Tamale Saturday: Transitions That Keep Time

Tamale Saturday

1Early on Saturday morning, before the sun had cleared the rooftops, Inés tiptoed into the kitchen. Her grandfather was already at the sink, pressing a stack of dry corn husks under warm water. "These have to soak until they bend without cracking," Abuelo told her. "That gives us time to make the masa." Inés tied on an apron that reached almost to her knees.

2First, they poured corn flour into Abuelo's biggest bowl. Next, Inés added warm broth, a little at a time. At first, the masa was lumpy and dry, so Abuelo squeezed and folded it with both hands. After ten minutes of work, it turned smooth and soft, like thick frosting. Meanwhile, a pot of red chile sauce bubbled on the back of the stove and filled the room with a smoky smell.

3As soon as the husks were soft, the real work began. Abuelo showed Inés how to spread a thin layer of masa across the wide end of a husk with the back of a spoon. Next, she added a spoonful of chicken and sauce down the middle. Finally, she folded the sides together and tucked the narrow end underneath. Her first tamale looked like a crumpled letter. As Inés folded, Abuelo hummed an old song and lined up the finished tamales on a tray. By the tenth one, her folds were neat and tight.

4Just as they stood the last tamale upright in the steamer pot, the doorbell rang. Inés's aunt and two cousins had come early, carrying a bowl of rice and a jar of salsa. While the tamales steamed, everyone squeezed around the table to play cards. Every so often, Abuelo lifted the lid, and a cloud of corn-scented steam rolled out.

5More than an hour later, Abuelo pulled out one tamale and unwrapped it. The masa slid away from the husk cleanly, which meant the tamales were done. That evening, the whole family sat down to a platter piled high with tamales. Inés searched the pile until she found one with a lopsided fold. "This was my very first one," she said proudly, and she ate every bite.