Why do I cast my vote for chili as "America's Food"? If I had to name one reason, I'd surely explain that more than any other American food, chili enjoys a fanatical devotion bordering on cultism.

Can you imagine a chicken cook-off? A steak cook-off? I can appreciate the concept of a meatloaf cook-off, but only because that dish also defines the unique nature of American cooking in the same way chili does. Beyond the national obsession with the dish (there are chili mail order supply stores, the aforementioned cook-offs, chili cookbooks, ornaments shaped like chiles, chili/chile publications, chili/chile web sites, hot sauce collections, etc.), chili also enjoys a regionality that can only be appreciated by traveling and experiencing the delights offered around our country.

Personally, I grew up eating "Chili Mac," a sort of chili stew that my mother made from ground beef, diced bell peppers, chopped canned tomatoes, tomato sauce, onions, kidney beans, and elbow macaroni. For years I thought that's how everyone made it, and I didn't have my eyes opened till I started making business trips in the mid-1980s. All of a sudden, my palette began to experience some of the regional variations lurking in the diners, bars, and restaurants along the highways and byways of America.

There's "New Mexico Chili," which some say is the purest form. Though big-city chili chefs would probably scoff at this bare-bones approach, many swear by this saucy red chili puree stocked with chunks of red meat and served with a side of stewed pinto beans. Cross the border into the Lone Star State and you'll find "Texas Chili," a homey mixture of coarse-ground beef, chile, garlic, cumin, onions, beans, and tomatoes. Get closer to middle America and you'll encounter "Kansas City Chili" (the Chili Mac of my childhood, often baked in a casserole), "Louisville Chili" (where they stir in broken tamales!), and the legendary "Cincinnati Chili," a variation served over spaghetti that I was unfamiliar with until visiting the Ohio Valley.

Robin Garr, who runs the Wine Lovers' Page, gave us a crash course on Cincy Chili: "The reason Cincinnati chili has that odd spicy flavor is that it's really just Greek spaghetti sauce! The original Cincy chili parlors were started by immigrants from Greece (and one from Bulgaria) who came over right after WWII and opened Greek restaurants, only to do a lousy business because nobody there at the time knew anything about Greek food. So they called their spaghetti 'chili,' and the rest is history. True story."

True or not, it's just one of the many colorful stories surrounding the birth and continuing history of this heart-warming dish. Sit back, grab your own bowl of red, and join us on our journey through the Wonderful Worlds of Chili...

[This article and all sidebars originally appeared in THG #3]