THE GREAT CHILI SAUCE DISASTER OF 2021

In the Jewish culture, one of the most sacred of holiday meals is the Passover beef brisket made with Bennetts Original Chili Sauce, as recorded by ancient scribes in the ORT Portals to Good Cooking, Third Edition. 

The problem is, the company that made Bennetts for 50 years went out of business a little over a year ago. Jewish women across the country rent their clothes, put on sackcloth, and went into deep mourning. (“I used it for my sweet and sour meatballs, too,” one wailed. “What the hell am I supposed to do now?”) At first, we all tried substituting Heinz Chili Sauce, but quickly decided the resulting brisket should be added to the list of plagues discussed at the Passover meal. 

And then: a miracle! I walked into Sunset Foods two weeks ago and there, next to the deli counter, was a beautiful, gleaming tower of Bennetts Chili Sauce! (Cue celestial choir.) 

I gasped and immediately texted my friends. Apparently, the same miracle was occurring at Jewel and Woodman’s and other local stores. Women were buying and hoarding bottles with the same frenzy that a year ago had been reserved for toilet paper. 

I grabbed eight bottles, hurried home, and gleefully waved one in front of my husband. “Look what I found!!” 

He teared up. “Bennetts? You found Bennetts?” 

I grinned, then opened a bottle and dipped my finger in for a celebratory taste of the sauce. A second later, I spat it out. 

“What’s wrong?” asked my husband, wiping the stain from his shirt. 

“They changed the recipe,” I whispered. “It tastes like…like chopped pickles.” 

My husband went pale. “So what are you going to do?” 

I shook my head, then looked at him in desperation. “I’ll go back to Sunset tomorrow. Maybe it was a bad batch?” 

So the next day, I found myself gazing once more at the miraculous tower and reaching tentatively for another bottle of Bennetts. 

“WAIT! STOP!” I looked over to see a woman rushing toward me, arms waving frantically. 

“Don’t do it!” she said in a strangled voice. “It’s not the same recipe. it’s some kind of disgusting pickle relish.” 

I slammed my hand down on the shopping cart. “I KNEW IT!” 

“Shhh,” she said. “It’s okay. I’ll tell you what you’re going to do.” She then guided me gently toward the condiments aisle. 

“Okay,” she said. “You can start with Heinz or maybe that Homade brand, but then add in some Welch’s Grape Jelly and THEN…” She pulled down a jar reverentially. “You add this.”

“Bless you,” I said, tears streaming down my face. I hurried home with the precious ingredients, sat down at the kitchen table, and began mixing different combinations and quantities with the focus and dedication of a Moderna scientist. I put the results in my grandson’s segmented purple food dish, and handed the plate to my husband so he could do a blind taste test. 

After thoughtfully tasting each sample, he pronounced judgement. “This one,” he said decisively. “Not too sweet or too bland, and no pickle taste. So…what combination did you use?” 

I stared at him. “I have no idea,” I said. “I forgot to write it down.” 

For some reason, this statement did not surprise him. He just reached out and gently patted my arm. 

“It’s okay, hon,” he said. “There’s always next year.”