Something has stuck in my mind since whiling away three days at this year’s Chili Cook-off. But first, a bit of personal history.  

I believe Silvia Flores and I may be the only living persons who have been there from the get-go, attending every single day since its inception. That’s 39 years breaking down to a total 117 days we have spent enduring the event’s peculiarities, noses filled the heady aromas of piquant meat stews and beer, suffering vagaries of weather that have ranged from brutal sun and dust galore, to blustery winds and torrential rains, and memorable moments of fabulous, sometimes outrageous entertainment.   

I was there as a competitor in 1979, a regular gopher in the early years, later promoted to judge, turned news hound for the last two decades.

So the Cook-off is familiar turf. But this year, as an observer in the cooks’ tent, I was astonished by the repetitive tone of questions voiced by people going down the tasting line. “Is it spicy?” I heard over and over as they cautiously picked up samples from competitors. 

Geez, I thought, what would you expect from dishes that include chile peppers as a basic ingredient? You didn’t come here for a milk toast cook-off after all.

Some other comments pointed to narrow notions expats have about what they call “salsa.” It’s a mixture of chopped up tomatoes, some onion, a hint of minced green chiles, maybe fresh maybe canned, with garlic and cilantro if the chef is bold. 

That’s the mild hot sauce Mexican cooks call pico de gallo (rooster’s beak), referring to the chunky texture. But anyone here worth his or her salt in the kitchen has a vast array of recipes up the sleeve.

Salsa de mesa, the kind you put on the table to complement ordinary meals, can be made with red tomatoes or green tomatillos, raw, boiled or toasted on a hot comal 

(griddle). 

But these ingredients are excluded from an abundance of sauces based on one or more of the infinite types of fresh or dried peppers kept in the pantry.  

A standard in many local households is a simple blend of toasted chile de arbol ground up in a stone molcajete (mortar and pestle) with a good pinch of salt, and persiganado con agua, meaning adding just enough H2O for good consistency, of similar measure to the dash of holy water used to make the sign of the cross.  

It’s a devilish concoction that would rate just above the half-point on the renowned Scoville heat scale … a perfect foil for insipid foods if you’re accustomed to hot stuff, torture if you like your chow bland.

As for the cook-off’s centerpiece, chili-con-carne is a heart-warming TexMex dish, but a lackluster substitute for true carne con chile, a sumptuous classic made from fat chunks of pork stewed in a tongue-tingling red sauce, popular for the mid-morning pick-me-up meal called almuerzo. 

Chiles have been a fundamental component of the Mexican diet since time immemorial. I venture to think they somehow symbolize the country’s vibrant way of life.  Would it be rude to suggest: if you can’t stand the heat, get out of the kitchen?