Carrie’s Cincinnati Chili

Two weeks since Larry died and the world has not stopped, which offends me. The world should stop. The trucks should stop. I-80 should close. The corn should stop drying and the combines should park and the highway should be silent for one day, one hour, one minute, in honor of a man who drove it for forty-two years and died on it and deserved at least a moment of quiet from the road that killed him. But the world does not stop. The trucks keep rolling. I-80 keeps carrying its freight. And I keep driving, because that is what I do, because Larry taught me to drive, and the driving is how I carry him now.

I went back to work this week. My first haul since October second. Grand Island to Omaha, the route I know by heart, the route Larry drove a thousand times. I loaded the slow cooker with chili, because chili is the default, because chili asks nothing of me and gives everything, and I drove I-80 east and somewhere near York I started talking to Larry. Not praying. Talking. I said Dad, the road looks good today. I said Dad, the corn is almost in. I said Dad, the chili has brown sugar because Gayle said so. I said Dad, I miss you. The cab was warm. The chili was cooking. The highway was Larry highway. And for four hours between Grand Island and Omaha, Larry was with me, the way he was always with me, in the smell of diesel and the sound of the engine and the taste of brown sugar in the chili.

I brought chili to Gayle when I got home. She was sitting in the kitchen, alone, at the table where Larry used to sit, and the chair was empty, and the empty chair was the loudest thing in the room. She ate the chili. She said the brown sugar is right. She said Larry would have liked it. I said he always liked it. She said yes. He always liked it. We sat at her kitchen table and ate chili and did not talk about Larry and talked about nothing else, because everything is about Larry now, and everything will be about Larry for a while, and the chili holds it, the way chili holds everything, warm and steady and reliable, the way Larry was, the way the road was, the way we are.

This is the chili I loaded into the slow cooker that morning in Grand Island — Carrie’s Cincinnati Chili, the one Gayle has been making for thirty years, the one that gets brown sugar because Gayle says so and she is always right. I’ve made it enough times now that it feels like muscle memory, which is the only kind of memory I’m good for right now. If you need something warm enough to fill a cold cab and steady enough to carry four hours of highway grief, this is the one.

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 4 hrs (slow cooker) or 45 min (stovetop) | Total Time: 4 hrs 15 min | Servings: 8

Ingredients

2 lbs lean ground beef
1 large yellow onion, finely diced (plus extra for serving)
4 cloves garlic, minced
1 can (15 oz) tomato sauce
1 can (6 oz) tomato paste
1 1/2 cups beef broth
2 tablespoons chili powder
1 tablespoon ground cumin
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon ground allspice
1/4 teaspoon ground cloves
1 tablespoon Worcestershire sauce
1 tablespoon apple cider vinegar
2 tablespoons brown sugar
1 teaspoon salt, or to taste
1/2 teaspoon black pepper
1 lb spaghetti, cooked, for serving
2 cups shredded sharp cheddar cheese, for serving
1 can (15 oz) kidney beans, drained, for serving (optional)

Instructions

Brown the beef. In a large skillet over medium-high heat, cook the ground beef and diced onion together, breaking the meat into fine crumbles, until no pink remains, about 8–10 minutes. Drain excess fat. Add garlic and cook 1 minute more.
Build the sauce. Transfer the beef mixture to a slow cooker. Add tomato sauce, tomato paste, and beef broth. Stir in chili powder, cumin, cinnamon, allspice, cloves, Worcestershire sauce, apple cider vinegar, brown sugar, salt, and pepper. Stir until fully combined.
Slow cook. Cover and cook on LOW for 4 hours or HIGH for 2 hours, stirring once halfway through. The chili will thicken and the spices will deepen. Taste and adjust salt or brown sugar near the end of cooking.
Cook the pasta. About 15 minutes before serving, cook spaghetti according to package directions. Drain and set aside.
Serve Cincinnati-style. Plate a nest of spaghetti in each bowl, ladle chili generously over the top, and finish with a heavy handful of shredded cheddar. Add kidney beans and diced raw onion alongside for a full 5-way spread, if you like.

Nutrition (per serving)

Carrie’s Cincinnati Chili — The Brown Sugar That Held Everything Together