This job has its benefits, and some taste mighty fine

Being the editor of a community newspaper has its fringe benefits. You get to hear the latest news about what's happening in the community sooner than almost anyone else. On a regular basis, you get to meet people who have accomplished great and inspiring things.

And you get to taste the world's finest chili.

That last of those I owe to a pair of chili-circuit royalty, Ed and Mary Pierczynski. You may know then from their other accomplishments, as being a longtime Carson City physician and as the Carson City school superintendent, respectively. The two hosted the 14th Annual Carson Invitational Champion's Challenge Chili Cook-off at their home last weekend.

On hand were six former world champions from around the country, including Ed (1992), in addition to 20 other chili chefs with impressive pedigrees of their own.

Among the former champs was J.R. Knudsdon, a legend among chiliheads and founder of Jimboy's Tacos, and his wife, Margo. She won the world championship in 1986. Doug Wilkie, who won it in 2005, flew in from Seattle with his wife, Cathy, who won it in 1993.

The event was a big deal among chiliheads.

Which leads us to the basic problem of this column - my being asked to be a judge. I have no experience in that field, and couldn't even remember when I'd last eaten chili. The best I could do was recall watching an episode of "The Simpsons" that featured a chili cook-off in which Homer ate chili made from Guatemalan insanity peppers. It sent him into a psychedelic vision quest that included Johnny Cash as a talking coyote.

None of this was helping my confidence as a judge, although I was sensing it was probably going to be a good party.

Knowing this was something I wasn't going to be able to fake, I did a little research. The most helpful thing I found was a Washington Post article written in 1998 by Jim Dorsch, who wrote: "Chili should not be excessively greasy, and it should have a pleasing color, from red to brown. It should smell good. It shouldn't be too thick or too thin. It shouldn't be lumpy, so leave out the chopped vegetables. Nor should it be grainy from spices that aren't finely ground. Chili should taste good - no argument there - and it should have a pleasant aftertaste, and maybe some afterburn. Shoot for a round heat all over the mouth and throat. Excessive heat doesn't score points."

That helped, knowing I wasn't likely to encounter any insanity peppers.

On Saturday, it quickly became evident that I had little need to feel intimidated. The sheer quantity of judges - 30 - many of whom had done this several times before, was designed to filter out the aberrations, and usually the best chili wins in the end.

But, as Ed explained, there are some factors beyond the control of the cooks. For example, if your chili is on the judging table next to one that's salty, it's likely yours will taste bland to the judges. If yours is next to a hot one, it will seem mild. The judges have no say in where their chilis are placed, however, and neither the judges nor the cooks know whose chili is where.

Since the vast majority of a chili cook's time is spent socializing while their creations simmer, there was plenty of time to talk to some of them. They were very open about their tactics and recipes, with the exception of the specific contents of their secret-ingredient packets, added at precise intervals during the three-hour cooking process. In fact, the recipe that Ed used to win the world championship is on the Web at www.chilicookoff.com.

Some of the cooks had elaborate recipes with more than 60 ingredients, including such oddities as molasses or tequila. Others cooks were minimalists, but nearly all said they are constantly tinkering with their recipes.

All I can say is that I liked nearly every one of the 26 chilis, and the differences between them were mostly subtle. During the judging, as dozens of plastic spoons clattered into the discard boxes - one spoon per taste is a strict rule - I began to understand what contest chili was all about.

Nearly all had thick, spiced sauces with cubes of meat about the size of pencil erasers. The colors ranged from orange to a hearty brown, and within moments all of the judges had their lips dyed those colors. None of the chilis had beans, which aren't allowed in competition.

I did my best to figure out which chilis were superior, and after the first time around I had some definite impressions. Then, my tastebuds went numb.

The moment I knew it was hopeless was when, after a few laps around the table, I looked at the comments I'd scribbled in pencil on the form. For one particular chili, I'd scribbled "too spicy" and, right next to that, "too bland."

But at that point, I didn't have enough sensation left in my tongue to determine which was right, so I just left them both, figuring the chef would do the math and know that his or her concoction was just right.

In the end, I suppose, I did OK. My choice for top chili didn't finish in the top 11, but my next two choices finished in seventh and second places, respectively.

The winner overall was Richard Drum, of Reno. Ed finished in sixth place, and Mary in eight place. As the top three Nevadans, they're qualified for the Rancho CASI de los Chisos championship in Terlingua, Texas, in November. Another competition circuit, the International Chili Society, holds its championship in Omaha, Neb.

The whole competitive qualifying structure is a bit complicated, but the sport continues to grow in popularity. Hundreds of contests are held each year, and they raise millions of dollars for charity.

In fact, there are several more cookoffs scheduled in the area. To find out where and when, just visit www.chilicookoff.com.

Maybe you, too, can taste the world's finest chili.

• Barry Ginter is the editor of the Appeal. Contact him at bginter@nevadaappeal.com or 881-1221.