White Chicken Chili

White meat chicken chili is a tasty alternative to the traditional bowl of "red" most of us grew up with.

This white meat chicken chili is a lighter alternative to the traditional bowl of "red."

If my family was anything, it was traditional. My grandma washed clothes on Monday and ironed on Tuesday, no exceptions. Sunday dinners were usually fried chicken or roast beef. And chili was red. Period.

So, when my Aunt Georgia, Mom’s youngest sister, shared a recipe for white chicken chili, it upset the Reinhardt’s recipe box. Gasp! White chili? Who ever heard of such a thing?

Georgia Anderson probably was the gourmand of the family. She actually cooked from Julia Child’s cookbook. Going to the Anderson house in Bridgeton, Missouri, when I was growing up was a bit like dining in a restaurant: fancy food (by our standards), drinks before dinner, wine with the meal, elegant desserts. Georgia was a good hostess; I imagine that skill came over the years because she was married to Lee, a naval officer, so she probably had to entertain as part of her husband's career.

But the Reinhardt women didn’t embrace this recipe because it went against the norm. The hot pink recipe card, while likely from the 1980s, looks almost newly transcribed in my mother’s hand. The title suggests the recipe is inspired by Lewis & Clark's restaurant in St. Charles, Missouri, whose white chili today remains a house specialty. But that’s my only my best guess; I can’t imagine the explorers making this on their trek west from the banks of the Missouri River.

So, where did this upstart white chili come from? I couldn’t find a clear consensus. It’s not even mentioned on the National Chili Day website (next holiday is Feb. 25, 2021). But food writer Anne Bryn researched the dish to a Los Angeles chef, Michael Roberts, who used duck in a white bean chili for a new Southwestern take on a cassoulet. By the end of the 1980s, food writers were on the white chili bandwagon, seeing it as a fresh take on the heavier bowl of “red.” Apparently, Aunt Georgia was once again a trendsetter.

But like its red cousin, white chili can have a variety of iterations. Some recipes will add more chilies for heat or corn for sweetness. This recipe seems to make a chili thinner in consistency. Those who like a thicker chili can add cream. I like to say chili is a canvas on which creative cooks can go all Jackson Pollack; add whatever you'd like into the pot.

A great side to the chili would be easy Corn Dog Muffins.

White Chili

Yield: 8 servings

I have also used ground turkey in this chili when I’m without chicken in the freezer.

Ingredients:

3 pounds cooked Great Northern beans; or use 3 (15.8 ounce) cans, rinsed

2 pounds boneless chicken breasts

1 tablespoon olive oil

4 garlic cloves, minced

2 medium onions, chopped

2 teaspoons ground cumin

¼ teaspoon ground cloves

¼ teaspoon cayenne pepper

1 teaspoon dried oregano

2 to 4 ounces chopped mild chili peppers (I used a 4-ounce can)

4 cups of chicken stock

20 ounces Monterey Jack cheese, freshly grated

Sour cream and freshly sliced jalapeno pepper to garnish

Method:

1. Cook chicken breasts 15 to 20 minutes until tender. (If you wanted a little color on the chicken, you could brown these in extra olive oil. I poached them with a couple of bay leaves and a tablespoon of peppercorns.) Cool and cut into ½-inch pieces.

2. In a large stockpot, heat olive oil and add onions. Cook until translucent. Add garlic, chilies, cumin, cayenne, oregano, and clove. Cook about 3 minutes.

Add chicken, broth, and 12 ounces of cheese. Simmer for 15 minutes.

3. Serve in bowls and top with remaining cheese, sour cream, and jalapenos.

(Tip: You might be tempted to buy grated cheese in a bag, but this doesn’t melt as well as cheese you grate yourself. The grated, bagged cheese contains preservatives meant to keep it from clumping, while the cheese you grate yourself doesn’t contain these ingredients.)

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Out of desperation, Joy

Irma Rombauer's cookbook has inspired home cooks since 1931. Here I am with my 1975 edition and the sixth printing that my grandma used.

Irma Rombauer was a desperate woman. As a result, America learned how to cook.

Irma Starkloff Rombauer of course gave us The Joy of Cooking, a cookbook that’s probably in your kitchen if I could hazard a guess. Most home cooks either bought or were given a copy at some point. In fact, more than 18 million copies (nine editions) have been sold since its first printing in 1931. And it all began because Irma’s husband, Edgar—after suffering with depression for years—committed suicide in 1930, about three months into The Great Depression.

With no husband and no job, Irma (then 52 years old) had about $6,000 in a savings account. So, she impulsively announced she would write a cookbook, which was quite a leap for a woman who liked dinner table conversation more than actually cooking the dinner.

There’s a comprehensive biography by Anne Mendelson, Stand Facing the Stove, that gives great detail on Irma and her daughter, Marion Rombauer Becker. I’m reading it now, and at 500 pages, I hope to finish it before I start collecting Social Security.

But like the detail in her cookbooks, the finer points of Irma’s life are notable.

For example, she was born in St. Louis, Missouri (Oct. 30, 1877). Her half-brother, Max Starkloff, wasa St. Louis Health Commissioner and introduced social distancing during the 1918 flu pandemic. A noteworthy factoid as St. Louis grapples with COVID-19. I’d bet Max would tell you to just wear a mask and physical distance, but I digress.

Because husband Edgar was an attorney, Irma became skilled as a hostess. While she could make lovely decorated cakes, she was only a competent cook. Still, Marion later would say her mother’s cooking skills were always improving.

I think because Irma possessed such strong social skills, it would be natural that her writing style would be approachable. In fact, another cookbook author, Molly Finn, once said the best part of Joy is the voice of its author. Early editions included personal stories, “Irmaisms” (witticisms), and puns, all to make cooking approachable. But what it really did was create a new “action format” for cookbooks.

I have a later printing of the 1975 edition of Joy. Honestly, I can’t remember how I got it; it was probably a shower gift. It is worn, stained, and well-loved. I feel oddly empowered when cooking from this book, like my mom or grandma are there coaching me. I also have my Grandma’s copy of Joy that looks to be from 1941 (sixth printing). The title page notes it is “a compilation of reliable recipes with a culinary chat.” The cover is hanging on with duct tape and the pages are yellowed with age, but some extra recipes in Grandma’s handwriting are still legible; it’s a true treasure.

Another notable thing is that Irma had become quite the national celebrity by the mid-1940s during an era without television, never mind no cable channels devoted to food. By the 1950s, she and daughter Marion were on world tours promoting the book. And this is all pre-Instagram, folks.

Irma died on Oct. 14, 1962 in St. Louis. She’s honored with a star on the St. Louis Walk of Fame and received a Founder’s Day Award from Washington University, where she studied fine art in 1897. Her family members continue to protect and grow her Joy empire; her great grandson, John Becker, and his wife, Megan Scott, updated the ninth edition (2019).

I share with you this recipe from Grandma’s copy of Joy. It’s for German pancakes, something we often had for weekend breakfasts. I still make these for my breakfast. These are great for a brunch menu, too. Although it’s interesting that the recipe from Irma’s book makes just one 8-inch pancake. I wonder if, like so many women who have lost a spouse, she had to relearn how to cook for one.

Anyway, make this for breakfast this month and when you do, raise your fork to the little woman from St. Louis who taught America to cook.

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German Pancakes

(From The Joy of Cooking, 1941 sixth printing)

Makes one 8-inch pancake

Ingredients

3 tablespoons sifted flour

1/2 teaspoon salt

1/2 tablespoon sugar (optional)

2 eggs

6 tablespoons milk

1 tablespoon butter

Method

Resift the flour with sale and sugar. Beat eggs and add sifted ingredients.Slowly add milk, beating batter for 5 minutes.

In an 8-inch [oven-proof] skillet, melt the butter. Pour batter into hot skillet and place in oven at 425 degrees for 6 minutes. Reduce heat to 350 degrees and bake for 15 minutes longer. Spread with powdered sugar or preserves. Sprinkle it with lemon juice.

[I also simply fry the pancake in the skillet. I've made the pancakes simply with 1 cup flour, 1 cup milk, 1 egg, a pinch of salt and sugar, 1/8 teaspoon vanilla extract. This recipe yields 4 dense pancakes.]

Mormon Soup

A bowl of this vegetable and ground beef soup will satisfy.

Beef, potatoes and tons of veg in this hearty soup will keep you warm and fill you up.

As I finish this post, I’m looking out my window and see my new red maple tree bravely holding on to its colorful leaves against a breeze that’s picked up in the last 10 minutes. Fall is here in Missouri, and the temperature today will continue to drop from about 40 degrees to near freezing tonight. That, plus the chilly rain that should be here by noon, makes me grateful I have some leftover Mormon soup in the refrigerator for my lunch.

Soup is a big part of Hungarian cuisine; maybe that’s why my mom frequently had a pot simmering whenever the weather turned cooler. I’d say this would be one of her signature dishes, and I guess she thought so as well (it was in the Trinity United Church of Christ cookbook).

However, I’m not sure why she called it Mormon soup. I’d be interested to hear if anyone else has a similarly named recipe in their cookbook collection. Search for “Mormon soup” online and you’ll likely find a variety of split-pea soup recipes. I found an older article on the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints website that touched on Mormon pioneer women and what might have been packed and eaten on the trek west from Illinois to Utah.

According to the article, people making the difficult winter initial journey from Nauvoo, Illinois, to present day Omaha, Nebraska, in 1846 lived mainly on cornbread and molasses, mixing it into a thin gruel. They learned not to waste anything, and later used leftover meat with any vegetable they could find.

Which brings me back to Mom’s recipe. It’s basically a hamburger-vegetable soup with a basic mirepoix, potatoes, and canned tomatoes. But Mom added cabbage, corn, and barley. Maybe she simply had these ingredients on hand and didn’t want them to go to waste, not unlike the Mormon women trying to get to Utah.

The recipe she submitted to the cookbook’s editor simply reads “put everything in a large pot and cook until vegetables are tender.” Her acute brevity might have been fueled by the fact she had to write the recipe out by hand as we didn’t have a typewriter (remember, this was before home computers). I also recall making this soup in the past when the barley wasn’t cooked quite long enough. So, I’ve added a few of my tips for this soup. Serve it with Boston brown bread for a hearty lunch or a lighter, satisfying supper.

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