I started this one on a day that didn’t start right.
The window stuck. The spoon drawer caught. Mae had already left, and I didn’t know where she’d gone.
So I stood in the kitchen holding a can of beans like it could give me answers.
Turkey chili. Martha’s version. It showed up in the back of that old book with the stiff spine—page creased like someone else had cried on it once.
I wasn’t hungry. I just needed to hear something bubble.
What the Original Looked Like
Her Highness keeps it honest here. Onion, bell pepper, chipotle.
Dark meat turkey (which she specifies like we’re not going to use whatever’s in the freezer).
Beans, tomatoes, a little salt.
She simmers it for 30 minutes and tops it like a magazine spread—avocado sliced like a fan, lime wedges like applause.
It’s not fancy. Not smug. It just… works.
Like she knew there’d be days when food was the only thing you could finish.
The Way It Happened in My Kitchen
The olive oil hit the pan too fast. I didn’t wait for it to shimmer—just tossed in the onion, the bell pepper, the silence.
Cooked them until they got soft. Or I did.
Chipotle went in next—two from the jar, plus a scoop of the smoky sauce that always stains the spoon.
The turkey looked sad going in. Cold and clumped. I didn’t break it up gently. I stabbed at it with the wooden spatula. Like it was responsible for how tired I felt.
Beans, tomatoes—dumped in, no ceremony. It bubbled fast, like it was trying to prove something.
I stirred. Slowly. Then faster. Then slower again.
It started to smell like something solid. Something warm. Like a sweatshirt you forgot you still had.
I didn’t taste it until it had cooled.
That’s when I noticed it was actually good. But only after it stopped shouting.
The Bit I Got Wrong (And Liked More)
I used yellow onion instead of red.
I skipped the cilantro.
I forgot the lime until Mae came back and said, “It needs something sharp.”
She was right. I squeezed it in with the same hand I’d stirred everything with. Didn’t even wipe it off first.
A Few Things I Learned
Chili doesn’t rush you. It waits.
The longer it sits, the louder the flavors get. Like old feelings you thought you’d buried.
Mae said it tasted like the one I made that winter the heat went out.
It didn’t.
But I didn’t argue.
What I Did With the Extras
Put two scoops in the fridge.
Ate some cold the next morning with a spoon straight from the pot.
Mae packed a Thermos. She didn’t say thank you. But she didn’t leave a single drop.
Would I Make It Again?
Yeah.
When the house is too quiet. Or when I am.
If you want something softer but just as grounding, I made Martha’s turkey meatballs last week—they held together better than I did that day.
FAQs
Yeah. It actually gets better. Just let it cool before you pack it. I’ve forgotten and melted more than one container lid.
It’s got a slow burn. Not set-your-mouth-on-fire, more like warm socks. Unless you go wild with the chipotles—then you’ll notice.
Martha says yes. I say—use what you have, but know the lean stuff dries out faster. Add a little extra oil or don’t cook it as long.
You can. It’ll be saucier, and maybe more brothy. Mae once picked them all out and said it still “tasted like food,” so there you go.
Same. Half the time I remember when I’m already eating. It’s not make-or-break, but it does wake it up if you’re feeling blah.
Check out More Recipes:
- Martha Stewart Roasted Turkey Breast
- Martha Stewart Turkey Meatloaf
- Martha Stewart Turkey Burger
- Martha Stewart Turkey Meatballs
Martha Stewart Turkey Chili
Description
Thick, smoky, and a little emotional—like me, that afternoon.
Ingredients
Instructions
- Heat the oil: Pan on medium. Oil in. Don’t wait too long—just start.
- Sauté the vegetables: Onion and bell pepper go in first. Let them soften while you breathe. Or try to.
- Add the heat: Chipotles and sauce—stir them in, smell the smoke, blink a little.
- Cook the turkey: Drop in the meat. Break it up. Or don’t. It’ll come apart when it’s ready.
- Add the heart: Tomatoes and beans. Stir. Watch it come together. Let it make noise.
- Simmer: Bring it to a boil, then down to low. Let it sit. Stir when you remember. Add a splash of water if it starts to stick.
- Taste, adjust, garnish (or not): Salt it until it feels alive. Add lime. Or cheddar. Or just a spoon.