Powder Of Pepper Red

1976 was the American Bicentennial, and it was a wonderful year to be in Europe.  Bursting with national pride, the United States sent many performing arts groups over to Europe to show off American culture.

I was in Europe in 1976. 

At one point, I took a bus from France to Belgium, to see a friend named Al who was living in Brussels at the time.  When I got off the bus at the Brussels bus station, a fellow approached me and asked if I was Doug Schneider.

He told me that he was a friend of Al’s from New York.  Al had asked him to meet me at the bus station.  He also mentioned that he was the manager of the Alvin Ailey Dance Theater, which was doing some performances in Brussels that week.

Really?  The manager of a major American cultural institution was meeting me at the bus station?  I felt honored. 

He went on to explain that the Dance troupe had been touring Europe for a month, and they really missed American food.  So, Al had volunteered me to cook a chili dinner for the Alvin Ailey Dance Theater.

I said “OK”. 

I should have said: “Hey, I am 32 years old, and I have never ever in my life eaten chili.  My mother didn’t make it, my high school cafeteria didn’t make it, and I have no idea what goes in it.”

Instead, I had said “OK”.  I had put myself on the hook: I was going to cook my first ever chili dinner so I would not disappoint my friend Al who had volunteered me, and so I would not disappoint the manager who had promised his dance company some real American food.

I scanned my mind.  I remembered the labels of the cans of Hormel Chili that my hometown supermarket sold.  The picture on the label indicated that chili must have kidney beans and tomatoes in it.  The Spanish name is “chili con carne”; so, chili must have meat in it.  I knew that there was something sold in little cans called “chili powder”.

But the most important thing I knew is that chili is some kind of stew.  And a stew always tastes better when you cook it the day before you serve it.

I went to a Belgian supermarket, where all the items were in French.  My meager knowledge of the French language consisted of a ten-week night class. 

In spite of my language handicap, I found all the things I was looking for, including a little can that said “poudre di pimente rouge”.  “Powder of pepper red” – I crossed my fingers, hoping it would be close to American chili powder.

I cooked up my ingredients.  The chili sat overnight.  I re-heated it the next day, Al made some cornbread, and the Alvin Ailey Dance Company showed up expecting some real American food.

I held my breath.  I had visions of being exposed.  I waited for people to say “This isn’t real chili!  Whoever cooked this is a fraud!!”

The dancers ate the chili.  They seemed to enjoy it.  One dancer actually told me that it tasted just like her grandmother’s chili.

I had saved face.  I had not disappointed my friend Al.  I had not disappointed the manager of the Alvin Ailey Dance Theater.  I exhaled.

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NOTE: Doug's best stories have been collected into a book: Puppy Out Of Breath.  Price = $11.  You can purchase a copy at  http://www.puppyoutofbreath.com