Last night while busting out the Hebrew Nationals and can-o-turkey chili for a kickass Chilidawgs au Tabasco dinner I realized something about the can of chili: back in the old days we used to have to use a can opener to access our chili.
As you can see by observing my photo to the left, no can opener required nowadays. There's an easy open tab on top of the can! I'm so glad that Hormel has incorporated this convenient feature into their packaging. In the 1990s if I was on the train or bus and came across a can of chili when digging around in my backpack for an item to snack upon, there's no way I'd be able to access any of that delicious chili without the aid of a can opener. I'd have to opt for the CLIF bar instead, and sometimes I'm just not in the mood for a CLIF bar. From now on I'm always keeping a can of Hormel chili in my bag. Alls I have to do is pull that tab and drink up as much slightly-colder-than-room-temperature Hormel chili as I can muster.
As an added bonus, the lid would serve as a personal safety device. I don't need no knives or guns, oh HELL no. All I need is the chili lid. Let's say a bunch of seedy thugs were to board a train that I was on and there was the funk of imminent trouble in the air. They'd think nothing of it if they saw me dig my can of chili out of my bag. "It's cool, dudes, just gonna drink some chili. Long day at the office, ya know what I mean?" They'd let their guard down after realizing I wasn't pulling a piece out of my bag. Little would they know as soon as I put my index finger in that can opener ring and ripped it off, well... "Say Ello To My Little Frend". As soon as they started getting up in someone's shit I'd jump up and start swooshing my canblade through the air. "YOU WANNA FUCK WITH PEOPLE, HA? WELL YOU PICKED THE WRONG TRAIN TODAY, MUTHAFUKKAAAAAS!!" With a few lightning fast swoops of my canblade ring I would have all but one of them decapitated. I'd let the last one go so he could run crying back to their leader like a little baby with a gigantic warm pee stain on the front of his trousers. But before he ran off I'd let him know: "Tell the boss man that he can thank Canblade for sparing your life."
*******
"The cloth napkin is a little blurry in this one."
"This one's good but the steam wafting off of the chili just doesn't speak to me."
"I like how clear this one is but the beans aren't evenly distributed."
"Does anyone have a magnifying glass? I think I see the tip of a talon."
I'd definitely need a strong cocktail after a day of that. Once the final decision is made, off it goes to be printed onto a paper cylinder which is then adhered to a chili can. Billions of these are made and sold around the nation. It's sad to think that not even a small fraction of those who purchase Hormel chili stop to appreciate the photo and the hard work that must go into it. It brings chili consumption to a whole new level of artistry and appreciation. I wonder if the guy who took the picture on the Hormel can stands in the chili aisle and watches how people respond to his work. I should hope not, because he would eventually feel so unappreciated that he would start seeking for some sort of appreciation elsewhere, most likely at the bottom of a bottle of vodka. I doubt that there is therapy powerful enough to compensate for the lack of recognition that comes with being a chili photographer. But it must be pretty cool to see your work every time you go to the store and see chili cans. Yep, I did that. It probably gets the person a lot of action at parties, and I'm sure there's other fringe benefits as well. At popular nightclubs for example. "Sorry sir, the club is full. What's that? You took the picture of chili that's on the Hormel cans? Shit, dude... my apologies. Right this way." And the maroon velvet snake rope fence is unlatched from the gold post and raised just like that.
*******
Right beside the photo of the chili on the can are the words SERVING SUGGESTION. Every time I crack a can open I'm tempted to put my chili in a ceramic bowl and gingerly place a light green leaf and a chip that's shaped like a hexagon on top of my chili. I would also fold a cloth napkin just so and position it as close as I could to the way it is in the photo on the can to obtain the most accurate chili reenactment possible. It has to be the SERVING SUGGESTION for a reason, right? This may very well unlock a secret chili experience that takes the already hypnotic canned chili bliss to a totally new level otherwise not achievable without the aid of illegal mind-altering substances. I never seem to have the right materials for a proper chili can photo reenactment, but someday I will. I'm sort of afraid of what might be waiting on the other side. What if it's so amazing that I only leave the apartment to get more cans of chili? Or maybe I would even just have it delivered. Leave it at the door, man, and I'll slip the money under the crack after I hear the secret knock. I have this vision in my head similar to a severely discombobulated Howard Hughes sitting alone in his room with his unkempt Forrest Gump-jogging beard surrounded by bottles of pee, but in my case it would be empty Hormel chili cans.
I was quite surprised when looking at the ingredients. Although disturbing, they're not quite as disturbing as I'd expected. Everything in there is pretty good for you maybe with the exception of the salt and the "meat". I had no idea that there's oatmeal in my chili. It's almost healthy! One cop out that always gets me with food labels is the use of the word "Flavoring". Sit and observe the chili for a bit while reading into that word and just you try to refrain from getting sucked into a grossout spiral. "Flavoring" could really be anything. Aspirin, for example, has flavor. So we could presumably classify it as "flavoring". I'm sure that bleach has a flavor. Rats and rat excrement which happen to fall into the chili cauldron at the Hormel factory? They probably add some flavor. Very little flavor due to the size of a rat (or rat dropping) vs. a gigantic cauldron of chili, but it's flavor nonetheless."Spices". That's another cop out. No shit there's spices. But which ones? Why even put that word on there? What if I'm allergic to turmeric? That would completely discredit the "Hey allergy freaks, it's all good!" message on the ingredients label. It's a lawsuit waiting to happen.
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| My wiener of choice. |
It's a good thing that I don't eat it on its own. It goes right on top of my Heeb National hot dawgs which are made with 100% kosher beef. There's certainly nothing bad for me in those... nope. They are the ideal canvas for my Hormel turkey chili. Rather than its religious meaning, I take the word "kosher" for its informal definition which is "Genuine or authentic." My hot dawgs contain only 100% genuine or authentic beef. I suppose there could be other ingredients in them, because beef certainly does not resemble a pencil eraser when it comes off the cow.
OK. I really need to stop thinking about this while I'm ahead of myself. Flavoring is good for me. Spices are good for me. Mechanically separated turkey is good for me. These are not the droids I'm looking for. These are not the droids I'm looking for. These are not the droids I'm looking for.
Addendum
After finishing this blawg entry another thing dawned on me with the whole Canblade thing. If I were to save up 8 of those, I would be fully equipped for heavy combat. I could wear one on each finger and be the Freddy Krueger (or maybe even Wolverine if I did my hair right) of canned chili. Sorry Nutrition Information angel on my shoulder, but you just got knocked off.
