Kirsten and Ginny’s Blonde Chicken Chili
Photo by Cara Cormack
The transition from adolescence into adulthood is often fraught with a cognitive dissonance between taking and leaving, between needing and abandoning. This transition never seems to get easier, nor do we tend to talk about the years hence, when we perhaps begin to recover what we’d distanced ourselves from all those years ago. The mid to late twenties seem to be a time of uncertainty, a time where we either continue to leap forward or remember and return to what we know.
Kirsten symbolizes this idea in many ways. Smart and driven, coming out of high school wanting nothing but opportunity, novelty, and most of all independence. She was placed into a broadcast journalism program within the United States Air Force that soon had her travelling all over the US and the world. She was away from her home state of Colorado for six years following high school and has significantly progressed her career within the Air Force. So much so, that she managed to leverage her career towards returning home, to her state, and most notably her mother. She’s returned at an integral time in the family’s transition, as they are selling Kirsten’s childhood home and leaving their past life behind, in favour of new arrangements.
Her mother, Ginny, is more than thrilled to have Kirsten home after six years, and Kirsten is happier than ever. She drives the hour from her work in Colorado Springs back to her hometown every weekend to help pack the house and spend time with her mom. But the Kirsten we see today is different from the Kirsten that joined the Air Force all those years ago. She credits one moment for shifting her outlook on the idea that growing up doesn’t have to mean shutting out.
Kirsten’s first real placement in the Air Force was in Germany at Ramstein Air Force Base. This was the first time she’d had access to a real kitchen in three years. “You know, when you first leave the house, and you don't want to ask your parents for anything, you want to do everything on your own? Germany was about three years past me living out of the house, and I had finally reached that point where I was like, ‘oh my god, why am I being so stubborn about this? Why am I not taking advantage of all the experience and all the knowledge and all the advice that my mom could be giving me?’ So I think I called [my mom] and I was like, ‘hey, I need the recipe for Blonde Chicken Chili.’”
The first thing you’ll notice about Ginny and Kirsten when you meet them is how they speak. They both have a heightened, sarcastic eloquence that becomes even more pronounced when they’re with each other.
“Virginia” Kirsten giggles, “also known as Ginny. She currently works at Parker Pediatrics. She works in their billing department. And if I do say so myself--”
“No... medical records!” Ginny interrupts, shaking her head.
“That's billing!” Kirsten responds, Ginny laughs.
“Listen, I know my mother,” Kirsten continues. “She is an incredibly meticulous and organized person when it comes to everyone else but not necessarily herself. She has the biggest heart and will bend over backwards for anybody she meets.”
“Hm, the apple didn't fall far from the tree, did it?” Ginny laughs, “Kirsten was probably 21 when she was two. She's always been very headstrong. She sets her sights on something and she goes after it. For her job, she makes everybody else look wonderful, which apparently she enjoys doing.”
Blonde Chicken Chili was passed down from a family friend, Candy, who once brought the dish to a potluck. When Kirsten’s dad graduated from school, Ginny and he“started a construction company and [were] moving all the time and not being able to see family… when you move around a lot, you start developing an extended family… So we used to do these en masse dinners. We were in Tennessee, and it was one of those big huge Mexican fiesta dinners. Candy had made this Blonde Chili, and I'd never heard of it. Never tried it. So, I put it in a bowl and sprinkled the cheese on it. I was like, ‘Oh my God, who made this?’ And Candy said ‘it's mine.’ And I said... ‘Recipe. Now! Now! I need it now!’"
Chili originates from the southwestern US and Mexico. The most common is Chili Con Carne, it often is a stew made up of some sort of meat, liquid, and spices. Beans are a very common addition, particularly in the chilis we know today. However, an original Texas Chili Con Carne most likely looks much more like Mexican stews such as Chile Colorado or Chile Verde. The addition of beans is controversial in states like Texas, but follows chili’s progression from being a cheap worker dish in San Antonio to a widespread staple from the southern United States, often taken to potlucks and group dinners. Chili is something that is hard to define and takes many different shapes in all different parts of the U.S.
Blonde Chicken Chili resembles that of a ‘Green Chile’ that is commonly seen in New Mexico and Colorado in Mexican-American cuisine. A stew that consists of Green Chiles from New Mexico or Colorado and often also includes pork or potatoes, it however is not often made with beans, which is where the difference between Kirsten and Ginny’s chili, and Green Chile indicative of her home state lie. Another difference is Green Chile from Colorado is always spelt with an e, whereas this chili uses an I. “[Green Chile] is such a big thing in Colorado. I didn't realize it until I left. We do Green Chile omelettes, we do Green Chile everything, and it's so good. This chili, it's just the barest hint of green chiles, but it's enough to be like, oh, that's Colorado. That's home,” says Kirsten.
Kirsten’s family was very ritualistic in their eating habits. “Weekend dinners were like a really big thing. We had a good weekend family meal routine.” Blonde Chicken Chili became a hallmark of these weekend dinners. “I always knew when that night was going to be Blonde Chicken Chili night, because [mom] started cooking it hours beforehand, it was just this huge ritual at our house when it was getting made because it was all prepared and then would go in the slow cooker and we would wait for like five hours for it all to simmer and all of the flavours to get acquainted. The longer you let it sit, the better it was, was what [mom] always used to say.”
Ginny finishes with an immersion blender in the end, because the kids “didn’t want to wait,” she says. “The thing is when you cook the beans, they're going to kind of break down and they help thicken it and make it so that it's not like soup.”
“I went out and I bought an immersion blender,” says Kirsten, “and I actually bought a US one even though I was living with European voltage, because I wanted to continue making it after I left. So I would haul my transformer from my living room into my kitchen, all for those four little zhuzhes.”
They were both very specific that it was four pumps of the blender, which they referred to by making a whirring sound or using the word ‘zhuzh.’ “It’s very critical because if you over blend it’s too thick, it turns into mush. Under-blend you have chunks,” says Kirsten. She added, “I don't think I really realized how much I missed that ritual and that dish. It's very hearty, and it's very comforting, without being too... I'm not gonna say it's not really flavorful, but it just hits the spot when you want something that's filling.” Kirsten turned to her mother then, “...but yeah, I felt like I reaching out to you was kind of the start of me saying ‘Hey, I would love to reconnect with you.’ And one of the ways I feel like I can do that is by saying ‘this is something you gave me when I was younger that I now want to make myself. Can you help me get to that point?’”
The chili itself is basic enough. Chicken, browned in a skillet, “the only reason you pre-cook the chicken is to kind of give it a little more flavour. Otherwise, it's kind of like boiled chicken. It's like bleh, you know?” Ginny said. Then onions are fried in the leavings of the chicken fat. “I loved when you fried the onions right after the chicken because it would make all these like crackling noises,” Kirsten says. Then, in a slow-cooker, the chicken and onions are combined with the green chiles, chicken broth, white cannellini beans, and a spice mixture of garlic powder, cumin, oregano, cilantro (coriander), ground red pepper, and salt and pepper to taste. It’s then simmered low and slow until the liquid is reduced. Then, the all-important immersion blender comes out to thicken everything. Kirsten and Ginny top their bowls with shredded cheese. “What cheese? It's a very specific cheese.” Kirsten says, “Whatever cheese you want to put…” Ginny responds “Nah it's Colby Jack, Colby Jack, or die!” Kirsten laughs. The recipe says, Monterey Jack. Colby Jack is a mixture of Monterey Jack cheese from California and Colby cheese from Wisconsin. The flavour is similar to a mild cheddar. There is also an opportunity to make the chili spicier, by adding cayenne pepper to the spice mix. “I mean you can spice it up all you want. You could put more cayenne in it. Your [Kirsten’s] father used to dump half the bottle!” said Ginny.
“I have this sheet protector, that I put all of these like really important things because when I move I don't know if the boxes are gonna get lost. So I have a sheet protector that has all of my most important things like my diploma, my birth certificate, all that kind of stuff. But it also has the written notes from you, Colin, and dad, a couple of pictures… and it has the recipe,” Kirsten says. “It's just a meal, but I actually had [mom]... she typed up the recipe for me. You must have typed it up years ago because it has spatters on it, and I made her sign it for me. And I framed it in my kitchen in Germany because every time I saw it I was just like ‘oh.’ It was a connection to you. I missed you so badly but I didn't know how to communicate that so I said, ‘ teach me chili, please!’”
There’s somewhat of a liminality in chili. Disputed origins, disputed ingredients, disputed names. A dish that when broken down to its most basic components, has no consistency or definition to speak of. Some chilis have meat, some don’t. Some have beans, some don’t. Some are red, some are green, some are white. Despite the disputes and the differences, however, chili is something that is seen in nearly every state across the US, chili has solidified its mainstay presence within the landscape of American dining. This could be because it is not hard to see the appeal of something so utterly undefined. Something where the recipe tells you to clear out the fridge, throw in what you have, and adjust things to your taste. Its basic base allows the customization of toppings, condiments, and spices to be at a person-by-person level. Meaning that chili is always going to be what that person needs it to be. Spicy. Mild. Hearty. Light. Bright. Rich. It is a nourisher, a wholehearted conduit of ease and comfort that serves the individual who holds the spoon.
Kirsten and Ginny are now packing up and selling the family home. “My office was like, ‘what do you do on weekends?’ I'm like, ‘I go home.’ They're like, ‘aren't you gonna get bored of that?’ I'm like, ‘baby I was away for six years!’ We're selling my childhood home. If I can be there and be there with my mom and my brother and my dad to whatever extent I'm allowed, like, I'm gonna be there.’ So I'm happy to be back.”
It’s easy to see why Kirsten would choose to make this recipe when farthest away from home. When she needed to feel that connection to her mother the most. In her childhood, Ginny would make this chili, this chili that was always exactly what Kirsten needed it to be. It followed her and in turn, she followed it. During these shifting ideas of who she was, and what being an adult was like. She knew that this chili would be able to accompany her on this transition, and help her start to merge the two as she learned that her new life could coexist with her old one. That transitions are not endings.
“I have a new appreciation for that recipe now. I always kind of just took it for granted,” said Ginny.
“Why do you say you have a new appreciation for it?” Kirsten asks. Ginny pauses for a moment.
“...Knowing that it meant so much to you. And that it’s something that stuck.”
“I don't know,” Kirsten responds, “Like I said, I didn't know how to ask you for help. But I could ask you how to make chili. And that was like a way back to you. For me.” Kirsten’s voice has a bit of a strain, to try to keep from getting too emotional.
“It was hard having you gone. The only thing that really saved me were the video calls because I could see your face,” Ginny says.
There is a brief pause as things wind down with our conversation. Kirsten turns to Ginny and boops her on the nose.
Ginny turns towards me and smiles, “I'm glad to have her home,” she says.
“Yeah,” I look at both of them opposite me and smile, “I can tell.”
