelhead salmon, two sensitive species in this watercourse. [Also], Flowers Vineyards is situated directly above the river, and vineyard pesticides could adversely affect these species.” Vineyard chemicals–and the erosion and sedimentation that result from development–also affect the quantity and quality of neighbors’ drinking water, reports Leonard Charles.

Marlena Guinther, who once worked at Flowers Vineyard and Winery, quit out of concern for the environmental changes that result from wine industry expansion. “So much of the wildlife habitat was removed [by Flowers],” she says. “I didn’t want to be a part of this expansion. . . . There were once herds of wild hog here. I haven’t seen any wild pigs in two or three years. [Vineyard workers] use propane boom guns that give off percussion sounds intermittently to scare off wildlife.”

Traffic is another concern. Elaine Wellin, associate professor of sociology at Sonoma State University, says, “Each week, it seems, we hear a new story about residents being run off the road by large commercial trucks going to vineyards, wineries, and other destinations in the hills.”

Leonard Charles reports that most of the roads in the area are too narrow to even provide a median stripe, and industrial vineyards generate a significant amount of traffic. “Many of the workers in these vineyards commute or, if they are provided farm worker housing on-site, drive to town for supplies and recreation, to school, etc. Grapes are hauled out, equipment and supplies are hauled in, often on large trucks. The increased traffic on these substandard roads poses a significant safety risk for local residents.”

The firm also highlights fire hazard, which strikes a chord with Wellin. “It’s a tinder box out here,” she says. “The fire hazard with visitors and increased labor is enormous. This is not a safe place for people who don’t understand the danger.”

In 1978 fire destroyed the home that Wellin built with her own hands. “From a distance, it looked like Mordor, the desolate land in Lord of the Rings.”

Perhaps the most unusual impact mentioned in the report will affect residents whose ancestors are buried in a cemetery that dates back to the 1880s–and which happens to be on Peter Michael’s property. “It’s a functional cemetery that’s being used today,” says Steve Smith, area forester at the Department of Forestry. “There are questions about continued community access and the ambiance of the area around the cemetery. Unfortunately, where the cemetery is located is the only place that has access to the road.”

Money Talks

Regulators acknowledge that vineyards and wineries have impacts. But, they say, there are limits to what they can do to protect the environment. “We review the project to make sure there isn’t something out there that would create a big problem, like a big slide,” says Chuck Joiner, a division chief for resource management at the Department of Forestry. “We have mitigations to minimize the impact of the conversion. But the county has ultimate control, because they zone the land. If the county zoning allows a vineyard, then when the people apply to us, we’re bound by what the county says you can do there. We don’t control land use. The counties do.”

By far the most popular zone for vineyards in Sonoma County is the Rural Resources Development Zone, which permits not only vineyards but also wineries and bed and breakfast inns. Joiner says that if vineyards were dropped from this zone, there probably wouldn’t be many vineyard conversions. “[But] the board of supervisors would have to approve that change. It’s political, as well as everything else.”

Currently, vineyards are allowed in every zone in the county, including the Timber Production Zone. At the same time, if there’s standing timber on property in any zone, the owner cannot legally log the land and plant vineyards without a permit from the Department of Forestry.

Steve Smith is reviewing Michael’s application to clearcut 40 acres of his property and convert it to vineyards. “We have two incompatible goals,” he says. “These people own the land and they can do what they’re legally allowed to do on the land. On the other hand, we have to minimize their activity in order to lessen whatever damage is done to the environment as they meet their goals. We’re tasked with minimizing the destruction to the environment by suggesting mitigations or solutions. There’s going to have to be some compromise.”

Since its stated policy is to follow the county’s lead regarding land use, there’s a good chance that the Department of Forestry will allow Michael to clearcut the 40 acres and convert it to vineyards. There are also signs that the Army Corps of Engineers will allow Michael to fill in the wetlands on his property and replace it with a vineyard. Jane Hicks, section chief at the Corps, says they’ll “engage in a balancing act” as they make the decision. “Among many other things, we look at generally if there is going to be an economic benefit to the area or the applicant. Will it produce jobs?”

Because Michael’s wetlands are much smaller than other projects the Corps is evaluating, it won’t receive a detailed review. “I know this is a very controversial project locally,” she says. “[But] if we make a determination that the overall project, including the effect of economics, is not contrary to the public interest, then we would issue the permit.”

Wetlands are few and far between in the Northwest County, and they are a critical source of water for wildlife. Michael proposes to mitigate the harm that would result from replacing the wetlands with a vineyard by putting an irrigation reservoir somewhere else on his property. Environmentalists point out that it just wouldn’t be the same, and, currently, Corps reviewers agree. Ultimately, one man at the Corps, the district engineer, will make the final decision about whether to approve or reject Michael’s request.

Taming the Wild

According to Leonard Charles and Associates, the key to protecting the environment is the general plan, which is currently under review. “The existing general plan did not foresee the grape explosion. It did not foresee conversion of land to industrial vineyards, wineries, and bed and breakfast inns. The new land uses permitted by the county over the past few years are causing significant environmental changes. As importantly, they are allowing the character of the community to be destroyed in favor of a typical market-driven industrial economy.”

Leonard Charles recommends that county officials look at the cumulative impacts of all projects as a whole, rather than one at a time, and conduct a full environmental assessment before deciding on land use designations and policies for the new general plan.

The Citizens Advisory Committee is currently holding public hearings on the general plan. In the fall of 2003, the PRMD will consider the Committee’s recommendations. The Sonoma County Board of Supervisors will complete the review process in the summer of 2003, when it will hold the final set of public hearings and make final decisions.

In addition to changing the general plan, Elaine Wellin wants to change prevailing beliefs about northwestern Sonoma County. “The ethos in the county is that no one is here, and we’re just going to be vineyards, wineries, tasting rooms, and bed and breakfast inns. Our enemy is not so much the wineries but this ethos. Plans that affect us are being made in other places, by people who don’t seem to realize we live here.

“We need to be heard,” she continues, “and we are mobilizing mightily in this area. We’re working to let the powers that be know that this isn’t a place where no one cares, where they can just keep throwing out permits for development.”

Cresswell is grateful that the community has come together. “People are sitting up and taking notice,” she says. “I get phone calls daily, thanking me for my work and telling me that the angels are on my side.

“Throughout Sonoma County, many people feel that enough is enough.”

From the August 8-14, 2002 issue of the North Bay Bohemian.

© Metro Publishing Inc.