You no longer have the contingency of having to wait at the train crossing to get to C.W. Porubsky’s Deli, so there is no excuse not to make it for lunch regularly, not to mention that as of October 1, it’s chili season.

Porubsky’s chili starts on a small gas stove behind the ages old deli counter, stewed and simmered in silver cauldrons, building bubbles through beans and sauce that crack to the surface sending a scent into the air that sinks into every fabric of clothing, pore of skin and wrinkle of memory.

It’s waiting for you, you know, and you’re very fortunate. If you are even more fortunate, you will show up and there will be a booth to sit in while the steam from your bowl of chili makes you sweat like you’re getting the third degree from God.

This chili gets straight to the point. There are no chunk tomatoes, peppers or what-have-you’s. There are beans and meat and sauce in a combination more flavorful and potent than anyone, from a French chef to your mom, could even come close to. Uncle Charlie brews the secret recipe passed down from his father and grandmother in such a nonchalant fashion you would think he is boiling water, but he is truly a factory of a timeless and ageless comfort food experience. I like mine with cheese.
You’ll probably hear a good joke from Bruce, get quick smiles and service from Becky, be overseen satisfactorily by Grandma Lydia and even get a glimpse of cousin Girard rushing trays from the counter to the tavern. I guarantee the chili and the atmosphere will never be forgotten. Of course, maybe you’ve fi gured out that I’m biased, but the story about Porubsky’s chili which will appear in the next issue of “Gourmet Magazine” will back me up.  [Matt Porubsky - Dec. 2007]