Cincinnati chili is not soup you barbarian. It's this amazingly flavorful chili, involving cinnamon! and chocolate! as ingredients! that's fine enough to function as a sort of spaghetti sauce, as in you serve it over actual spaghetti! And then it has fixings of course, you have a bowl of raw onion on the table and you have a bowl of shredded cheddar, and if you're a reasonable human being you pile both on top of the chili and that's called having a three-way, because Cincinnati chili appeals most deeply to our innocent guts, the parts of us that responded to the appalled/delighted wave of AwwwwwwwwwwwwwWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!!! that crests through grade-school children in response to anything remotely romantic and/or risque. It was perfect [when I had some last night], it's always perfect. [Ouslandish-E] promises that if I kidnap her she will develop Stockholm syndrome and make it for me every day.
Once she made Cincinnati chili while we were on vacation and then the next morning I made the best hashbrowns I've ever made and we combined them, it was probably the best breakfast anyone ever had, it probably resounded backwards and forwards through my life and through the lives of those in a 10-mile radius, providing succor in times of distress, like invisible angels on thankless, unnoticed tasks, with chili in their wings and potatoes on their silent feet.
