Stirring the pot

Oh yeah, it’s getting a little chilly out there now. Or maybe I should say, it’s getting chili time.
I said at the end of last winter that I was going to start making a pot of chili every year, once I found the right recipe. I think it would be cool for my kids to grow up saying “It’s getting cold outside. Almost time for some of Dad’s chili!” Or their kids asking “When does Grandpa make his chili?”
Well I’ve been looking online lately, and have got the list narrowed down to about three recipes. “As long as you don’t make it too hot for the children to eat,” my wife said.
I was standing in the kitchen thinking about it last night when an idea hit me. My mother, for years, made a big ol’ pot of chicken and dumplings for me on the first cold weekend of the year. Maybe instead of chili I could take up her chicken and dumpling cause. I just didn’t know if that would be considered manly enough.
Shannon ’s Chicken and Dumplings doesn’t sound nearly as tough as Shannon ’s Three Alarm Chili.
“What do you think?” I asked my wife.
“Sure it’s manly enough,” she said. “But I still think you had better stick to chili. Chicken and dumplings is a little out of your league.”
That stung a little, so I asked her to explain what she meant.
“Well it’s hard to screw up chili, there’s like two or three ingredients and it’s mostly just throw things in until it tastes good. Chicken and dumplings is a little harder.”
I asked her if she knew how to make chicken and dumplings.
“Of course I do, you know that. Although we all know they are not as good as your mother’s.” I detected a good bit of sarcasm there, but let it go for sake of staying on course.
“Were you born knowing how to make chicken and dumplings, or did you learn how to make them?” I asked.
“I found the recipe in a cookbook, and started making them.”
“Okay,” I ranted. “So you are telling me that you can learn how to do something, but I can’t. What you are saying is that if we both sat down and took an IQ test, you would be so far ahead of me that your score would blow mine right out of the water. Is that what you are saying?”
She got this really tired look on her face, like she had been down this road too many times. Then she sighed, “Look, this is what I’m saying. Can you tell me what all is in chili?”
“Sure I can. Meat, beans, maybe a little tomato sauce, a little cayenne pepper, can of beer…”
“Okay, okay,” she stopped me. “So you pretty much know what all goes in there. That’s half the battle. Now, tell me what all is in chicken and dumplings.”
“Um, well there’s a couple of chickens… some dumplings…salt and pepper?”
“A little more to it than that. Can you at least tell me what the dumplings are made out of?”
“Bread?”
That conquering smile that I’ve come to know well in eleven years appeared on her face, and she said “Thank you for making my point.”
“Now,” she said, as she turned toward my girls. They were at the table to do homework, but were listening and laughing to every word that was being said. “Raise your hand if you would like to eat some of Dad’s chicken and dumplings.”
All of a sudden, they were so busy reading and doing math problems that they had no time to take part in any of our discussion. Neither raised their hand, and it was as if nobody had even heard the question.
“Okay, okay, I can take a hint,” I said to them all. “But just for that, my first pot of chili is going to be five alarm.”