Dink’s Famous Chili

Dickson Richardson, the creator of Dink’s Famous Chili, remembered his days in isolated Meeker, Colorado, while waiting his turn to be interviewed by Willow Wild. Today her Colorado Wild talk show would feature Colorado’s most successful entrepreneurs and would air live on Denver cable. 

Being pampered by the crew who fixed his hair and put a dab of makeup on his sleep bags reminded Dickson of his 20-year-old caretaker days of his Uncle Hank. It seemed like a century had passed, but it had only been a few years back when times were filled with trials and tribulations, along with other things. It was those other things that were the hidden secrets to his success. 

Willow Wild read from her script, “ Dickson Richardson attributes his success to his Uncle Hank who loved to eat! As do we all!” that was the cue for the audience's laughter.

While they laughed, Dickson remembered how Uncle Henry loved Castle King Pizza and how it opened at 11 am every morning just like clockwork, anticipating their daily phone order from him as his younger self, Dink.

Willow Wild continued, “Back in those days, Dickson went by Dink, lovingly nicknamed that by his Uncle. Both he and his uncle lived in the tiny blue house that Hank and his ex-wife, Phyllis, owned on the outskirts of modest Meeker, not far from the white river.”

To Dickson, the interview became boring, making him regress inward. Living in his head, just thinking, he remembered the bickering between him and Hank.

Dickson asked Willow, “Do you want me to tell you a story about Hank?”. Willow nodded hesitantly, not feeling comfortable about going off-script.

Dickson began, “So I asked Uncle Hank what kind of pizza he would like me to order. See, I was getting sick of double pepperoni, so I asked him how about we switch it up and order sausage and green peppers or, better yet, ham and pineapple? You see, I was just about to call on the archaic wall phone in the kitchen. Come on, Uncle, decide; we go through this little argument daily!”

He continued trying to sound gruff, “So uncle cleared his throat and spoke up from his bed. I will have Double Pepperoni, thank you.“ 

Then Dickson became somewhat enraged. “I'm sure he could hear me, his unemployed nephew complaining through the wall. I was unmistakable with my sarcastic mimicking -order double pepperoni, order double pepperoni, order God damn double pepperoni!”. 

Willow tried to make the audience laugh, but they just sat there stunned.

“Do you want to know what I did then? I yelled Crap, the word that Hank found revolting! That would be C-R-A-P to your viewing audience.”

Willow Wild didn't know how to respond off-script, so she let him continue.

“Uncle Hank begged; order five large double pepperonis, please. I can’t believe we are arguing over this Dink. You know I can eat them all myself, right? What’s confusing about that?” 

With his eyes bulging, Dickson looked around at all the dumbfounded faces and loved it.

“So, I phoned in the order stating my normal, beggers can’t be choosers line under my breath. After I drove over to get them, Uncle Hank gobbled down 4, and 1/2 large double pepperoni pizza’s from the comfort of his bed, kindly leaving two considerately small slices for me, his loving nephew.”

Dickson relaxed in his chair, crossed his legs, and invaded Willow Wild’s personal space by talking inches from her face, “You see, I had an aspiring goal of becoming a full-time butcher, but my selfish patchwork family insisted I care for a 55-year-old man that was too fat to get out of bed instead of following my dream.” 

Willow Wild went quickly to a commercial as she asked, “Dickson, are you sure you want your fans to know this about you?”

Dickson responded, talking with self-deprivation loudly, “sure I’ll continue; I had a 700-pound invalid whale- and if I had to change one more bedpan filled to the brim with rich hot steaming shit, I was going to make them all sorry for taking my youth away from me and giving it to this fat ass. Let me tell you, near a full-time carnivore has some stinking shit, I'll give you that!”

Needless to say, that part of the interview didn't get air; Miss Wild went right into her following discussion with the sheep sheerer entrepreneur from Sterling. 

On his way out the door, Dickson laughingly said under his breath in his best Paul Harvey imitation, “well, that's too bad as you will never get to know the REST of the STORY.”

Dickson headed to a park bench to wait for the bus back to his hotel room, Watching the homeless campers pass around a bottle and remembering the day everything changed for him. It was a day like all the rest, driving over to pick up the daily pizza. It wasn't that he was driving in a downpour in his Aunt’s old Buick that had ridiculously bad wipers. Dickson Richardson felt life had no meaning and seriously thought of ending it.

I remember it clearly, “I felt like I was living in loser-Ville,” now chatting to a homeless man who came over to sit on the bench. I said that to myself while looking in the rear view mirror. 

It was just a year after high school when learning a trade over at McGill’s Grocery. But low and behold, what happened? Good fortune disguised as a tragedy, as my complaints were met with a loud thumping sound from under the old blue Buick.

“Son of a bitch, what did I hit?” I said, looking under the car and seeing the dripping blood. “It was not what, but who?.” The homeless man offered Dickson a drink from his bottle, but Dickson refused by shaking his hand back and forth.

This old guy reminded him of Cecil Goodwin Meeker’s loveable drunk. It was Cecil that Dink hit that day. He was riding his bike in the rain, and his bicycle frame made that loud thumping noise. It looked like one of the pedals still had a foot attached. 

“Oh Jesus, I don't want to go to prison for wasting this guy,” I thought fast, “He is dead already, so I’ll scrape him up and wrap him tight in that old blue tarp Phyllis keeps in the trunk of this old heap. Yeah, boy, that's the ticket. I’ll throw what's left of the bike in the bushes, pick up the pizza like normal, and then wait until later to dump the body near the ridge we locals called the China Wall.”

Dink did just that, but when he went to dump the body, he noticed how it felt like a slab of beef from his days at the butcher shop. He thought about that feeling and the strange ideas floating in his head for a while. 

Living on Uncle Hank’s disability check was challenging as there wasn't enough money to make it, especially with an appetite like Uncle Hank. That's when he got the idea to feed the old drunks' meat to Uncle Hank. 

Dickson rudely picked up the homeless man’s arm and squeezed it, and said, “all the booze the old geezer consumed surely must have tenderized his flesh.” and just like that, Dickson was once again alone on the bench.

Dink found it easy to skin, gut, and disassemble Cecil as the butchering was similar to a young pig. The enjoyment was well worth the effort. He worked on it all night. Most of Cecil’s meat was put in the basement freezer, but the rack of ribs looked tender and delicious, so he decided to fire up the old smoke shed out back and smoke them. 

After a while, I served my delightful recipes to my neighbors. “The stew was great but this chili is fantastic, Dink.” the old woman from down the block said and then offered to pay me for making up a batch for her freezer. 

“Boy, you are becoming quite the chef.” Uncle Hank said with bbq sauce dripping down all of his chins after savoring some ribs. 

It was Uncle Hank’s kind words that I used as motivation to try and come up with new, better recipes. Although the neighbor's Pitbull was rather tuff and chewy, he found a delicious flavor in fat Poodle. Human, Dog, Cat, Pony; I cooked them all. 

My new hobby was helping our economics twofold. I bought some new clothes for both of us, had Uncle's hair cut by paying a barber to make a house call from the downtown barbershop and even watched a movie once or twice. To top it off, Uncle Hank was happy. “Nothing better than being well-fed. Thank you, Nephew.” and Hank meant it.

Everything was swell until Aunt Phyllis came back for her car and to beg money off of us, “You spent all your money gallivanting around the country because you couldn't handle taking care of an invalid? Am I right?” I asked her frankly.

She replied, “No, Dickson, Hank’s disability check is about to end. Because I still own half this house, I thought we could work out a deal where we sell the house and car and split the proceeds. That way, I’ll have money, and so will Hank. He could go live in a nursing home or something similar, and Dink, well, you can move on.”

That was the last time anyone ever called me Dink without my permission because just as Phyllis said, “move on,” I hit her as hard as I could with his double-thick cast iron frying pan and nearly split her skull in two. She was out of our lives forever but believe me; she was delicious! That's when my Dink’s Famous Chilli started to sell like hotcakes. It was all in my secret ingredients. Word of mouth spread from Rifle to Craig to all the Denver specialty grocers. Marketed under healthy products for using all natural meat. I was still an aspiring entrepreneur, but a good one.

As the last butt shank of Phylliss hung by the meat hook in the smoker shed, I sat back and admired my work. Lickety-split, Hank was the complete owner of everything, the House was paid for, and the soon-to-end disability checks meant nothing compared to my aspirations. At that very moment, I started to look at all 752 pounds of Hank as an expensive side of Wagyu beef. 

After waiting on Uncle for four long years, after six months of giving him luxurious daily massages after his Pizza and Beer lunches, Uncle Hank was tipping the scales at a whopping 890 pounds. I deemed that Uncle Hank was indeed ready for slaughter. 

The rest is history. I still live in Meeker but tore down the old place and built a gift shop. It's popular, what can I say? My chili attracts tourists, and tourism means money, not to mention I am provided with an endless supply of new meat to create more beautiful recipes. Too bad Willow Wild will never know the rest of the story.