THE GIANTS, BUFFALO CHICKEN DIP, AND ME

I can’t help but break out into a maniacal grin, when rereading this particularly forlorn passage from Cooking With Jeanne, circa February 4, 2011:

“As a New York football fan, I could not give a Chinese New Year rabbit’s foot about this Sunday's game. Packers or Steelers. Who cares? All I know is that 2010 marked the second year in which the Giants spectacularly imploded in the late season.”

Not this year, baby. New York Giants’ fans rejoice. We are going to the Super Bowl.

I really love football. It’s a passion I inherited through matrilineal decent; My grandmother taught my mother who taught me. I used to think this knowledge of first conversions and 3-4 defense formation was kind of a cool quirk. Then I started going to Giants games and met other female fans. Oh Lord! They are a collective vision of Farah Fawcett hairdos, outrageously oversized jerseys, and really coarse language. How are these ladies my people?

Yet the Giants played a supporting role in some of my life’s bigger moments. Back in the 1980s, Bill Parcell’s New York Giants provided an early taste of celebrity when they practiced at a college in my hometown. The local kids (and Mom) would hang outside of practice all day hoping to catch a glimpse of Phil Simms or Mark Bavaro. One day, Lawrence Taylor actually emerged from practice. The kids swarmed him, shouting “LT! LT! LT!”, as they begged him for an autograph. According to the Jeanne, LT was none too enthusiastic. Taylor muttered, “Just stop saying my name. Just stop saying my name,” then looked for the quietest kid in the crowd –aka my brother—and quickly signed his book. The only autograph granted for the day.

I remember watching the Giants play San Francisco in the NFC playoffs from my grandmother, Gert’s hospital room. She had just been diagnosed with cancer and was recovering from surgery. The game gave us something to focus on other than her illness. We were soothed by the regimen of plays, time-outs and commercials. When the Giants won the Super Bowl the following, my grandmother was no longer with us. However, to me, she is forever linked to that championship team.

Perhaps memories like these also sustain those other female fans, whose hair and clothes I am so quick to judge. Maybe they remember the thrill of watching games with their Dad or uncles; slowly piecing together how this bizarre military-style game works. I could probably discuss the miracle of Eli Manning’s pass to David Tyree in Super Bowl XLII with anyone of these ladies regardless of our different fashion sense. We share the strange, inexplicable bond of fandom.

So, this Sunday, I too shall don an incredibly unflattering NY Giants jersey. I shall shout obscenities at the referee when he –inevitably—makes the wrong call against Big Blue. It’s what my mother and Gert would have wanted. It’s who I am.

Are you a fan? Why does your team matter to you?

As I watch, we will be eating this high-fallutin’ dip. My cousin served it at Christmas, and I have been dying to make it ever since. There is no better holiday to bust out a Buffalo Chicken Dip than Super Bowl Sunday.

Buffalo Chicken Dip

3-4 cooked chicken breasts (i use a roasted chicken for ease)
8 oz cream cheese
6-8 oz cheddar cheese
4 oz blue cheese dressing
6 oz hot sauce

Chop shredded chicken. Combine with other ingredients. Bake at 350 for 25-30 min. Enjoy!!!!

SWAN SONG FOR FOOTBALL CHILI

As a New York football fan, I could not give a Chinese New Year rabbit’s foot about this Sunday's game. Packers or Steelers. Who cares? All I know is that 2010 marked the second year in which the Giants spectacularly imploded in the late season.

Luckily, I’ve got Cooking With Jeanne’s Chili Swan Song to save me from crawling into a womb of self pity.

Even to football fanatic Mom, the Super Bowl was really just an excuse to eat ridiculous amounts of snacks and try out new chili recipes. Over the years, these versions included Cincinnati, vegetarian, and a five-alarm chopped steak one that remains tattooed in my memory.

Mom chose a good canvas upon which to experiment since chili is typically a pretty forgiving food. A member of the stew family, chili tends to incorporate new ingredient like a relaxed hostess welcomes uninvited guests; shrugging graciously and finding room at the table. As my cousin Christine once told me: “You really can’t screw chili up.”

Christine should know. Her chili placed first in our family’s legendary 1998 Chili Cook-Off. By some stroke of inspiration, my aunt and uncle decide to host a Sunday night dinner in which all guests were encouraged to bring their favorite chili recipe. We were then asked to blindly rate each entry based on a series of qualities, like spice, texture and overall flavor. The variety was staggering. One came loaded with sausage, another was ruthlessly spicy, and one was just really bland. When this lame version ranked poorly in our taste test, my 65-year old Aunt Betty Ann began to giggle like a preteen at a sleepover. “It’s from a mix!!!!” she confessed. All in good chili fun. In addition to chili, the table was well stocked with beer, salad, cornbread, and –mercifully—Bean-O.

Experimentation sounds fine and dandy, but I had no intentions of messing around with my swan song chili. After all, it’s the SUPER BOWL. So I turned to my go-to recipe, a loose interpretation of Silver Palate’s Chili for a Crowd. Usually, I remove several ingredients (Silver Palate is notorious for going overboard with ingredients), and add a bottle of beer instead of wine for bitterness. I also replaced the beef and pork with ground turkey and chicken sausage.

As I was mindlessly chugging along, I realized something horrific: I had browned the sausage but forgotten to add the meat. Quickly, I threw the meat into the pot of onions and sausage simmering in beer and canned tomatoes. Bad call. Now the meat would not brown at all, but would simply stew in the chili’s liquids. Taking a deep breath, I remembered a line from (let’s just say) my Mom: “It’s just dinner.”

I then proceeded to throw any ingredient imaginable into the pot. This included: a cup of wine, a heavy dose of Tabasco sauce, a dash of Worcestershire sauce, and some dried chili peppers. I went to bed wondering if Christine had steered me wrong. You can mess up chili, and I had three containers worth to prove it.

The next morning, I sent Jeff to work with a container of the dreaded chili and the following instructions: “Eat this, then tell me if it sucks.” He walked out the door wondering aloud if I was trying to kill him. But, apparently, I wasn’t. Jeff came home with rave reviews; I enjoyed it for lunch today; and, now, I am eagerly awaiting the response of our SB party guests.

Maybe I will forward this post to Eli Manning. Perhaps he’ll take comfort in knowing that there are some things you can’t mess up.

Swan Song Chili

• ½ cup olive oil
• 1 large onion (Vidalia)
• 4 lb ground turkey or chicken meat
• 1 ½ lb of turkey sausage (1/2 sweet, ½ spicy) in casings
• 1 Tbsp ground pepper
• 2 small cans of tomato paste
• 4-5 medium cloves of crushed garlic
• 1-2 Tbsp Chili powder, depending on heat of chili
• Dried chilis
• ¼ cup Dijon mustard
• 1 tsp cumin seed
• 2 Tbsp salt
• 1 Tbsp dried basil
• Pinch of oregano
• 1 large drained canned tomato
• 1 small diced tomato can
• 1 bottle of beer
• 1 cup of red wine
• Worcester sauce to taste
• Tabasco sauce to taste
  
• 1 can of kidney
• 1 can of black beans

1. Heat oil in very large pot, until glistening. Add onions and cook over low heat until tender (10 minutes or so)

2. Remove sausage from casings and crumble, cooking over medium-high heat. Stir often until browned. Remove excess fat.

3. Reduce heat and add pepper, tomato paste, garlic, chili powder, mustard, salt, and basil. Add drained beans, drained tomatoes (both kinds), and beer. Stir well and simmer, uncovered, for 15 more minutes.

4. Taste and correct seasoning.

5. Cook over low heat for 45 minutes to 1 hour.

NOTE: Chili always tastes better the second day.