The Shuck Stops Here

by Patricia Sharpe

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But as vast and intriguing as these varieties may be, we Texans know what a tamale is, and we’re not messing with it. It’s true that certain modern American chefs, Dallas’ own Stephan Pyles among them, have played fast and loose with the whole notion, making masa-less tamales of arborio rice pudding or apples in brioche pastry that would startle even the ancient Aztecs. But for most of us, whatever our heritage, the familiar, homely cylinder of masa remains the gold standard. We may flirt with exotic types, but in these uncertain times there is much to be said for simplicity, for the ritual of opening a corn husk-wrapped bundle and letting its steamy contents tumble onto our plate. We take a bite of that soft masa coating with its filling of moist, chile-spiked pork and pause. Ah, yes. For a moment, at least, all seems right with the world.

Tamales 101

Inspired by Tense’s childhood memories, I decided to make tamales one night. In the course of doing so, I consulted half a dozen Mexican-food cookbooks and also validated Murphy’s Law (everything that could go wrong did). My tamales looked like miniature loofahs (oddly shaped and full of little holes), but they tasted great. Here are some tips that I gleaned from the process, so that you too can make tamales even if you don’t have a Mexican grandmother to answer questions.

Shopping list. Most ingredients can be found at supermarkets (try the produce section or Mexican-products section for corn husks). Fiesta Mart sells ready-made masa for 50 cents a pound (specify masa for tamales, which is more coarsely ground than tortilla masa). So do tortilla factories and grocery stores in Hispanic neighborhoods. Here is the list of factories.

Wrap stars. You can use a variety of waterproof wrappers to hold the tamale while it cooks: corn shucks, banana leaves, avocado leaves, even plastic wrap. (The latter is a little soulless, but it works great for those odd shapes; you peel it off before serving.) Corn shucks are the most common in Texas, though, so I’ll concentrate on them. To make dried shucks pliable, soak them in a bowl of very hot water for thirty minutes, weighting them with a saucer so they don’t float. (For a pretty holiday presentation, soak them in red hibiscus tea.) Fresh shucks can be used too.

Critical masa. I tried making a few tamales with the fresh ready-made masa that I bought at Fiesta. But I was much happier with the less dense masa I whipped up myself using dry masa harina (again, be sure to get the kind that is specifically for tamales). It was light, almost spongy, and the whole process was as easy as using a cake mix. Maseca is a good brand, but the package instructions aren’t very detailed. So here are some wise words from the experts:

For meat-filled tamales, mix your masa harina with lard and warm chicken stock, using amounts specified on the package; for sweet tamales, use vegetable shortening and warm water. Whichever fat you use, chill it for an hour or so and beat it with a mixer for at least a minute to make it light and fluffy. After you mix the dry masa with warm liquid, add it in batches to the beaten fat. Continue beating the dough for one to three minutes until it is approximately the texture of a butter-cream frosting. The dough is ready if a teaspoon-size chunk floats in a cup of cold water. (A word about lard. I know what you’re thinking: “Yech! Pig fat. No way.” But it’s lower in cholesterol and saturated fat than butter and lower in trans-fats than shortening. It’s also clean and pure white—and meat-filled tamales just don’t taste right without it.)

General assembly. Every cookbook has a different masa-spreading method: Spread it on the middle of the corn husk; no, spread it on the lower half. Cover the husk all the way to the sides; no, leave margins. The truth is, they all work. Here’s the best way I found to make the typical cylindrical Tex-Mex tamale. Pat a corn husk dry and lay it in front of you (if some are too small, overlap two of them and use a dab of masa to stick them together). With a knife or a spatula, spread a scant one-fourth cup of masa into a four-inch square (these measurements do not need to be exact). Leave a border of about two inches at the pointy end of the husk and three fourths of an inch on the other three sides. Spoon your filling of choice down the middle of the square, then lift the two sides of the husk, bring them together to encase the filling, and fold them both to the left. Then fold the pointy flap over them like the flap on an envelope. The other end stays open, but if you prefer, you can fold it over too; just leave more of a margin at that end when you’re smearing on the dough. The finished tamales look cute when tied with thin strips of husk or colored ribbon, but this isn’t necessary.

By the way, there’s nothing sacred about the usual stogie form. You can make tamales any size or shape your heart desires—circular, square, triangular, crescent-shaped, whatever. Mention this when your friends convulse with laughter over your efforts.

Now you’re cooking. Steaming is the most common way of cooking tamales, in a tamale cooker, a vegetable steamer, or whatever you can improvise. Stack the tamales upright in the top part of the steamer, open ends up. Spread extra husks between each layer. Pack the tamales firmly but not tightly, and put a wet, wrung-out dishtowel on the top layer to absorb water that condenses on the lid. Cover the pan and steam for 45 minutes to 2 hours; the time varies tremendously depending on how many you’re cooking and how big they are. Several cookbook authors suggest putting a penny in the water when you start heating it; if it stops dancing about, add more boiling water fast. If the steam is interrupted before your tamales are cooked, they will fall like a cake and be heavy. The tamales are done when the husks come away cleanly from the dough. Let them rest for 5 to 10 minutes in the steamer before serving. To reheat tamales, either leave them in their husks and resteam for 2 to 5 minutes, depending on the quantity; wrap them in foil and put them in a 350 degree oven or toaster oven (allow about 20 minutes for half a dozen); or heat them individually in their husks on an ungreased comal or skillet over a low flame. Microwaving tends to make them tough.

By the book. Here are my favorite cookbooks for tamales, and they’re fun to read too: Rick Bayless’ Mexican Kitchen; Diana Kennedy’s The Essential Cuisines of Mexico; Mark Miller, Stephan Pyles, and John Sedlar’s Tamales!; and Zarela Martínez’s Food From My Heart.

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