Cincinnati Chili
Last weekend we flew to Cincinnati. The purported, highbrow, reason for the trip was to visit the Ansel Adams exhibit at the Cincinnati Art Museum. The real reason was to eat Cincinnati Chili. Herein, a review of both.
Cincinnati is a fine old town on the Ohio River. A friend had warned me that it is usually cold in the winter, and it lived up to the warning. Like most cities it has its share of hipster cafes and coffee shops but is empty during the workday. The Art Museum is on Eden Hill on the edge of town. My travelling companion convinced me we should ride the bus, the BUS! Sure – we will be able to see things on the ride, she said. I shut down the UBER app, zipped up the coat, wrapped the scarf tight, and off we went. As we climbed the hill, we saw interesting old homes that had been delightfully restored. The empty downtown, the restored homes, followed by a crowded late night are the familiar entrails of the exodus from bigger cities and remote work. The museum itself is in the style of the late 1800s, with newer wings attached. It was the first major museum west of the Alleghenies and one of the oldest in the country. From the hill you can see down to the river into the city – quite spectacular.
The Adams exhibit was a bit of a bust. Sure, the pictures were lovely, but a relatively small collection was on display. Many of the prints were quite small … perhaps mistakenly I had expected more drama. Nonetheless, in the age of digital capture and edit, the exhibit forces one to confront the skill required to expose and print such remarkable images. With his large format camera, he only got 1 or 2 swings at the picture, not the hundreds taken with a digital camera. The rage in photography now is both a return to film, and the use of digital “recipes” to capture the look of film. I am not knowledgeable enough with the technical details to explain why – film just looks cooler.
After wandering through the rest of the museum, we made our way back downtown for the main event. Cincinnati Chili. First, some history. Cincinnati Chili was created by immigrant Greek restaurateurs in the 1920s. There are both chain and independent chili parlors all over the city. We chose a chain, Skyline, whose ads you can see on the sides of buses (the bus again) all over town. When we got to the location near the hotel, it was clear that this was not a bougee outing. Diner décor. When we came in the place was mostly empty, but a mixed group of folks, college kids, tourists like us, and some single diners at the counter who surely had a story to tell. One waitress served all the tables, and there were three workers in a center of the circular counter, preparing the orders.
The midwestern-sweet waitress explained the drill. First, what do you want your Chili on – spaghetti (yes spaghetti) or a hot dog. Once you have made that call, you choose 3-way, 4- way or 5-way. 3 way is the base, spaghetti or hot dog, with Chili and a mound of shredded cheese. 4 way is 3 way with either beans or raw onions mixed in, 5 way is with everything. There are other things on the menu, but it seems no one even looks. We both ordered 5 way on spaghetti. This is not Texas chili – more of a sauce. It’s sweet, but they provide a house made hot sauce. Our waitress suggested we test the hot sauce by putting it on a oyster cracker that came along – a cracker bomb she called it. Before serving, the waitress tied a plastic bib, complete with debris pocket, around our necks. Quite stylish. The chili was great – so good we decided to split a 5-way hot dog for dessert! An old salesman buddy of mine described meals like this as “culinary infidelity” – things he ate on the road when his wife was not looking.
Two nights later, back in New York City, we were out for a different dining experience, a Greek Estiatorio – a very bougee fish restaurant. All manner of seafood, grilled to perfection, in a beautiful, trendy, noisy NY space – the opposite of Skyline Chili. But isn’t that the marvel of life in this country – two ideas, both from immigrant Greek families, two radically different experiences, both great in their own way. The trick is to be open to both, all, of the possibilities.
