Many, many years ago, when I was first getting to know the woman who would eventually become my wife, I went over to her place to cook dinner for her. I don’t remember exactly what I made, but she later told me two things she does remember:
- it was good, and
- it was “a big pot of food.”
That description still makes me laugh, because at the time, my culinary skills were… developing. But if I had to guess, that big pot of food was probably my New Year’s Eve jambalaya—despite the fact that it was likely October and despite the fact that what I make is only technically jambalaya in the loosest, most forgiving sense of the word.
Since then, I’ve expanded my repertoire a bit, but I’ve realized something about myself: I love cooking a big pot of food. The kind of meal that feeds people, invites seconds, and somehow tastes better the next day. And there are two big pots I enjoy making more than any others.
The first is that “jambalaya.” It’s a happy collection of various meats and vegetables—most of the right ones, arranged in roughly the right spirit, even if a purist might raise an eyebrow. It’s become a New Year’s tradition in our house. This year, I taught my daughter how to make it, which means the tradition has officially moved beyond me. That’s one of the quiet joys of cooking: realizing a recipe might outlive you.
The second big pot is my chili.
I make a very traditional Texas chili, which means—say it with me—no beans. In chili culture, beans are a travesty. They’re even banned in competitions. The meat and the sauce are the heroes of the story, and beans just show up uninvited, bringing nothing but flavorless starch and confusion. For those who love beans (and I say this without judgment… mostly), I’ll cook a separate pot for them to add on their own.
One important tip: the real hero of good chili isn’t just chili powder—it’s cumin. You almost can’t put too much in. I’ve tasted other people’s chili with barely any chili powder and even less cumin. It might taste fine, but it isn’t chili. It’s some kind of stew that wandered into the wrong pot.
Good chili needs balance: chili powder and cumin, a solid tomato base, maybe broth or beer, and time. It takes practice to get it just right—and that’s the best part, because the learning curve is delicious.
So if I had to answer the question honestly, my favorite thing to cook isn’t a single dish. It’s a big pot of something meant to be shared. The kind of food that fills the kitchen, the table, and the room with people who came for dinner and stayed longer than they planned.
Copyright © 2026 Doug DeBolt.
