Dear Cincinnati Chili,
Hey. I know I’m not supposed to start conversations with ‘hey,' but after 30+ years of being together, I think we’ve reached a détente in our storied relationship of me ravenously consuming you — and you dealing with it. Don’t act like we don’t have a history. Let’s face it: I’m hungry, and you're (physically) into me as soon as I've ordered you.
I’ve had all the oyster crackers a man could want, and none of them satisfy me like you do, so don’t try to pass me off on those tiny bowls any longer. As the Proclaimers once sang, “I would eat 500 crackers and I would eat 500 more just to be the man who ate 500 crackers and still had room for more.” Or, you know, something like that.
You’ve tried to branch out; ex-Cincinnatians pretend you’re just as good from a can as you are in the restaurant, but that’s just something they have to tell themselves to sleep better at night. They justify their move to Nowheresville USA by pretending they can have their Cincinnati
cake chili and eat it too, but no one’s actually buying it. Well, I mean, some people are technically buying it, but I won’t. I’m not a monster.
I don’t care what brand you are, I just want you. Skyline, Camp Washington, Blue Ash, Pleasant Ridge, Dixie… my heart (re: stomach) is yours. I’ll take you any way I can have you because you are the perfect food, regardless of how much criticism you get from people from other parts of the country that claim you “aren’t real chili.” Preposterous. They’re just jealous you’re your own chili and don’t subscribe to their notion of what’s “real.” You do you, girlfriend.
And who cares what those haters think! You are (literally) a saucy dish I just cannot get enough of. Sorry for ending that sentence on a preposition, but you make me dizzy with affection and that’s nothing to joke about. Argh. See? The poor grammar… I cant not turn it off.
Look, I’m about to go eat you for the third time this week (it’s Wednesday, so I’m a little behind), but before I go, I want to tell you the three ways I love you:
- Over a weird little tiny hot dog
- Over a big old plate of hot spaghetti
- Over every edible thing I can have you on (except Graeter’s. Don’t be gross.)
See you soon, my love. XOXO
-Phil, Assistant Editor
Okay, so I lied. I bought a can of Skyline for a very intense photo shoot in the gallery above. But I DID eat it fresh from a restaurant right before this shoot, so it evens out, right?