Easy Chicken Chili with Sweet Potato + Lime
Monday, July 6, 2020
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Easy Chicken Chili Time
Or in other words- this is the Football Season May Officially Be Over, Babycakes (I'm from Massachusetts, so. TOM BRADY #12 #GOAT) but Chili Season is Definitely Not Over post.
So even after watching every episode of Friday Night Lights, football retains a certain mystery to yours truly. A few things I know. Tight ends tighten. Running backs are amazing athletes. Quarterbacks have eagle eyes (and other fine qualities). And special teams kickers pray to the football gods when called in for a tie breaker with 6 seconds to spare in the final quarter.
Do I sound like I know what I am talking about? I don't. At least, not in depth. I just overheard some manly sporty banter over gluten-free tuna melts. To which I smiled politely. And reached for a pickle.
Back fields in motion. Quarterback interference. Off sides. Snap. Blitz. I love the lingo. It's a language alluringly foreign to me. Like, say, algebra. Or for some, postmodern neo abstract expressionism. Visual chaos executed in angles and arcs and bursts of focus, drive and energy.
Thing is, I get the practiced dance of propulsion. Designing motion from multiple points of view. I get it. In my bones. This is my territory. You're talkin' my language. Value verses tone. Light bumping up against dark. Sharp contrast dissolving into blur. And I appreciate the power of practice, focus, and intention. Negative space divided by a perfect spiral.
Think of the interplay of icing thick paint and oceanic viscosity. The quickening beauty of a layered surface, vibrating with complementary colors. Transparency and opacity. Cool against warm. Unprimed and primed. Lost and found edges. The seduction of action's evidence. The painter's hand. Rugged tooth and clean, smooth paper.
Though it's not all yin yang, a wrestle of opposites.
As in football- and life- painting is a locus of expression, sometimes true and authentic, and sometimes disappointingly off the mark. Like a short field goal. Or an incomplete pass. We try. We sometimes miss. But what matters is- we make the effort. And that is all we can do. We kick the ball. We brush wet paint. We string words into a lyric. We stitch a quilt. We photograph a child's curiosity.
We make chili.
And sometimes?
We get a winner.
And if not?
Tomorrow is another day.
Karina
xox
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