I didn’t grow up making tamales. In fact, I’ve made them only once, but that was enough for me to gain an immense appreciation for them. There was no bustling bevy of abuelas, tias, and hermanas. There were just two of us. Just two gringas facing the mountain of masa, the pots of fillings, the packages of corn husks.  I thought my tamale making day would never end.

We finally managed to get through everything. Well, mostly. There may have been a few packages of corn husks that languished in the cupboard for several years afterwards, but still – the several dozen tamales we ended up with seemed a serviceable effort for a coupla first-timers.

Flush with pride, I presented some to a Mexican friend, sure that she would heap praise upon us for our efforts. Because she is a dear, sweet woman, she tried. But then, she just couldn’t help herself. I think words such as pequeño and possibly even “tamalcitas” might have been used before she began her uncontrollable giggling, which we all ended up sharing. It was far more abundant than the tamales.

This was all I had to draw upon when I was asked to write about tamales for the “Generations” Winter 2020 edition of Edible San Luis Obispo magazine. Obviously, there was no way I would be able to bring my personal history to bear on the subject, so I found some women who could. I hope you enjoy their stories!

Click here to read my tamale article for Edible San Luis Obispo magazine.