There once was a 400-square-foot hole-in-the-wall tucked into the back atrium of Pike Place Market. No sign easily visible from the main arcade. If you didn’t know where it was, you could walk right past it. But if someone pointed you in the right direction—or if the aroma reached you first—you’d find your way down the ramp to a shop with a line out the door and a silver-haired man behind the counter who had been making chili since he was fourteen years old.
His name was Joe Canavan. His stand was called World Class Chili. And if you ate there even once, chances are you still remember it.
Joe Canavan & the Pike Place Chili Stand
Joe opened World Class Chili in 1986. He was born in Butte, Montana, the son of a mine manager, raised during the Depression. His father's side had homesteader roots — cattle country, where chili wasn't a recipe so much as a way of life. He served in the Army during the Korean War, came to Seattle, earned a business degree at Seattle University, and eventually opened a disco in Northgate before landing at Pike Place with a pot of chili and a philosophy about how things ought to be done.
World Class Chili's menu was straightforward, and hanging right there on the wall:
- Texas
- Cincinnati
- California
- Vegetarian
served over your choice of pinto beans, black beans, brown rice, or seashell pasta. Side of cornbread, tortilla chips, or oyster crackers. "It Ain't the Kind Your Mother Used to Make" read the slogan on the menu.
USA Today named it one of the ten great places in America to eat a bowl of chili. It was rated Seattle's Best Eats year after year. People flew in from other cities specifically to eat there. Joe competed regularly at the Original Terlingua International Championship Chili Cookoff in Texas and wrote monthly articles for two chili publications. He sourced his ingredients — organic meats and produce — fresh from the market around him every single day.
Beginning as a sole proprietor, the business quickly grew and Joe employed many over the years, most of whom remember him with great admiration and respect.
The 'Chili Nazi'
In 1995, the Seinfeld episode "The Soup Nazi" aired. The next morning, Joe Canavan's regulars showed up with a new name for him. It fit. He had rules. He had standards. He had a particular way things were done, and if you didn't follow it, he would take your chili away. Former employees — most of whom lasted about two weeks — described working for him as going to war. He had been a Marine drill sergeant. Later, a corporate efficiency consultant. It showed.
One former employee who stuck it out for over two years in the mid-90s described the experience: Joe never called him by his correct name. Every process was refined for maximum efficiency. Shifts started at exactly 10am — not a minute early, not a minute late. Two TVs and a radio broadcast different sporting events simultaneously, and employees were expected to know the score on all three at any given moment.
"They do not make people like him anymore," the former employee wrote years later.
Joe's customers adored him. "He always had a twinkle in his eye and good humor," said a neighbor vendor at the market. His wife Dorothy said he loved meeting every one of them.
Secret Sauce
As a young engineer in the 1990s, my first lunchtime bowl at World Class Chili was an intoxicating, life-changing experience. Deep meaty Texas-red, no-beans-to-be-seen unless you said so. And that sauce, what was that exquisite flavor — layered in a way that nothing out of a can could ever account for? But when I asked Joe, he just grinned, gestured to the slogan on the menu board and said "it ain't chili like your mama used to make," with a wink.
Well my mama never made chili, so right then I realized that it would take many a $5 bill spent over months and probably years to ever learn The Secret of that World Class Chili sauce.
After a year or two a new job came through in Bellevue, and I knew I wouldn't be eating lunch downtown anymore. So I figured this was my chance to learn The Secret, and I must've caught him in a good mood because Joe gave me a 10-minute personalized tutorial on how to make a decent Texas red sauce — at least a rookie's version.
"Really, you don't even peel them?" I said in astonishment, responding to Joe's instructions to just add the garlic heads, chunky-cut tomatoes and onions and dried ancho peppers altogether in a big pot and set them to boil. And cumin, don't forget heaping tablespoons of ground cumin!
"Don't even cut the stems off?" I remarked about the peppers. "Nope — just put it all together in a pot, boil for about 15–20 minutes to soften it all up, and then run everything through a blender, one batch at a time."
"Purée for a minute or two, then push it all through a wire mesh strainer with a big wooden spoon or spatula. What comes out on the other side is pure chili ambrosia (yep, pretty sure 'ambrosia' is the word he used), and all the stems and seeds stay in the basket." Or words to that effect.
This was, of course, before the days of immersion blenders, so I was doomed to make a horrible mess after running out to buy all the ingredients and diving in headfirst. But despite my tiny apartment kitchen, it worked! My first batch of ancho chili was easily my best to date, and they've been getting better ever since. Though the deeper lesson I learned from Joe was that The Secret is NOT particular chile peppers or proprietary chili recipes — it IS, rather, an ingeniously efficient METHOD for making bucketloads of chili — or any spicy porridge you care to name — at economic scale!
Legacy
Joe Canavan passed unexpectedly on November 17, 2008, while vacationing in Maui with Dorothy, his wife of 48 years. According to his obituary, he was 78 and remained remarkably active throughout his life. After surviving a heart attack in 1980, he went on to run a marathon, climb Mount Rainier, and return to work after a hip replacement. While snorkeling in Maui for the first time, he encountered difficulties in the water and did not survive.
As word spread that World Class Chili was closing for good on December 20, longtime regulars flooded into the Pike Place Market atrium for one last bowl before the neon sign went dark. The shop's last employee had worked alongside Joe for eight years and was the only other person who knew the recipes, but refused to sell or share them out of loyalty. With her departure, Seattle's most famous secret chili recipes disappeared from the Market for good — and we've been missing Joe and the little chili shop in the atrium ever since.
World Class Chili's closing solemnly marked the end of an era for generations of Seattle chili lovers. Joe never published his recipes, in print or online. Years later, former customers were still searching for them. In one online tribute, a commenter recalled asking a neighboring vendor what had happened to Joe and being told that he had died and left the recipes to no one. "It was the most awesome chili ever," he wrote.
Oaxaca Connection
The Genuine Oaxaca Mole Chili Kits and recipes here carry that tradition forward — built on what Joe demonstrated was possible, my own Chili Feed World mission statement, and my own discovery of Chili for Type 2 Diabetes. But out of respect for Joe, and following the lead of his former employees, I will NOT attempt to replicate his iconic recipes here.
The World Class Chili recipes you WILL find here, however, are of my own design and feature Juquilita Mole — a genuine Oaxacan mole paste found after years of searching US markets for that savory confection I first encountered in the markets of Oaxaca. Made from chile peppers and more than 20 traditional ingredients, mole paste substantially simplifies the chili sauce-making process, while adding depth of flavor and texture that's nearly impossible to replicate from scratch. And the batch cost is comparable to sourcing and prepping all those ingredients yourself — a win for both the casual cook and the everyday chili maker.
My launch recipe is built on Juquilita's Rojo mole. Coming soon: Negro (black mole) and Coloradito (little red). Beyond that, the remaining four of the legendary Seven Moles of Oaxaca may require a return journey to Central Mexico to acquire. But that's road well worth re-traveling!
Oaxacan Mole Chili isn't the kind Joe used to make. But it's built on his World Class Chili vision: that a bowl of chili, done right, is serious enterprise.
Start the journey with Mole Prep & Store or go straight to Mole Frijoles.
