On a Sunday afternoon outside of Austin’s Deep Eddy Distillery, a vodka tasting room a short drive from downtown, a ruby red food truck sparkles in the late afternoon sun. An animated bunch, a bit tipsy from their tasting line up outside the truck, unaware that spare wigs and makeup are the secret ingredients on the top shelf of the tiny kitchen. At the window, a drag queen in a bouffant and a gingham apron greets patrons in a slow Texas drawl. After each order, she beams and says, “Fan-tas-tic,” pronouncing each syllable like a praise. If anyone order the classic chili, they're asked if they like it "thick and meaty." Some laugh, or their cheeks burn a bit red, not unlike the rouge on the queen’s face—which miraculously stays in place along with her hair, as she takes orders in the scorching food truck.

“Hairspray on the face does wonders in 110 degrees, when you’re in a metal box with a deep fryer and steam table,” Ed Hambleton tells me. As the purveyor of the world’s first and only drag queen food truck, Texas Chili Queens, he would know. Far from a gimmick, the three-year-old truck pays homage to Texas’s historic Chili Queens, while giving Austinites a taste of queer culture and a bite of an oft-ignored part of state history.

The original Chili Queens were enterprising women who some say popularized chili in the 19th century by serving it to tourists in San Antonio, a new hotspot following Texas’s state designation, writes Sarah Lohman in her book, Eight Flavors: The Untold Story of American Cuisine. Then came the FDA's Pure Food and Drug Act of 1906, which raised questions about the safety of commercial foods prepared at home—like the chili and tamale vendors selling street food in the main plaza—and essentially shut down the original Chili Queens. Hambleton, in his research, dug up this story and decided to give the queens another chapter—one custom-made for the 21st century.

“Why not bring back the original Texas street food to the streets of Texas, but with a twist? Why have a classic Chili Queen, when I can remake the Chili Queen as a drag queen? It’s a fun take on the ‘Keep Austin Weird’ motto,” he says. “Not only was it a fun business concept to sell chili in drag with a bevy of queens, but why not propagate the history of the Chili Queens themselves?” Today, Hambleton and his small team of five park everywhere from outside office buildings to the Texas State Capitol, breweries and bars, elementary schools, a Unitarian church, and religiously affiliated hospitals. Customers choose from four types of chili (ranging from classic to vegan), with bases like Fritos (for a customized Frito pie) or fries, and a range of sides and sweets. The chili is just slightly spicy and savory, and the perfect consistency, coating the crunchy Fritos in flavor and tender meat. Customers rave about the food (they do, in fact, like it thick and meaty).

Hairspray on the face does wonders in 110 degrees, when you’re in a metal box with a deep fryer and steam table.

It’s not immediately obvious that Texas Chili Queens is a drag queen–staffed food truck. Their social media is sparse, and a number of Texans haven't encountered a drag queen—until now. Groups have booked the truck for events without realizing the connection, “but we have a blast,” Hambleton says. “The food is good and people are entertained—what more can you ask for?”

Hambleton, who dabbled in drag in high school (he won Prom Princess at his junior prom, and Hedwig and the Angry Inch was the first DVD he owned), paints on thick eyebrows, coquettish curled lashes, and bright red or pink lips with a bow pout. Texas-big hair (a wig) is lifted into a bouffant and sprayed into a hill country of its own; a headband, and gingham apron with a sweetheart neckline completes the look. “I want people to know this is a queen,” Hambleton says. “It’s very stylized.”