Vegetarian Chili

January 2020. A new year and the beginning of what will turn out to be a year like no other in living memory, though standing in the kitchen on January sixth with the coffee and the woodstove and Frost on the rug, none of this is visible. It looks like every other Vermont January. It looks exactly like January. I do not have the gift of prophecy. I have the gift of paying attention, which is a different and more useful thing, but it is not sufficient for this.

I made the baked beans Saturday, as I always do in January, as my mother always did in January. Salt pork, molasses, dry mustard, onion, the long slow oven. The brown bread in the coffee cans steamed alongside. By five o'clock the kitchen smelled exactly right and the windchill outside was twenty-two below and I had no complaints.

Walt turns sixty-seven on January nineteenth, which is two weeks away. Helen has already asked what I want for the day. I said I want the maple cream pie, which I always want, and dinner at home with the family if they can make it, which is to say: if the roads are passable and the children are healthy and the timing works. David called Sunday and said he's planning to come up with the family. Sarah said she would try. The grandchildren are enough. The pie is enough. I have never needed much from a birthday and I need even less now that the age is not a particularly notable one. Sixty-seven is just the year between sixty-six and sixty-eight. I intend to get through it in good order.

Frost is nine years old. Border collies live twelve to fifteen years, typically. He is in his middle period now — still fast, still alert, slower to get up in the morning. He and I have the same relationship to January cold: we know it, we manage it, we do not complain about it. We have an understanding.

The baked beans are a Saturday thing, always have been, and by Tuesday they’re a memory. But a twenty-two-below windchill doesn’t stop at Monday, and neither does the need for something that fills the kitchen with a good smell and sits warm in the bowl. This vegetarian chili has become the weeknight answer to that same pull—beans again, slow-cooked again, the kind of thing you put on the stove in the afternoon and mostly leave alone. Helen makes a version of it; mine runs a little spicier. Either way, it belongs to January.

Prep Time: 15 minutes | Cook Time: 45 minutes | Total Time: 1 hour | Servings: 6

Ingredients

2 tablespoons olive oil
1 large yellow onion, diced
1 green bell pepper, diced
1 red bell pepper, diced
3 cloves garlic, minced
2 tablespoons chili powder
1 teaspoon ground cumin
1 teaspoon smoked paprika
1/2 teaspoon dried oregano
1/4 teaspoon cayenne pepper (optional)
2 cans (15 oz each) kidney beans, drained and rinsed
1 can (15 oz) black beans, drained and rinsed
1 can (28 oz) crushed tomatoes
1 can (14.5 oz) diced tomatoes, undrained
1 cup vegetable broth
1 tablespoon tomato paste
Salt and black pepper to taste

Instructions

Soften the vegetables. Heat olive oil in a large heavy pot or Dutch oven over medium heat. Add the onion and both bell peppers. Cook, stirring occasionally, until softened, about 6–8 minutes.
Bloom the spices. Add the garlic, chili powder, cumin, paprika, oregano, and cayenne if using. Stir constantly for 1 minute until fragrant. Add the tomato paste and stir another 30 seconds.
Build the pot. Pour in the kidney beans, black beans, crushed tomatoes, diced tomatoes with their liquid, and vegetable broth. Stir everything together and bring to a boil.
Simmer. Reduce heat to low and simmer uncovered, stirring occasionally, for 30–35 minutes until the chili has thickened to your liking.
Season and serve. Taste and adjust salt and pepper. Serve hot, with cornbread, shredded cheese, sour cream, or whatever the kitchen has to offer.

Nutrition (per serving)

Vegetarian Chili — Another Bean Pot for a January Kitchen