Is that a chile pepper in your pocket,

or are you just happy to see me?

A day in the life of a chili cookoff

Sometimes I wonder how I survived my childhood without dying of humiliation. My parents' mission in life, it seemed, was to act as strange as possible in order to embarrass me. All parents are weird, don't get me wrong, but my parents are at the top of the list. Actually, they haven't always acted strange, it all seems to have started when they began listening to country music. If you really want to call it music.

My mother and father are really into the whole Texas, cowboy scene, and our house is decorated accordingly (I was never consulted about this). We have a bar downstairs with a cow skull and bumper stickers hanging everywhere that say things like "Life's too short to dance with ugly women", and "There are two types of people in the world: Texans and those who wish they were". I think it should read, "Texans and those who are glad they aren't". But then I'm just a silly child, what do I know? Anyway, not only does our house have annoying cowboy stuff all over it, but there are chile peppers everywhere. More chile peppers than one could ever imagine. I'm afraid to bring people over, the house is so scary. Everywhere you turn chile pepper magnets, chile pepper stationary, chile pepper salt and pepper shakers, chile pepper wreaths, chile pepper ribbons, chile pepper boxer shorts, and to top it all off we have a giant 5 foot chile pepper with red and green blinking lights all around it at the top of our driveway for everybody and their uncle to see. We also have a room in our house dedicated to chili (note the difference between chile and chili), which my parents imaginatively named "the chili room". In this room one can find , if they want to, chili trophies from all over, chili photo albums, and all sorts of other chili paraphernalia. Our family is also the proud recipient of the national chili newsletter, the Goat Gap Gazette, and we also have a subscription to Chile Pepper magazine. Yes, this actually exists. Sad, I know, but true. Can you believe it, an entire magazine devoted to a stupid pepper! Try to get away from chili in my house; it can't be done. Believe me, I've tried. It reminds me of the tootsie roll song, "The world looks mighty good to me cuz tootsie rolls are all I see. Whatever it is I think I see, becomes a tootsie roll to me." Same concept. Only, I would have preferred the tootsie rolls, at least they taste good. And my parents wonder why I spend so much time in my room.

But wait, there's more. There is a reason for all of these chile peppers. . . chili cookoffs! What could be more Texan than an 'honest bowl of red?' So of course my parents have to get in on that. Yes, my parents cook chili for competition as a hobby (and you thought your parents were weird).

They travel all over the place cooking chili on weekends in hopes of being able to qualify to cook in the national cookoff in Terlingua, Texas. They also run several cookoffs, one of which is held at our house, on New Year's Day, in the backyard. The winners of this illustrious cookoff get their name engraved on a plaque on our front steps, what an honor! Due to this fact, I can't bring people over anymore at all. Chili follows my parents like a shadow. I'm not exaggerating when I say that it's everywhere. For example, we were at the grocery store the other day, and the guy who bagged our groceries said, "Hey don't you guys run those chili cookoffs?" A friend of mine went all the way to the other side of the world, to Israel, and she casually mentioned that her friend's father cooked chili. The guy she was talking to knew who my father was and had heard about him winning the Men's National Cookoff (The Chilympiad). So no matter where I go, there is either someone talking about chili cookoffs, cooking chili, or I'm staring at about one million chile peppers.

I really don't understand what the big deal is with Texas. I've been there before, and half of it was dust and dirt. One thing I will say about Texas is that it's huge; there's nothing small in Texas. My mom made me count all of the counties in Texas once, because her goal is to dance with someone from every county in Texas. Needless to say it took me a long time to do it because there are about 235 counties. I don't remember anymore, and I'm certainly not counting them again. I think my mom is up to 3 out of 235. It's been 2 years now, I don't think she's going to accomplish her goal.

Anyways, enough about that, tomorrow my parents are dragging me to yet another one of these fun-filled, festive functions. Boy, am I excited. I wish they would just let me stay home. I'm 14, I can take care of myself. But my mom seems to think that if I was left alone some major catastrophe would occur. My dad thinks that I would have a party (as if I could have any friends after all this). How many countless weekends have I spent wasted at chili cookoffs? Way too many! I can't wait till I get my license; oh, to dream of freedom and a life without chili. Does life without chili actually exist? Not for me it doesn't. The cookoff tomorrow will be held in Virginia, which is where a lot of them take place. So we will be driving in the morning. We live in Maryland, and it's about a two hour drive. After the cookoff, we can't come home. Oh no, we have to hang out with all the "chili people" and stay the night there. Exactly how I want to spend my Saturday nights.

The name of the cookoff is "Cow Bingo Chili Cookoff." What, you ask, is cow bingo? Well, I'll tell you. They take a field, and mark it off into squares and number them. Then they raffle the squares off to people, and at the end of the day, they bring out a cow, named Betty, and let her roam about until she has that urge to go to the bathroom. Whoever the lucky person is that owns the square that Betty happens to choose, wins money. In the past (it's held annually) Betty has had trouble going to the bathroom. So, this year they are going to feed her laxatives to help her express herself. What I'd like to know is who the person was that came up with this idea in the first place and why hasn't the ASPCA said anything? What kind of country is this that has people paying to have a cow poop on their square to win money???? Don't you wish you were there?

The night before is always a lot of fun (heavy sarcasm in the air). I always have to help my parents load the car, what fun. I don't know why they call it "helping" my brother and I do all the work. They just stand around and look busy so they don't have to do anything, but then they complain because we haven't done it the right way. At this moment, my parents are probably either mixing together their spices for tomorrow or cutting their meat into little tiny cubes. My dad bought a $700 scale to weigh his spices and a $400 blender to mix them together. Can we say rip-off, children? These are sacred items, and my brother and I are not to touch them at all. Really, I could care less. It's not like I spend all of my spare time touching blenders or anything.

Here is a typical scenario of the night before the cookoff:

"Courtney! Come down here!", my mom yells from downstairs.

"Why?!", I yell back. I'm such a sweet child.

"I want you to help me load the car."

"I'm coming." Lovely, manual labor. My parents live under the delusion that my younger brother and I are actually slaves that they purchased somewhere. They claim that they have bad backs and they can't lift anything and that is why we have to do all the work. Let's just suppose for one moment that they are telling the truth; I'd like to know whether they realize that now my brother and I have bad backs as well. When I get down to the over-cluttered garage, I notice that my mother has left everything out for me to put into the car. I also notice that my brother is nowhere in sight. He is a master at not being around when there is work to be done. Either he's psychic or he learned this from observing my father. So I decide to sit in the car and wait for him. My mother came out a few minutes later and saw me sitting in the car.

"What are you doing? Why are you just sitting in the car?"

"I'm waiting for Marshall, where is he?"

"I think he's up the street playing football."

"Well, I'm not doing all this by myself. "

"Fine, go ring the bell for him to come help you."

At this point she looks very frustrated. Sometimes I feel bad for her. . . but not very often. Then, I leap and bound back through the garage, and into the house. I run upstairs and out onto the deck to The Bell. Our mother uses this bell to call us when we're out playing somewhere in the neighborhood. She also uses it to call the dogs. Tells you what our parents think about us. The clapper fell out years ago. So, you have to bang it with a large spoon.

Clang. Clang. Clang.

"MARSHALL!"

Way off in the distance I hear, "What?!"

"Come here!" I can see him running now. When he get to the stairs of the deck I tell him, "Mom said you have to help load the car."

"Ugh! I don't even want to go to the stupid cookoff! They're SO boring!"

"I don't care what you want to do. Just shut up and help me load the car."

Afterwards, I am tired. Loading the car is always such a pain. I do feel compelled to mention that my mother does help us a bit. She doesn't actually lift anything, but she's there supervising. Regardless, it isn't one of our favorite activities. Once the car is packed we generally go to bed, because my mom likes to travel early, early, early (she wakes up at 4:00 am).

* * * The next morning my mother wakes us up bright and early. She usually has to yell at us at least three times before we actually get out of the bed (just for the record, my brother and I do not sleep in the same bed). My brother is always cranky and whiny in the mornings. He stays in this mood until he eats something. The problem is trying to convince him to eat. My mother generally argues with him for 20 minutes trying to get him to eat something, and when he finally does, he is much happier. This happens every single morning. You would think he'd have learned by now. I think he suffers from lack of oxygen to the brain or something. I never act like this. I always tell him he's adopted.

After breakfast, we get in the car and we're off! Now we're on the road to certain doom. My brother and I usually sleep the whole way. When we get there we have to unload the car and set up our booth. A wandering chili cook or two will usually stop and talk to us about nothing in particular. Some of these people are pretty weird. I guess that you kinda have to be to cook at one in the first place, like an unwritten rule or something. I think I would even go so far as to say that some of these people are weirder than my parents are. No one has my mother beat in the fashion department though. Dressing seems to be a problem in my family, except for me of course. My mom has a "chili outfit" that she likes to wear. This outfit consists of electric blue shorts, a hot pink shirt, a bright blue bandanna tied around the neck, a pink baseball hat, blue suspenders, 2 pairs of socks (one bright blue, the other bright pink), and tennis shoes with 2 sets of sparkly shoestrings tied to them. Although the colors all coordinate with each other, it's a little too much to have take in all at once. Good thing she stopped dressing me, or I'd really be in trouble. I don't know what it is with the suspenders, but my dad likes to wear them too, with chili buttons all over them. He also wears t-shirts that say things like 'Keepin' the country in country music', jeans, a big cowboy hat, and cowboy boots. I have to give him credit for being more subdued.

Both of my parents cook chili separately. The name of my dad's chili is "Gunpowder Chili" because the Gunpowder River is close to our house. It's also a hint towards spiciness, he's so clever. My mother's chili is called "Shades of Blue Chili". Most people think of chili as a 'bowl of red'; but my mom hates the color red, and for that matter she hates chili too. She hates the way it tastes, so she basically throws in spices and hopes that it tastes good. What's even more amazing is that she wins a lot. I don't understand it. She hates chili, yet she cooks it for competition. Where is the logic in all of this? She says that the only reason she participates is to meet the people, and she likes the atmosphere. I think the people are a little psycho, but you know what they say, Birds of a feather......

There are more disgusting names for the chili, such as, "Mule Puke Chili", "Two-Flush Chili" (because it takes two flushes after you've eaten it), "Gag-a-Maggot Chili", and my personal favorite "Roadkill Chili". Just gets your saliva flowing doesn't it?

Marshall is supposed to help me set everything up, but once again he has disappeared. So, as my mother wanders off to the cooks' meeting, I decide to hunt down my brother. At the cook's meeting all the rules are explained and they handy out goody bags filled by the sponsors. Very often the cookoff is sponsored by an antacid company like Pepto Bismol or Gaviscon. Coors is also usually a sponsor.

Now where could Marshall have gone? He's probably with Richard, of Far Fighter Chili fame. 'Far' being southern for fire. Stupid, I know, but that's how he spells it. Marshall is usually helping Richard make margaritas. And people wonder how the youth of America gets corrupted, it's these chili cookoffs I tell you! They are evil! They are bad! But, I digress. What Richard does is he takes a plant sprayer (for pesticide), which he painted red, and puts margaritas in it. Then, he goes around spraying it into people's mouths. Supposedly to quench the "fire" from the chili, but really it's so a group of young women will follow him around all the time like groupies. Imagine that. Marshall sometimes participates in this episode, and sure enough, that's where he is.

Reluctantly he agrees to come back with me. I guess he enjoys these half naked women following him around too. And at such a young age, sigh.

He's five years younger than I am (making him 8 at the time of this story), and I think he's pretty annoying. I give him a hard time a lot. If he doesn't do something that I want him to, sometimes I have to beat him up. It's the only sisterly thing to do. But you know what's really annoying about him? He cooks chili too! Mutiny! Not in the same league as the adults, mind you, but in the Jr. Chili Cookoffs.

After Marshall helps me with the canopy he runs off. I think he secretly enjoys the cookoffs. What a loser. Since my whole family is cooking chili, I'm usually left with nothing to do. There is a girl, a little younger than I am, who sometimes comes with her parents to the cookoffs. Her name is Tori. We usually hang out and be bored together. She usually cooks in the Jr. Cookoffs as well but I don't hold it against her. Mainly because she competes against my brother and I'm all for anything that makes his life more difficult. Tori's parents are pretty interesting too. Her mother's name is Jeanne and her father's name is Del (short for Delano). He is a character, let me tell you. He's from Oklahoma, he's loud and he likes to sing. A dangerous combination in anyone.

Del's chili is called Del's Armadillo Army. His mascot is a real, stuffed armadillo with a very strange expression on its face. It wears little red sneakers that were once keychains. What a sight. He likes to sing Jimmy Buffet songs. He always sings Cheeseburger in Paradise, Magaritaville, or Pencil Thin Mustache. Unfortunately he only knows a few lines from these songs. So at any given time this is what you could hear him singing (in an Oklahoman accent):

I wish I had a pencil thin mustache
The Boston Blackie kind
A two-tone Ricky Ricardo jacket
And an autographed picture of Andy Devine

Wastin' away again in Magaritaville
Cheeseburger in paradise

It's the last two that get rather annoying because he only knows the one line. Once he got on stage and sang some Elvis song. That was rather amusing. Another time when he was at our house, he asked my brother and his friend, "What does renewed mean?" and without waiting for a response he said, "Getting naked twice." What a goofball. I think he has a belt buckle shaped like Texas. But then, not to be outdone, my mother has blue tinted sunglasses with the lenses shaped like Texas. They are SO ugly! And very 70's if you ask me.

Ok, so now you're thinking what else goes at one of these things. Well here's a typical schedule:

9:00 - cooks arrive
10:00 - cook's meeting
10:30 - begin cooking
12:00 - general public arrives
1:00 - turn in time for chili
3:00 - judges finish judging
5:00 - announce winners
In between these thing are various contests and activities. Some of these would include (but are not limited to): cow bingo, a jalapeno eating contest, a hoot 'n holler contest, a tortilla toss, and three man slingshot water balloon tossing. What's a hoot 'n holler contest, you ask? A bunch of people stand on a stage to see who can scream the loudest into a microphone. There is also a lot of pig calling. Now is it me or is that a really stupid contest. I just don't understand where people get these ideas.

Truly as I look back on all this stuff it is rather amusing and even though I sit here and complain, it does make an interesting story. You're lucky, you can read about it. Be thankful you didn't live it.