Turkey and Black Bean Chili

November. Thanksgiving month. The machinery of the food drive begins: calls, donations, volunteers. Fourth year running it. This year: 130 families. The program has grown from Mama's co-chaired effort to my operation, with a team of fifteen church volunteers, donations from six local businesses (including Faith's mother's grocery store, which has become our biggest donor), and a system that runs with the efficiency of a thing that has been practiced until the practice is invisible. I am proud of this. I built this. Not from nothing — from Mama. Always from Mama. But the building is mine.

Set the Table is preparing for its Thanksgiving event — twenty girls, twenty families, the fellowship hall transformed into a restaurant where daughters serve their parents. Destiny is coordinating Group B's menu. She runs the kitchen like she was born for it, which she was. Culinary school applications are due in January. She's applying to Johnson & Wales. I am writing her recommendation letter and it is the easiest thing I have ever written because the truth about Destiny is that she arrived already extraordinary and I just gave her a kitchen to prove it in.

Made a practice turkey this weekend — a full bird, brined and roasted, to test a new technique I read about: spatchcocking. You remove the backbone, flatten the bird, roast it at high heat. The result: crispy skin everywhere, moist meat, forty-five minutes faster than the traditional method. Curtis looked at the flattened turkey and said, "What happened to it?" I said, "Science happened." He said, "It looks like it lost a fight." He ate three servings. The science won.

Curtis may have said the spatchcocked bird looked like it lost a fight, but three servings later the verdict was in — and I was left with a beautiful amount of leftover meat and exactly zero regrets. With the food drive in full swing and fifteen volunteers to coordinate, I needed something I could pull together fast that still felt like intention, not afterthought. This Turkey and Black Bean Chili is exactly that: a pot that practically runs itself, built for leftover turkey, and substantial enough to feed the kind of people who show up and do the work.

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 35 min | Total Time: 50 min | Servings: 6

Ingredients

2 tablespoons olive oil
1 medium yellow onion, diced
1 red bell pepper, diced
3 cloves garlic, minced
2 cups cooked turkey, shredded or chopped
2 cans (15 oz each) black beans, drained and rinsed
1 can (14.5 oz) diced fire-roasted tomatoes
1 1/2 cups chicken or turkey broth
2 teaspoons chili powder
1 teaspoon cumin
1/2 teaspoon smoked paprika
1/4 teaspoon cayenne pepper (or to taste)
Salt and black pepper to taste
Juice of 1 lime
Optional toppings: sour cream, shredded cheddar, sliced green onions, cilantro

Instructions

Sauté the aromatics. Heat olive oil in a large heavy-bottomed pot over medium heat. Add the onion and bell pepper and cook, stirring occasionally, until softened, about 6–8 minutes. Add the garlic and cook 1 minute more.
Bloom the spices. Stir in the chili powder, cumin, smoked paprika, and cayenne. Cook for 30 seconds, stirring constantly, until fragrant.
Build the chili. Add the turkey, black beans, diced tomatoes, and broth. Stir to combine, scraping up any bits from the bottom of the pot.
Simmer. Bring to a gentle boil, then reduce heat to low. Simmer uncovered for 25 minutes, stirring occasionally, until the chili thickens and the flavors meld.
Finish and adjust. Stir in the lime juice. Taste and adjust salt, pepper, and cayenne as needed.
Serve. Ladle into bowls and top with sour cream, cheddar, green onions, or cilantro as desired.

Nutrition (per serving)

Turkey and Black Bean Chili — When the Science Wins, Use the Leftovers