All I Want For Christmas Are...

Tamales. Despite my own preconceived notions that Tamales are most definitely reserved for those occasions nearest a bathroom, it is not so in Texas, other South Western states, and in Mexico. Tamales? You mean those delicious "dumplings" made of masa (flour) often filled with a meat, vegetable or sweet "filling", then covered over with a corn husk? While more "traditional" Christmas meals often consist of your typical ham dish whilst watching reruns of "A Christmas Story" on TBS for HOURS AND HOURS, the eating of Tamales is something most Mexican families take great pride at Christmas.


But how did the Tamale get associated with Christmas? When I think of Christmas, I reminisce about all the times I was told that I had to be either "naughty or nice", go help my mother's ex-boyfriend prepare frosted gingerbread men, and then run off (usually at the last minute) to purchase the flour for the sweet bread my grandmother often used to make in Ecuador. Tamales? Why yes. At Christmas, no less! Tamales are often a part of the traditional Mexican celebration of Las Posadas, which commemorates the Biblical tale of Mary and Joseph's search for shelter so Jesus of Nazareth can be born. Around the 16th of each December and lasting until Christmas Eve, each household that participates acts as an inn from the Nativity story, each having the Nativity scene installed. Those who participate in the event, namely children and adults, are known as Peregrinos (Pilgrims). The peregrinos go from house to house singing carols about the pilgrims, and they often carry candles whilst doing so, and the others in the party (usually four) help carry statues of Joseph, the adoptive father of Jesus, leading Mary, his mother. They go from house, being deliberately refused lodging; as in accordance with the Biblical story, until they finally reach an inn which lets them stay. Then everyone attends a Midnight mass.


As to why the Tamale began being incorporated into this tradition, no one knows, but it has simply become synonymous around Christmastime. But perhaps it is so because the act of making Tamales, or Tamalada, is an act that brings the Hispanic family together for a holiday which comes only once a year, binding the family for hours. In some households, they were actually the "only time Tamales were made", as I'll often walk along Roosevelt Avenue in Jackson Heights, "I'll have one Tamale, ma'am!" The preparation for the Tamales is a usually arduous process, and at one point, they were almost exclusively prepared by the women, but are nowadays are as familiarly close as the tradition of Las Posadas; everyone joins in, including friends. However, for some families at Christmas, it is still exclusively prepared by the women, as it a tradition passed down from mother to daughter; the act of preparing them being reserved for them solely. In some households, the recipes of which are passed down from mother to daughter are often time lost, they are usually kept "in secret" to the daughter[s], and are often time called a "lost art", if the daughters do not continue to process. However, the preparation of tamales, aren't just solely tied to households, they are now often being prepared by restaurants who see a boom in business around Christmastime amidst those who simply do not have enough time to prepare it themselves. The craft of Tamale making isn't something you learn from The Food Network, you live it.


Many young girls wake up as early as 4AM to arrive at the local molino (mill) by 6AM. By going to the market this early, and purchasing the necessary masa, they shave off a possibly unnecessary amount of time doing so, or else they prepare the masa themselves. And who really wants to spend extra time when everyone's always in a rush at Christmas? I stated earlier the process of making the Tamales was an arduous process, it as arduous as Tita's cooking in Like Water For Chocolate. The meat usually has to be cooked and sauced the day before the tamales are being made, lard (certain varieties of masa actually contain lard) is usually added to Chile added into Tamales to give it flavor and texture, and preparing the masa to be of a certain structure is something that takes practice, practice, practice. Unless the masa is of a fluffy, and not leaden mass, your relatives (hopefully not Mama Elena) are in for an unnecessary surprise. Amidst all this, the preparation of the tamales is a very strict (think Subject-Verb-Object for English), step by step process that usually takes hours, as the beef (or vegetables), the corn husks, the chile, and masa all need to prepared with an even amount of dedication. The act of Tamale making, is an essence, a "labor of love".


I'm definitely surprised as to why Tamales are being prepared around Christmastime, at first thinking such an occurrence was a bit odd. Not because it's an odd occurrence in itself, but because it's something I'm simply never heard of. But in any case, the more I learn about cooking, and of food, the more I learn that the habits and traditions that I was raised under are the actually the weirder ones, if anything. These days, Christmas just isn't as close knit as it used to be in my family, so seeing the process needed to prepare the tamales along with the traditions it is synonymous with, put a smile to my face. In these days where kids as young as 11 are using Myspace, in the day where some children no longer eat at the dinner table amidst their family, definitely made me smile.


Works Cited:

"Christmas Tamales." El Sueno Enterprises. Web. .

"Las Posadas." Wikipedia. Web. .

Tedford, Deborah. "Tamales For Christmas Are A True Texas Tradition." NPR. 24 Dec. 2009. Web.

FYI, it seems impossible to include URLS when posting directly into the blog. They simply disappear. In any case, these three were works used for this entry, the links to their respective articles are found throughout this entry.

What Food Means To Me.

To many people, food is both nourishment and something many people take great pleasure in, as various individuals find certain plates of food to be absolutely delectable. But to me, most foods can be considered quite the opposite. In 90% of all cases, food is nothing but disgusting items of mush which we (sadly) need to take in to survive. Diet Pepsi, a fluid, just happens to be one of the few food items which I love. But, If for nothing else, I would have preferred that most foods were in the shape of a small pill, so that I could take it in at once and be done with in order to avoid the nightmarish terror that plagues the streets of my neighborhood of Jackson Heights, New York. Food, in this case, and in most, is quite disgusting.

Perhaps I grew quite pessimistic in regards to food one spring day in the year of 2003. I was but a young, incredibly enthusiastic chubby boy (until last year) that loved all things Pizza. Since I had recently turned fourteen years of age, my brother; Stevens, and one of my good friends; Terence, invited me to a pizzeria unheard of even to my unsavory appetite- "Sal's Pizza". It was one of the greatest pizzerias to ever grace our small, but overpopulated neighborhood of Jackson Heights - allegedly. What was once considered the haven to fulfill my friends nearly orgasmic infatuation to your typical, fatty Italian dish would soon become the very object of terror - for that day, at least.

Immediately upon entering Sal's Pizza, I was greeted with the most uplifting grace of a fragrance that had ever met my nose. If you're a man, and happen to think the newest fragrance Beyoncé is putting out for that possible female you're trying to court is something, than you're in for something beyond any female shoulder you may want to lay your hands on. Think twice, because that girl's my sister! So yes, looks, or in this case, smells can prove to be quite deceiving. In any case, be aware of your surroundings.

I was told to quietly sit down, while Stevens and Terence ordered the pizza. I was growing suspicious of the pizzeria, minutes before the food had even been served. I mean, I'm a guy who just happens to love Pizza, and I'm GROWING SUSPICIOUS of a restaurant which flowed with the smell so oddly orgasmic? Call 9-11 - PLEASE! But my suspicious proved true. Sure, the pizzeria smelled good; so good, that it would be sure to drive any person crazy and lay down $20 before actually thinking twice, but there was a very significant underlying reason as to why I never heard of this pizzeria. No one, not anyone ate here. I turned my head to the right. Chairs and tables. I turned my head to the left. Chairs and tables. I looked above. A leaky ceiling dripping water into a plastic bucket.

I had once felt the passion of a lover's embrace in this fine little restaurant, but the mood had now turned unsavory. The tables weren't just empty, they were unused. The tables actually had the chairs elevated on the table, and not under, as to sit any new customers who walked in. No one, not anyone had ever actually walked in here, except Terence. I looked down on the floor, and I was greeted with the hiss of a rat running amongst the ruins of a beef patty, chasing quite possibly the largest cockroach I had ever seen. It was too late. I was now one of those creatures eating food off the floor, all things considered. I looked towards the counter. The food had been ordered, and it was too late to actually get up and run off. As ridiculous as that may have sounded, when you're a kid, $14 isn't something you throw away, no matter what. I could hear the voice of my mother then, "DON'T WASTE FOOOOOOOD RYAAAAAAN!"

Terence smiled at me, "What's wrong, Ryan? You look grim", with a smile so innocent in nature, already staring at the food in front of him with bedroom eyes. Stevens, on the other hand, looked the same as I did. I wanted to say what my heart told me, but I'm sure that he suspected as well as I did, which I later confirmed that night. This had now become the dinner scene of the Texas Chainsaw Massacre, a nightmarish escapade of which I could not escape from, but not nearly as graphic in terms of psychological horror. Stevens just sat there, staring at the two slices of pizza now in front of him with the most pale, dead eyes I had ever seen.

Terence now laid his right hand on the table.

He moved his hand towards the slice.

His nose began to itch.

He lifted the slice.

It was too late.

Terence SNEEEZED ON THE SLICE. I wanted to immediately jump out and wail my arms like a maniac, but looking at the amount of mucus now having been produced all over his face, and now all over the edge of his plate, made me want to stay back. He immediately cleaned his slice off and continued eating. My brother, who had now no longer looked as grim as I did previously began doing the same. I mean, THE GUY SNEEZED ON HIS PLATE AND YOU'RE GONNA ACTUALLY EAT YOUR FOOD LIKE NOTHING HAPPENED!? Sigh. I was but a child, and my opinion in the matters of food in a public restaurant didn't matter much.

I gulped. I moved my hands toward the slice and I bit into what should have been the pizza I knew and loved. No, it wasn't Pizza. It was nothing but incredibly moistened cardboard with month old cheese. The cheese, which could honestly have been garbage water; for all I knew, rushed into my mouth. I felt like Darth Vader was choking my throat with a fist enveloped in year old milk. I was right. It merely smelled delicious, but the taste couldn't match it's rich aroma. I couldn't contain myself, I stumbled as I ran to the bathroom, and I was now on the floor, throwing up continuously as the cook came to help me off the floor.

Food is disgusting.