Wednesday, January 20, 2010
What I got, you’ve got to get it put it in you.
If there’s one thing the Interwebs are good for, it’s viewing porn. I've heard. It's also a great place to share the knowledge.
What I’m about to do goes against many Texas state laws, and breaks an ancient pledge that I signed in armadillo blood with a roadrunner quill. I’m going to document the making of my chili, and share a recipe that I've kept guarded by ill-tempered chihuahuas for years. Chili is not a soup, I know. But beef stock will be used, so I’m staying true to the principles of Plog that are tattooed across my back in big, gothic letters.
At the end of this Chili Journey, not only will you have a cauldron of Texas Red and possibly explosive diarrhea, you will also be left with sacred knowledge that you can pass on to your children's children. But not your own children. Because what have they ever done for you?
Be forewarned! This is something that will take commitment, among other things. Here are some of those other things:
• Access to a supermarket.
• A large pot. Stainless steel.
• A Willie Nelson cd, preferably Red Headed Stranger, but Robert Earl Keen’s No.2 Live Dinner is an acceptable substitute.
• Lots of beer. Shiner Bock, Lone Star, or Pearl.
• Tequila. 100% agave.
• A blender.
• A sense of adventure.
• A mouth with taste buds.
• Willingness to damage those taste buds.
• Tarot cards.
• A sacrificial goat.
• Cowboy boots. Tony Lama brand. Brown.
• The head of a chicken. (For luck)
• Pepto Bismol.
• A Ninja suit. Black.
• An Evel Knievel lunch box. Metal.
• 3 steel-belted radials. Goodyear.
• A spork.
• Leg warmers. Pink, wool.
• A hockey stick.
• A DVD of Vision Quest.
• A Snell-rated crash helmet.
• A rosary.
• A dradle.
• A Slap Chop.
• An Albino Bowler action figure.
• A dozen 9-volt batteries. Duracell.
• A Ouija board.
• Some gym mats. Blue.
• An adequate supply toilet tissue. Charmin.
Tomorrow, we make paste!