Tamales: A Visual Journey

Last weekend tamale stocks at the Conrad cabana were replenished and we hope they last until Christmas. This holiday is also known as when Claire comes home to make tamales again. It's a self-perpetuating cycle.

On Sunday, I cracked out the tamale recipe and got going.

Ye olde chile-stained recipe book.

I am indeed aware I am caucasian, but my dad is from New Mexico and has a need for tamales and chile that approaches addiction. Yes, it is lame that I still refer to the recipe, but I only do them twice a year and don't have the extended family with me to ease the manual labor of them. Earns me the right to consult the lard-to-masa levels, says I.

Step one: boil pork butt for one million hours until it gives up the will to live and dissolves. Add a whole bunch of chile and garlic.

Mana from heaven.

Step two: Go buy lard, act like you're not a fat ass buying lard and avoid direct eye contact with the checkout kid. Mix that up with some tamale flour mix stuff, add hot water, and get in their with your fingers.

Masa harina.

Get some dried corn leaves and steep 'em, steep em good so they're all nice and soft like.

Corn leaves.

Then, smash some of that dough onto them corn leaves. Add the maximum amount of pork you can shove in there, as really, tamales are just vectors to get chile-spiced pork down your gullet.

Roll that up like a big, fat, pungent, sweet smelling....legal cigarette.

Tie it down with some string or some pieces of corn husk.

Then lather...

Everyone in the sauna!

Rinse...

Stack it up.

Repeat...

Mt. Tamal.

Love me some tamales.