Tamale War Zone

I began preparing for battle last weekend with a scouting trip to Essex Market. I had to find corn masa as well as a few other Hispanic ingredients. It is trickier that you might think to track down these items, even in New York. Upon arrival, I knew I had found the mecca of Mexican ingredients in Manhattan!

They had the elusive masa, amazing piles of produce and the lingering aroma of cilantro and peppers. I purchased my ingredients and splurged on some real animal lard! Everything was dirt cheap, what a coup!

I finally made my way home and, poof, lost my motivation. The masa and corn husks stayed in my fridge, questioningly looking at me, for another week. I had an EWI new members even the following Saturday and I decided to make pork buns (yes, I am a procrastinator!), fate had other ideas though. Unable to find pork belly on such short notice, I was forced to face my opponent. The day of the event no less!

It is generally a bad idea to be in a rush when trying a new recipe, but apparently I like to do things the hard way! To make sure I was making a good, authentic dough, I pulled several recipes to compare. They were all similar enough, I felt confident enough to get started. I distinctly remember that the first recipe I studies said to use half of a 4 lb. bag of masa, the second recipe concurred that 2 cups of masa should be combined with 3 cups of stock or broth.

I dumped the four in my bowl, nearly overflowing, and added the broth. Huh. It still looked pretty dry. At that moment I realized I was an idiot. Yes, yes, I'm sure you caught the 2 lb versus 2 cup issues right away. Well, I was rushing. Ok, fine, I will increase everything in the recipe. Yeaaah, well, that mixing bowl was not going to be accommodating and other six cups of stock! I just laughed at my oh, so typical folly and pulled down a pasta pot. Desperation is the mother of invention, and the clock was ticking.

As I desperately mixed, splattering masa, water and broth all over my tiny kitchen/apartment I decided to just go for it. I threw down the spoon like a gauntlet and started kneading with my bare hands. I mixed and added until I had two bowls of dough. Going for the consistency of peanut butter, I dipped my finger in one bowl and then the other, desperately trying to remember what peanut butter felt like! Were we talking warm peanut butter or cold? Screw it, I picked a bowl and started adding clumps of whipped lard.

One site had given the tip that the dough was ready when a small pinch of it floated in a glass of water. That indicates that enough air has been whipped in. I pushed my trusty hand mixer to the max, and the first pinch did not float. I kept mixing and praying that I did not kill my mixer in the process. This was a war and I was not backing down!

In the mean time, I had the husks soaking in my sink and I have to admit, they smelled like wet dog. I tried to ignore this disturbing fact and began putting together my filling. I believe in working smarter, not harder, so I used some pre-cooked carnitas and some Cuban black beans. I also am cheap and wanted to stretch the expensive pork! I seasoned it up and it was good to go.

Alright, go time. I laid down a towel and began pulling my husks out of the sink. I spread the masa, again with my fingers, and put dainty spoonfuls of the pork mixture down the middle. I used the method described online to roll and wrap the little buggers, and they looked pretty damn cool!

About five tamales in, my back started aching from bending over the counter and I made the executive decision to make twenty of them instead of the fifty recommended! As long as there was enough for the party, I would deal with the left over masa later. I wrapped and wrapped and got them all done. Exhausted and in a rush, I jumped in a cab and headed downtown.

I arrived and set-up the steamer, only about ten of them fit in the little pot. I fired-up the burner and poured myself a big glass of wine. Guests were due to arrive in just over an hour. Nothing like testing a new recipe on unsuspecting strangers!

After about an hour, it was the moment of truth. I gingerly pulled out a tamale and unwrapped it. They were good! They were really good! Ha! Take that you tamale bastards!

I decided to cut them into bite sized pieces and set them out for the party. They would be cold, but whattaya gonna do? They seemed to go over well, and as the party wore on I started fishing out fresh, hot tamales and serving them. The hot ones were much more popular, go figure.

All in all, I would have to say that the reverence given to the art of tamale making, the near mythic level of difficulty assigned to this task, is a total exaggeration. They were not that difficult. A bit time consuming? Yes. Messy? Yes. Rocket Science? No. I say this, though the extra masa dough is still sitting in my fridge! Regardless, I came, I steamed, I conquered! That is enough for me.