“This is not Mexican food,” said my Mexican-born parents anytime they got a whiff of chili. A mere plateful inspired disapproving gestures as they sensed the dish wafting the aroma of cumin in a San Antonio Mexican restaurant. Growing up on the Texas/Mexico border, life was more Mex than Tex. But a mere 150 miles north, it was a different story. 

They were right—sort of. Chili is not Mexican, but its history is complicated. Chili is Texas Mexican, one of the country’s oldest regional cuisines. The term Tex-Mex first appeared in the culinary lexicon in 1972 when English-born cookbook author Diana Kennedy made a clear distinction between the food served in Mexico and everything served north of the border. By doing so she inadvertently defined a centuries old cuisine—one that’s heavy on meat and cheese, features flour tortillas over corn, and highlights cumin—a spice not commonly used in central Mexico.

Regional Mexican cuisines are fusions of Old and New World ingredients, and Tex-Mex cuisine is no different. During the sixteenth century conquest of Mexico, Spain introduced its economic system, religion, customs and foods—notably wheat, cattle and spices. In the northern frontier, vast plains were converted to ranchlands and livestock became the region’s most important resource.

Less susceptible to fungus in the dry northern climate, wheat flourished in New Spain (the term for Mexico during that time). Wheat was perfect for baking flatbreads, hence the flour tortilla—which, according to food historian Jeffrey Pilcher, was possibly inspired by the matzo of Sephardic Jews who had settled in the north during the Inquisition.

Cumin can be traced to the 1700s when Spanish colonists from the Canary Islands settled in San Antonio. Many were of Moroccan descent and brought their Berber cooking with its heavy use of cumin. In addition, simple sauces using native red chiles were favored over the labor-intensive moles of the southern and central regions. 

For centuries, indigenous populations had been stewing wild game such as venison and turkey with native spices. When these native stews met Old World meats and cumin and New World chiles, tomatoes and beans, a variation of the famous southwestern chili con carne was born.

In 1821, Mexico gained independence from Spain and the area we now call Texas remained part of Mexico before gaining its own independence in 1836, at which time the Republic of Texas briefly enjoyed freedom before being acquired by the United States in 1845. But it was in 1842 when the English writer, geographer and ethnologist William Bollaert wrote of a mysterious “stew made of beef with a large quantity of red pepper” in his observations on the Republic of Texas that chili appeared in the public consciousness.

In 1877, when the Texas Mexican Railway began operating through the southwest, Anglo tourists curious about the country’s new frontier began flocking to San Antonio. Many decided to settle there permanently, pushing the Tejanos—those of Mexican descent who had been living in the area for over three centuries—out of the city center and into segregated barrios.

Although the Hispanic population suddenly found themselves marginalized, tourists found their food alluring, especially the chili con carne that had been prepared since the mid-1800s by the legendary “chili queens.” In an effort to supplement their family’s income, these hardworking San Antonio businesswomen had become the dish’s original purveyors. Their namesake stew was initially called carne con chile (meat with chile), a moniker then Anglicized by the same visitors who bestowed the chili queen title.