I voted for “Puppy’s Breath.” It was thin in consistency, beefy, with layers of smoky flavor. It didn’t smell like any dog breath I remembered, but I figured by the end of the afternoon, the canine form of halitosis would be mine. The woman who made this stew informed me that it was the best in the hall—there were more than two dozen entries. This was a bold statement for her, I could tell. Positioned in an almost overlooked corner, she barely made eye contact with me; her voice was low. Her hands shook uncontrollably as she served up a taster’s cup. (Six for $10 was the deal.) Did she have Parkinson’s? DTs? Was it stress? I couldn’t tell. Other variations were good: chili verde that my neighbor Stephen contributed had subtle flavors that snuck up on you: white beans in a green chili and tomatillo base. Another chili was vegetarian, made with all local ingredients, including squash and apple cooked with the tomatoes and peppers—a sweet burst before a peppery bite. Another, a chili mole was hot and rich with its hint of unsweetened chocolate. I had two helpings of cornbread at that woman’s booth. Then, moose chili was a novelty, the recipe hailing from Maine. The meat tasted not like chicken, but hot Italian sausage simmering in fra diablo sauce—a double whammy. The bluegrass band playing outside Conkling Hall had a spicy kick, too. Ultimately, my vote didn’t cinch the People’s Choice Award, but my new friend slid me a copy of her recipe under the table.
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