RIVER CITY JOURNAL: SOME LIKE IT HOT, BUT THIS CHILI WAS AN INFERNO

Those cooks were optimistic when they accidentally dropped the hot sauce bottle into the pot. Nobody will notice, they said.

The photograph on the front page of Thursday's Southeast Missourian said a lot. In the picture, Dr. Bob Fox of the Noon Optimist Club is stirring a vat of chili, part of the 280-gallon batch served to hundreds of hungry folks during the 13th annual Chili Day at the Arena Building.

In the background of the photo is a fire extinguisher, which is a good idea, considering the concern for public safety should the Arena Building's kitchen go up in flames.

But I was glad to see the fire extinguisher for another reason. When I went through the line shortly after 11 a.m. Wednesday, there were several bowls of chili ready and waiting on the counter. But Optimist Steve Wright asked if I wanted the hot chili.

Here's the plain truth: I don't like wimpy chili. What's the point? If you're going to make chili, make it so you know it's chili and not just boiled hamburger, beans and tomatoes.

So I said yes, I'd like the hot chili. I should have listened carefully as another Optimist said to Wright, "It's too hot."

Yeah, yeah, I thought. I've never met a bowl of chili I didn't like. And I've never eaten a bowl of hot chili that was too hot.

There were several of us from the newspaper enjoying the chili. Most of them took the regular blend, except for one other brave soul who also likes fiery chili.

But as soon as I took the first bite, I knew that my definition of hot and that of some possibly deranged Optimist didn't quite jive.

To say the chili was hot would be like saying the Rocky Mountains are hilly.

My cohort who also took the hot chili was eating very, very slowly. Both of us were gulping soft drinks. We were crushing crackers into the chili as fast as we could, hoping to soak up some of the heat. I broke out in a sweat. "Look," I said to the others, wiping my brow. "I'm dripping."

What I wanted was a fire extinguisher for my mouth. And throat. Had I known there was one so handy, I would have used it.

Now, let me be perfectly clear. The chili was delicious. I ate every bit of it. I enjoyed it. But when that fellow at the counter said the hot chili was too hot, he knew what he was talking about.

As a chili connoisseur (which is a fancy name for anyone who will eat from a paper bowl with a plastic spoon), I have enjoyed chili at more church suppers than you can count. As a matter of fact, the chili we make at home is a variation of the recipe used for a century or more at the Methodist church in Sweet Springs, Mo.

When we lived in Texas during the 1960s, we were exposed to that state's chili peculiarities. The big debate then -- and probably now as well -- is beans or no beans.

I also remember the chili parlor in Independence, Mo., where Harry Truman used to drop in when he was hungry for real food. The meat, beans and chili pepper were served separately, and you helped yourself. This meant you concocted whatever blend suited you best. Some folks never ate the beans, for example.

When we moved to New York City, we lived in an apartment building. Our neighbors, all young couples were from Ireland, New Jersey's Italian community and China. None had ever had chili in any version, so my wife introduced them to Methodist chili-New York style. They loved it. (She also taught everyone how to fry chicken, which was a big hit in the culinary department. We, on the other hand, ate fabulous Irish spring lamb, Chinese spring rolls and Italian pasta, all of which had never been part of the daily diet of these two Missourians.)

And then there was the Hungarian concert pianist whose family fled Castro's Cuba. He married a nice New York girl. When we arrived, neither of them had been out of Manhattan, and since we Midwesterners had a car, we took them on day trips up the Hudson and taught them how to make nachos and guacamole. Who says food isn't the coin of cultural understanding?

At their Chili Day, the Optimists fed more than 1,200 hungry diners. Most of them, I'm told, opted for the regular chili. Those who took the hot batch are still talking about it. Some of them are saying they wish they had another bowl. Me? I'm keeping my eye on the fire extinguisher.

~R. Joe Sullivan is the editor of the Southeast Missourian.