One shot. And six pounds of brisket.
Ever since Shaw and I got shut out at the Kansas City Ad Club’s first CHILLYs, that cold winter’s eve has haunted us.
We made a damn fine pot of chili that night. I won’t go into my sour grapes here — but I will say that by the time the cook-off was over, we’d been completely cleaned out of chili. People liked it, but the deep pockets spending dollars on extra votes weren’t coming our way.
So for the second annual CHILLYs, we came at it hardcore.
