The regional table / Texas
Tex-Mex Cheese Enchiladas with Chili Gravy
Fat and flour in a pan, chili powder stirred into it, stock whisked in — a European gravy over a Mexican dish, which is what makes these Texan and not Mexican.
The name is older than any restaurant now printing it on a menu, and the earliest use I could reach is in a newspaper sketch about the San Antonio chili stands. The Dawson News of Dawson, Georgia, for Wednesday, 27 July 1898 ran the whole of it under the heading THE CHILI QUEENS — the same San Antonio Express sketch this site quoted in its chili article, still going round the country weeklies a year after it first appeared. Halfway through, a local takes a visitor to a stand and orders the entire bill of fare, and the paper prints the order as it was called: two plates of chili con carne, "dos tamales con chili gravy", enchiladas, and two cups of coffee. The paper spells them enchilades and the visitor chokes on them. Three things are settled by that one line. Enchiladas were being sold on the plaza in the 1880s and 1890s. The sauce that went over the plate already had a name. And the name was in English, and the English word was gravy.
What gravy meant in a Texas kitchen is set out plainly in a book the chili powder company wrote for its customers: Mexican Cookery for American Homes, copyright 1923, Gebhardt Chili Powder Company, San Antonio. Every sauce in it is built the same way. The Tomato Sauce con Chili reads, in full, "Blend butter, flour and Gebhardt's Eagle Chili Powder. Melt, then add other ingredients and simmer 20 minutes, stirring occasionally to cook smooth." A sauce for meat cakes a few pages earlier says "Blend flour and butter. Add other ingredients and cook 5 minutes over direct heat." That is a roux, done the way a French kitchen does it, with a manufactured San Antonio spice blend stirred in before the liquid. The same book pours "a rich, highly seasoned chili gravy" over its canned tamales and "a rich, red chili gravy" over its canned beans — and prints no enchilada anywhere in it. Not in the menus, not in the recipes, not in the index. The dish was on the plaza in 1898 and absent from the company cookbook in 1923; what carried it from one to the other was the technique, not the recipe.
Why this version works
Stock, not tomato. A chili gravy is brown-red and opaque. The tomato-based enchilada sauce that syndicated food columns were teaching the rest of the country in the 1930s is a different thing: the Savannah Daily Times of 15 May 1936 carried Mrs. Mary Morton's enchiladas, billed as a Spanish-American dish made in California for centuries, sauced with garlic, onion, sweet peppers, canned tomatoes, sausage and hamburger, thickened by nothing but hours of simmering. Good, and not this. Beef stock gives the Texas version its savor and lets the flour do the thickening.
The powder goes into the fat, not the liquid. Most of what ground chile has to give is oil-soluble, which is why chili powder tipped into simmering stock tastes dusty and chili powder stirred into hot fat turns the pan dark and smells of the spice within seconds. Gebhardt's 1923 book blends the powder with the butter and the flour before anything wet goes near it. Do the same and thirty seconds in the roux is worth ten minutes of simmering.
The tortillas are fried before they are filled. Five seconds a side in hot fat does two jobs at once: it makes a cold corn tortilla pliable enough to roll without cracking, and it seals the surface so the gravy sits on it instead of soaking through. Skip it and you get twelve rolls of wet paper. This is the step people drop to save calories and it is the step that decides whether the dish holds together.
The gravy is a roux, and that is the whole argument. Fat and flour cooked together until the raw taste goes, then stock whisked in — the thickening is the flour, not the chile. This is a European technique applied to a Mexican dish in a Texan restaurant, which is the most honest one-line definition of Tex-Mex anyone has managed. The contrast is worth stating once: the New Mexico writer on this site makes red sauce from whole dried pods, where the pulp is the body and there is no flour in the pan at all. Two states, one chile, opposite sauces.