One of the daily joys of my life is a group text I’m on with my older brother, one of my older sisters, and two of my nieces. There are daily discussions of gaming, music, pop culture, and politics, but the biggest pleasures for me are the daily updates on minutiae from everyone’s life: Dinners eaten, papers graded, pets loved and tolerated in equal measure.

Everyone in this text thread lives in a different state, and I’m the only one in Oklahoma. Which might be why, during a recent conversation, I took a keen interest when talk turned to chili. One of my nieces was making a pot to get through the winter blast on the East Coast, and a whole discussion broke out about what ingredients do and do not belong in this most storied, mythologized of winter dishes.

Blue-Ribbon Chili, good in a variety of contexts.

We had a similar chat on the Oklahoma Today Podcast recently, during which Ben quizzed us all on what ingredients we do and do not find acceptable in chili. I try to avoid dogmatism in general, but especially when it comes to food: People like what they like, and it’s not my job to make them like things I’ve decided are better. Live and let dine, I say: If someone wants to add Skittles to a pot of white chicken chili, I say let ‘em. (Just don’t let ‘em be surprised when I decline their invite).

During cold months, dinners at my house frequently involve something brothy or otherwise bowl-oriented: We rotate through a long list of recipes of chilis, soups, stews, goulashes, beans, and hashes that are made (the Instant Pot is from God), enjoyed, then frozen for future meals. Don’t feel like cooking one evening? Open the freezer! It’s delightful—and some of those soups taste even better reheated.

But undoubtedly, the centerpiece of Oklahoma winter cooking is chili, and I’ve been using the same chili recipe since the 1990s. It’s this chili recipe, in fact, enshrined on a magnet I stole from my mom’s house when I was in college, its provenance long since lost to deleted memories:

Skip to the bottom of this post for the full recipe.

This chili has seen me through more Sooners football games, snow days, and game nights with friends than it’s possible to count. If you’re looking for something a little healthier, the ground beef in this recipe swaps out very nicely for ground turkey.

And major pro tip: This recipe calls for eight ounces of beer, and for any chili recipe that includes beer, you cannot possibly find a better selection than the Prairie Bomb from Oklahoma’s own Prairie Artisan Ales.

PRAIRIE BOMB. Photo courtesy Prairie Artisan Ales

This little imperial stout is aged on coffee, cacao nibs, vanilla beans, and chili peppers, giving it a rich, full-bodied flavor that delivers a wallop of flavor to chili. The effect is especially noticeable if you use turkey rather than beef, actually, but overall, I’d go with beef.

Pour this over some Fritos, sprinkle some shredded sharp cheddar on top, and finish off with a dollop of sour cream: You cannot beat it. It freezes and reheats quite well too—typically at our house, one recipe will yield dinner for two with enough left to freeze for one dinner of leftovers.

Here’s the recipe:

Brown 2.5 pounds ground chuck or ground turkey with one diced yellow onion and eight ounces of beer.

Then add:

• 1 tsp. brown sugar
• 1 tsp. black pepper
• 1 tsp. salt
• 2 tsp. red wine vinegar
• 2 tsp. hot sauce (more if you like it spicier; I usually use Valentina or Cholula)
• 2 tsp. ground cumin
• 2 tsp. lemon juice
• ¼ tsp. garlic powder
• ¼ tsp ground red pepper (more for extra kick)
• 37 ounces tomato sauce
• 4 Tbsp. chili powder
• 4 tsp. Worcestershire sauce

Written By

Nathan Gunter

A sixth-generation Oklahoman, Weatherford native, and Westmoore High School graduate, Nathan Gunter is the magazine's editor-in-chief. When he's not editor-in-chiefing, Nate enjoys live music, running, working out, gaming, cooking, and random road trips with no particular destination in mind. He holds degrees from Wake Forest University and the University of Oklahoma. He learned how to perform poetry from Maya Angelou; how to appreciate Italian art from Terisio Pignatti; comedy writing from Doug Marlette; how to make coconut cream pie from his great-grandma; and how not to approach farm dogs from trial and error. A seminary dropout, he lives just off Route 66 in Oklahoma City.