Tamale Making Lessons
Most of my tamale making memories are of my family around a square island decorated with Mexican tiles in Grandpy Joe’s kitchen. The warm adobe floors matched the vibe of the colorful tiled fresco of rancho life above the stove where a couple vats of chile con carne bubbled. Margaritas, both alcoholic and virgin, were always blending. Two tall silver pots had to be filled with dozens of tamales that would steam for hours before we would eat.
When we were young, between four and twelve, my sister Julie and I were in charge of placing two olives in every tamale. When the assembly line slowed down because some adult wasn’t spreading the masa to the precise thickness, Julie and I would put the olives on our fingers and play puppets that we’d eat until we also got reprimanded for losing focus on the assembly line. I was a teenager with younger cousins who took over olive duties before I was allowed to spread the masa to the right thickness.
In the five years since moving to the Eastern Sierra, I discovered an astonishing amount of people who had always wanted to learn how to make tamales but never had the opportunity. I offered to host a party which would not be complete without homemade Mexican rice and beans. My dream was to bring together the cast of my first play, Bloody Day in Brawley, with the “real” neighbors in Crowley Lake – the inspirations for the roles they had played.
Then it started to dump snow.
All day long fat snowflakes fell, mounting at least two feet high. Kobe couldn’t get to work so helped me set up. Magick sparkled on snow-covered trees and the ground and I knew only those who could walk, snowshoe, or travel a short distance would make it. I had begun the great wheels of the tamale making party with two-day preparation of meat filling (both carne asada and pork in chile sauce), soaking husks and beans, frying bacon, and I couldn’t stop.
Because I had always been the child and never the host, I consulted my first book, The Wicca Cookbook, for Aunt Rosie’s tamale recipe. I sprinkled rose petals around a picture of my grandparents and their best friends Rosie and Alex Oviedo, lit a candle, and asked for their help as I prepared to teach one of our greatest and oldest traditions of Mexico.
Tamale is a word in Nahuatl, the Indigenous language of Mexico, which means gift. It is a present from the Divine and our own hands. Meat is wrapped in the sustaining and revered corn as a present, a symbol of community, because it takes a village to make dozens of tamales.
I chose to be lenient, inspired by my youth no doubt, about how the tamales could be wrapped. Be messy I encouraged, then asked the first round of tamale makers to teach the newcomers – just as if we were one big family helping the next generation to keep tradition going.
Terri, my first guest, arrived at 1:30 and most everyone else arrived at 4pm. I thought we could be eating by 6pm. As neighbors weathered the mountain storm to reach our haven, I found myself engaged in prep work to keep the assembly line moving. Kenny and Maurice had to get pulled out of snowbanks. I loved watched Cricket’s mischievous smile as she experienced something totally new. Thank goodness for my neighbor Lori who actually likes to clean dishes. It was fun to watch Whitney, Andrew, and Leslie make pomander with the whole cloves and tangerines ready for making. Sam and Neal liked the Yuletide treats made with a teaspoon of cannabutter. I rolled my eyes at Greg and Gerren who couldn’t get over the blatant ovaries in the Medieval woodcut from The Wicca Cookbook. (see in the gallery above).
Then chaos set in as I reheated side dishes to be ready at the same time as the tamales, but the masa wouldn’t set. I nearly burned the bottom of the largest stock pot when it ran out of water. As if on magickal cue, Kobe and Liz started playing music and most everyone left the kitchen to attend the impromptu concert. This is when appetizers would have helped and another hostess. : ) Then, the smaller pot of tamales was ready and silence swept over my guests as we enjoyed the edible pleasures of our labors, washing it down with Glüwein, a mulled wine recipe, also from The Wicca Cookbook.
Hiccups always accompany us when we try something new. I had been a child; never the host of the endeavor that is tamale making. I believed I could, so I did, and most importantly I discovered new things. It is with great humility and pride that I share the lessons I learned from hosting my first tamale making party.
1) Have more appetizers
2) Invite more early helpers to make a small pot of tamales steaming if you want to serve them within the hour of their arrival. These folks get to take home more tamales
3) Pre-make three times the masa for the twenty pounds of meat ahead of time
4) Add broth, not water to dry masa, plus salt and several dollops of fat, which can be lard or coconut oil or butter. Mix with your hands, not the Kitchen Aid.
5) Folding techniques are important so the meat doesn’t fall out. Take more time with newbies and explain how the stacking system in the colander works. If you want a clean tamale, you absolutely need to close the husk with the masa
6) Altitude of 7,000 feet doubles the steaming time
7) Place pennies in the bottom of the steam pot. Bring at least an inch of water to boil before the colander of tamales is added. Cover and simmer. Tamales are ready when the pennies stop rattling.
8) Grandpy is rolling in his grave, but next year I may offer string to identify specially made tamales, with the understanding that tamale making is a gift to your community and if it comes around again that’s a blessing.
9) I need someone to take photos while I’m working kitchen duties
10) Live music is so important to the good vibes of a party
11) Prepare a note on how to reheat tamales with either the penny trick or wrapping the tamales in a wet paper towel and microwave
Classic Christmas music carried me through the stress of being the glue and leader for the feast making I felt calm and grateful to be giving, not afraid of doing it “wrong,” but open to learning something new as much as everyone else.
In the end, it’s the love of sharing with your community something special of your culture and family that is the true gift.
