Date: Tuesday, April 8, 2025
Mood: Nauseous
Music: Chocolate by The 1975
Dear Richard,
Levi decided to be "adventurous" in the kitchen tonight. He found a recipe online for authentic Cincinnati Chili. He was so proud of himself. He spent hours simmering the beef, adding the chocolate, the cinnamon, the allspice.
The smell hit me the second I walked in the door. It wasn't the smell of dinner. It was the smell of a Skyline Chili parking lot in August.
I almost turned around and walked back out.
I’m thinking about the "3-Way" today.
God, you loved that sludge. You treated it like a religion. You would drag me to that parlor on Ludlow Ave, order three cheese coneys and a 4-Way Bean, and look at me like you were offering me the nectar of the gods.
"Just try it, Taylor," you’d say, piling that mountain of bright yellow shredded cheese onto a fork. "It’s a regional delicacy."
"It’s meat-soup on spaghetti, Richard," I’d argue. "It’s a culinary hate crime. In Detroit, we would get arrested for serving this."
I sat at our dining table tonight and watched Levi serve it. He plated it perfectly, of course. He used expensive pasta. He grated the cheese by hand.
I took a bite. It tasted like cinnamon and regret.
But then I smiled, because I remembered your mom. God, I loved her.
Do you remember that lunch we had with her? You were shovel-feeding your face, trying to convince us both that it was delicious. Your mom and I just looked at each other from across the booth.
She winked at me. She leaned in, shielding her mouth with her hand so you wouldn't see, and whispered, "Don't let him fool you, honey. I’ve lived here for forty years and I still think it tastes like wet dog food. It’s an Ohio defect."
I laughed so hard I choked on my cracker. It was our secret Michigan bond. We were the outsiders, united in our confusion over why anyone would put chocolate in their chili.
I missed her tonight. I wanted to text her and say, “You won't believe what my husband is making me eat.”
Levi asked me how it was. "Is it authentic?" he asked, eyes shining.
"It tastes exactly how I remember," I told him. Which was the truth.
I ate the whole bowl, Richard. I ate it because Levi made it with love. But mostly, I ate it because for twenty minutes, the taste of cinnamon in my meat sauce made me feel like I was sitting in a booth with you and your mom, laughing at the absurdity of Ohio.
I hope you’re eating well. And I hope, for your sake, you finally admitted that Coney dogs shouldn't be soggy.
Love always,
Taylor
PS, Give your mom a hug for me.