What's Gonna Work? TEAMwork!

Tamales are Mexican celebration food. They’re meant for a party. I don’t know if other Latino cultures, such as Guatemala or El Salvador, also claim the tamale as part of their national culinary lexicon so this phenomenon may not be strictly a Mexican one. However, in my Mexican-American family tamales are the big celebration food. Oh sure, we have other stuff too. We have enchiladas and molé, both of which can be labor intensive and are fit for a celebration but so far as I know, there is only one food that is labor intensive enough to not only warrant a party for the actual labor, but also where such party has a specific name. In other words, tamales can be so much work that they warrant not only the celebration required for eating them but also a celebration just to make them. Such a party is called a tamalada.

 Although I am only half-Mexican, ethnically speaking, for some reason I have found that I more closely embrace my Mexican heritage than my “generic Caucasian” remaining fifty percent. I am told that I speak beautifully accented Spanish such that I sound as if it is my native language. This is one of the gifts my grandmother (I never called her abuela although she lovingly called me mijo and hijo) gave me and she always swore that when I was four years old I spoke Spanish fluently because she was frequently taking care of me while my parents were at work. Unfortunately, it didn’t stick and while I still have that beautiful accent, my Spanish is weak at best. Anyway, despite my lack of proficiency in Spanish and despite the fact that I look about as Mexican as Joel Murray, I find that some of the things that have become a stronger part of me are the distinctly ethnic ones. One of the things I miss most from my childhood is the tamalada.

 Please bear in mind, when I was eleven years old, I didn’t know I was attending a tamalada. All I knew was that the day after Thanksgiving was the day me, my mom and my kid brother would meet my aunts, uncles and cousins at my grandmother’s and make tamales that we would later have at Christmas.

Tamales are a lot of work and they’re best made by a team. Between making the masa (the batter, we’ll get to that in a minute), making the filling, soaking the corn husks, spreading the masa, filling them, folding them and steaming them it can take a team of two or three aunts, a similar number of uncles and six to eleven cousins (it was never an exact number in my family because I have a large family and some years people couldn’t make it for whatever reason) a whole day to churn out enough tamales to feed the army that would be showing up at Christmas. We made tamales at my grandmother’s house the day after Thanksgiving every year from the time I was about eleven at least until I went away to college. I don’t really remember exactly when or even why we stopped. It might have been my freshman year at school, but we might have kept it up awhile after that. It might even have gone into my law school years. All I know is that my grandmother was wracked by arthritis my whole life and at some point it became quite a burden. Add in the fact that the cousins of my generation were all getting older and had other things to do and at some point our post-Thanksgiving tamalada died out. To be fair, it probably continued without me for quite awhile, but after my grandmother died I don’t think anyone really had the desire to pull off such an undertaking.

 My family, however, was not ready to give up tamales for Christmas. Fortunately, in Kansas and throughout Kansas City there are many fantastic Mexican restaurants owned by abuelas y abuelos who work from family recipes who will sell tamales for you to take home. So, my young adult years were spent eating someone else’s tamales. I do not mean that to sound bitchy in the least. Every year my mom or my uncle or my stepdad would locate a source for delicious tamales and we would gather someone’s house and those tamales were good. You could taste the love and the history that went into those authentic tamales and I was grateful for them. Still, I missed knowing that my grandmother had been involved with making them even though the very act of continuing to have Christmas tamales was a tribute to the closeness of the large family she left behind (my mother has three siblings, I am the oldest of eleven first cousins).

It was missing my grandmother that, one year, led me to decide that I would make the tamales for the whole family at Christmas. This was going to be my Christmas present to everyone. What I had failed to realize was just how much brutal labor goes into tamales, especially if you hope to make a quantity large enough to feed a family of the size I described (don’t forget, there would also be non-family guests, boyfriends, girlfriends, etc.). If I wanted to, I could put away a dozen tamales myself (I left that kind of gluttony behind when I left my twenties, but I will still have five or six at one sitting) and I needed to make enough to feed everyone. But I did it. Instead of doing them all the day after Thanksgiving, I did it on phases. I made the masa and put it in the fridge. I made the filling and put it in the fridge. I made a few tamales and put everything away. I did, over the course of a week to ten days, what took an army of family members one day. I recommend doing it with people.

By the time I was finished with those tamales, I was sick of them. Sick of looking at them. I was sick of scraping dried masa out from underneath my fingernails (which were connected to chili-stained cuticles, by the way). I never wanted to look at another tamale again. I was so tired of them I didn’t even want to do the final cooking and then handed them off to my mother to finish (such was my desire to be rid of them that I was somewhat angry that my mom balked at doing the final cook when I had done, literally, all the work to produce them in the first place. I get why she didn’t want to and I was being unreasonable in simply expecting her to go along with it, but, in my defense, I was really tired of making tamales.) Anyway, I gave them to my mom sometime in early December and didn’t have to think about tamales again. When Christmas rolled around, I was eager to see how my first ever solo tamale adventure had gone.

They were, if I do say so myself, excellent. They were fluffy, they were savory and they were made by someone in my family. My family was so appreciative that suddenly all that work didn’t seem so strenuous. As a result, every other year (I am married so every other year we do Christmas Eve with my family and Christmas Day with my wife's and the following year we alternate) I make tamales. And I do it all by myself. At some point it became a burden I was happy to take on. I’ve learned a few things that have helped me streamline the labor and making them all by myself isn’t such a big thing. And when I say I do it all, I mean I do everything that is functionally possible for me to do myself. I even render my own lard (because it’s as healthy as shortening and tastes better than either shortening or store-bought lard). I do it ALL. I’m not bragging when I say that and I sometimes miss my cousins and my extended family being around, but we’ve all gotten older, our lives have become more far-flung and most of us have kids of our own. I miss the tamaladas I used to attend (but didn’t know I was attending), but I adore the new tradition of being able to show my family how much they mean to me and I love the feeling of completing all that work.

 Last year was an “on” year for me to make tamales. The way I usually work is to set up a card table in front of the television for the actual assembly phase. While there is a lot of kitchen time in the preparation of the filling and the masa, when you’re putting them together, you can do it from your club chair while you watch college football on your big screen television. That was what I was doing last year when my five year-old daughter wandered into the family room and said “can I help you Daddy?” I knew I’d have to change channels from my football game to Wonderpets (theme song: What’s Gonna Work? TEAMwork!) I handed her a butter knife, showed her how to spread the masa and smiled as my blue-eyed, fair-skinned, one-quarter Mexican daughter unknowingly wandered into her first tamalada.

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This recipe is adapted from Rick Bayless’ tamale recipe. But I have made enough changes that I feel okay about calling it “my” tamale recipe. Unfortunately, if my grandmother had a recipe, I never got it from her. This recipe makes about 18 tamales but I usually triple or quadruple it for a family as large as mine. One difference between Bayless’ recipe and mine is that I follow the advice of the great chef Paul Prudhomme and try never to add water when I can add another, more flavorful liquid. Water’s only purpose in cooking is to dilute, which makes sense if you’re making stock or even bread, but why not take the opportunity to add a flavorful liquid instead of water? To the end of adding a flavorful liquid, start by buying about two pounds of bone-in “country-style” spareribs and cut out the bones. You can either roast the bones until they’re brown and then drop them on a stockpot or just put them in the stockpot. Chop up an onion and put it in with some smashed garlic cloves and maybe a chopped carrot and a stalk of chopped celery. Cover with cold water and simmer gently until you have a flavorful stock. Strain and let it cool. (This can be done in advance and even frozen well ahead of time as long as you thaw it before use)

For the filling: 8 large (about 2 ounces) dried guajillo chilies, stemmed, seeded and each torn into several pieces 8 large (about 2 ounces) dried ancho chilies , stemmed seeded and torn into pieces 4 garlic cloves, peeled and chopped 1/2 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper 1/4 teaspoon freshly ground cumin 1/4 teaspoon dried oregano 1 1/2 pounds boneless pork (those country-style spareribs you de-boned earlier), cut into 1/2-inch cubes Salt

For the batter: 10 ounces (1 1/3 cups) lard (or vegetable shortening if you really have to. But bear in mind, you should try to live without regret), slightly softened 1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder 2 pounds (4 cups) fresh coarse-ground corn masa for tamales (if you can’t find fresh ground masa, try looking at markets that cater to a Latino clientele but if you still can’t find it, use 3 1/2 cups dried masa harina for tamales mixed with 2 1/4 cups of your hot pork stock or water if you have to) 1 to 1 1/2 cups pork stock or chicken broth (I prefer the pork, but you can use purchased chicken broth if you need to) 1 package dried corn husks (also available in Latin markets) place about half the package of husks in a large bowl or pot and cover with boiling water and let them soak until the water has cooled down

1. Preparing the filling. Toast the chili pieces in a hot dry pan until they become fragrant and curl up slightly. Soak them in a bowl with just enough hot stock to cover (put a small plate over them to keep them submerged in the stock) After about twenty minutes, they should be hydrated. Put them in a blender with the soaking liquid, garlic, pepper, oregano and cumin. Blend to a smooth puree, adding more stock if needed to keep everything moving. Strain the mixture through a medium-mesh strainer into a medium-size (3-quart) saucepan. Really try to push everything you can through the strainer. I even pour a little more stock through the strainer to make sure I get everything out of the chilies I can. Add the meat, 3 cups more stock and 1 teaspoon salt. Simmer, uncovered, over medium heat, stirring regularly, until the pork is fork-tender and the liquid is reduced to the consistency of a thick sauce, about 1 hour. Use a fork to break the pork into small pieces. Taste and season with additional salt if necessary. Let cool to room temperature.

2. Preparing the batter. With an electric mixer on medium-high speed, beat the lard or shortening with 2 teaspoons salt and the baking powder until light in texture, about 1 minute. Continue beating as you add the masa (fresh or reconstituted) in three additions. Reduce the speed to medium-low and add 1 cup of the stock. Continue beating for another minute or so, until a 1/2-teaspoon dollop of the batter floats in a cup of cold water (if it floats you can be sure the tamales will be tender and light). Beat in enough additional broth to give the mixture the consistency of soft (not runny) cake batter; it should hold its shape in a spoon. Taste the batter and season with additional salt if you think necessary (the batter won't taste very good at this point. Don't worry about it. Just try to gauge the salt). For the lightest textured tamales, refrigerate the batter for an hour or so, then rebeat, adding enough additional broth to bring the mixture to the soft consistency it had before.

3. Setting up the steamer. Steaming 20 tamales can be done in batches in a collapsible vegetable steamer set into a large, deep saucepan (if you stack the tamales more than two high they will steam unevenly) but it's a balky process. To steam the whole recipe at once, I recommend something like the kettle-size tamale steamers used in Mexico (available inexpensivley at Latino markets) or you can improvise by setting a wire rack on 4 coffee or custard cups in a large kettle. It is best to line the rack or upper part of the steamer with leftover scraps of corn husks to protect the tamales from direct contact with the steam and to add more flavor. Make sure to leave tiny spaces between leaves so condensing steam can drain off.

4. Forming the tamales. One at a time, form the tamales: Lay out a large pre-soaked (and cooled) corn husk and spread ¼ to 1/3 cup of the batter into a rectangle over it (be sure to spread the filling on the “cupped” side of the husk). Spoon 2 tablespoons of the filling over the center of the rectangle of batter, then fold over the sides of the tamale so the batter encloses the filling. Fold the thin end of the husk up and set aside while you repeat. Set them in your steamer open end pointing up.

5. Steaming and serving the tamales. When all the tamales are in the steamer, cover them with a layer of corn husks. Set the lid in place and steam over a constant medium heat for about 1 hour. Watch carefully that all the water doesn’t boil away and, to keep the steam steady, pour boiling water into the pot when more is necessary.Tamales are done when the husk peels away from the masa easily. Let tamales stand in the steamer off the heat for a few minutes to firm up. For the best textured tamales, let them cool completely, then re-steam about 15 minutes to heat through.

Working Ahead: Both filling and batter can be made several days ahead, as can the finished tamales; refrigerate, well covered. Re-steam (or even microwave) tamales before serving. For even more flexibility, batter, filling or finished tamales can be frozen. Defrost finished tamales in the refrigerator overnight before re-steaming.