“Suckin’ on a chili dog outside the Tastee-Freez.”

It wasn’t John Mellencamp playing when I walked into Chilli Billy. It was Jackson Browne and “Running On Empty”. Which was exactly how my stomach was feeling after foolishly (OK, stupidly) neglecting to eat dinner the night before.

I wanted a chili dog. I can’t remember the last time I wanted a chili dog. Maybe way back when I first heard that “little ditty ’bout Jack and Diane”.

I was impressed before I even walked into the door. Not just a name on the sign, but a logo, a pretty slick looking logo. Then, when I did walk in, a wall-mounted menu. How fast-food. But how efficient. Everything there, including a description and the price.

There it was. Chilli dog. With that strange chilli spelling. There was a little hesitation before ordering. It’s hard to pass a straight-up bowl of chili (or chilli) con carne at the top of a menu, particularly when it’s aroma is shouting ‘choose me, choose me’ from the kitchen. It’s hard to find chili (or chilli) on any San Miguel restaurant menu and equally as hard to find it at home. “You don’t make chili for two, you make it for ten or twenty”, says Don Day’s Wife.

I wandered over to the “order here/pick-up here” window, thinking, once more, how fast-food this place was. “Coca Lite and a chilli with two ells dog”, I said to the woman with the sparkling chestnut eyes.

Off she went back into the kitchen and off I went for a little wander around Chilli Billy.

I don’t like ancient history, diplomatic history, political history, but I lap up food history. Chilli Billy is a mini museum celebrating the history of chili and the chili dog.

Art’s Chili Dog stand, started in Los Angeles, back in 1939. The extraordinary fifties architecture of The Chili Bowl, another L.A. Chili palace. An ad for Gebhardt’s, the company most responsible for making chili taste like chili.

If these black and whites were the history of chili, is Chilli Billy the future of chili? My chilli with two ells dog had arrived.

I was a little shocked. My chilli dog was wrapped in Chilli Billy paper. I wondered how long it took McDonald’s, A&W or Burger King to print their own paper. I wondered if, perhaps, Chilli Billy was rushing it. But I was still very impressed.

The dog looked impressive as well. Generous quantity of chili. Very generous quantity of cheese. Enough chopped red onion that I knew I’d be wearing some. And a surprise, sour cream. I couldn’t remember ever having a chili dog with sour cream. But Don Day’s Wife serves sour cream with her bowls of chili so why not on a dog.

I took my first bite. Very beefy with lots of fat, juice, garlic and paprika oozing from the sausage. The cheese tasted like real Cheddar, rich and creamy. It was three-part harmony when you added the taste of the chili. 

I hadn’t planned to write about the Chilli Billy dog. Because, well, even with two ells, a chilli dog is still a chili dog. But this chili dog was a special dog.

There were two people working at Chilli Billy. I was guessing they were a couple by the way they looked at each other, spoke to each other. I showered some praise on the lunch they’d served me and asked who they were.

One half of the couple was Guillermo Lesser. “But everybody knows me as Billy” he told me. The other half was Andrea Salgado.

“We were introduced two years ago” continued Billy, “and from that day I met her, I knew I couldn’t let her go. We were married in April.”

I asked about the sausage, the cheese, the chili, their ambitions.

“We only want to serve the very best sausage; we want to serve 100% beef; and we think the best brand is Kirkland”, said Andrea.

“From Costco?”, I asked.

“Yes, from Costco”, Andrea replied, “like the cheese. We only use real Cheddar and, though it may cost more, we’re still going to use it. The difference with Chilli Billy is we’re a fast-food concept but with artisan-quality ingredients.”

We started to talk about chili and the legendary Chili Cook-Off. In my early years in San Miguel, the Cook-Off was the social event of the year. I’m guessing that at least half of the town’s ex-pats would gather at the Real de Minas hotel to eat, drink, dance and party. Billy Lesser’s grandmother, Ruth Hyba, was a key organizer and Billy grew up eating Gramma’s chili.

“I didn’t copy her recipe but I was certainly inspired by her”, said Billy.”

Billy took me into the kitchen to meet his chili. The smell was intoxicating when he lifted the lid.

I told him how many chefs who’d won Cook-Offs used commercial chili powder, often that Gebhart’s brand that was celebrated on his wall. Did he?

“No, I mix my own with chiles, paprika…that’s part of the homemade.”

“And what about secret ingredients, perhaps bacon, a rare pepper, caramelized onions?”

Before Billy could answer, a shout came from the hall. It was Andrea.

“It’s love. Our secret ingredient is love.”

The smell had gotten to me. I ordered a litre of that “love” to go and a slice of Andrea’s lemon pie.

The styrofoam container, the tape, the pie-holder, the brown-paper bag all proudly displayed that Chilli Billy logo.

 I told Billy, “You’ve either got connections in the printing biz or you’re very, very ambitious.”

“Yes, we are. We’re definitely thinking big, thinking someday, maybe, franchising.”

Don Day’s Wife, a woman whose chili recipe had won one of those San Miguel Chili Cook-Offs, and I had the Chilly Billy chili for lunch the next day. I told her about my visit to this humble little joint with the jumbo-sized dream.

“If they’re as good at business as they are at making chili, it could come true,” said my personal chef.

Chilli Billy is located at Calle Margarita Ledezma 2B in San Miguel de Allende. The restaurant is open from Tuesday to Saturday, Noon to 7:00 pm; Sunday, Noon to 5:00 pm.