Last Sunday I spent the afternoon at my club's annual chili cook off. We had ten different community organizations enter. The chili's ranged from two vegetarian ones to a classic beanless cubed beef. (No Chili Colorado though, which surprised me.)One of the more interesting ones was called “cosmic consciousness." It was made by the guru from our friendly neighborhood Gay Tantric Ashram. (This is in Los Angeles, remember.) It had a curry overtone and slight lingering ginger undertones. I know it sounds weird, but it was delicious!
I think that what struck me the most was how tremendously varied people's palates are.
There was general agreement as to which were the best, a wide range of opinion on the middle ranges, and nearly universal agreement on the worst.
There was one that I spat out, fearing dire consequences if I swallowed it. (I spat as discreetly as I could, since I was judging the chili's.) That particular chili had the distinct aroma of an open sewer line. (Other judges described it as tasting like vomit, and smelling of a bus station restroom.)
On counting the ballots for “crowd favorite” I was stunned to find two ballots cast for the aforementioned vile chili.
Apparently, there really is no accounting for taste.
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