Tamal de Camaron-Nayarit

This is the first entry into La Tamalera-Diaries of a Tamale Hound. As many young Mexican-Americans, my first tamale came from home, at Christmas time. Each year my grandmother made several hundred tamales that were divided by greedy hands tugging at bags of pork,chile, and cheese tamales as the freezer door opened after Christmas dinner. Some family members even tried to outflank the other, striking side deals with my grandmother. "But grandma, she just gives them to her friends, I promise to eat every one of them." My devious plan worked and for the rest my life until now I've always been given extra tamales by my grandmother. "Just don't tell your sister, or your father,OK" *Wink*

My father became a tamale subcontractor each year, promising his coworkers bags of ten from my grandma's bounty. He's start taking requests from the guys at the Tri Valley Growers canning plant in Fremont, CA, which closed its doors a few years before he passed away back in 2002. Of course, only the friends of my Dad's that she really liked, kind of her own "naughty or nice" list. "Mmmba, pos este, no tamales for you!"

I remember a time when my grandmother had reached factory output levels, tirelessly working for several days. She accepted no help, and the one time I tried to learn, she refused. Her way of ensuring that I would be indebted to her forever, forced to come home each Christmas if I wanted her traditions, brought with her from Aguascalientes, when she says she was tricked into coming to America by my dearly departed grandfather.At least, that's the story she told me about 500 times.

In recent years, we measured my grandmothers age by the fewer tamales she made each year.In her 70's they numbered in the 300's, her mid 80's barely above 200. Christmas of 2008 was the last bunch, just a little over a hundred, and I must say after not being up to her standards in previous Decembers, those tamales in 2008 were the best ever.It was her way defying the inevitablity of time and age. They were moist, and the flavor set the hairs on the back of your neck to tingle nanoseconds after teeth breached masa.

Health problems during these recent holidays have canceled tamale production for the first time in perhaps 80 years, when she was a young girl in Mexico working alongside the women in her family. It appears for now that she will never again knead her masa by hand until it can magically float in water, nor will I marvel at her while she assembled tamales with dizzying speed and precision. Watching a Mexican grandmother stack a tamale pot with the loving hands that nurtured your family conjures a tribal ritual, thousands of years in the blood.The hands, heart, and soul of our grandmothers exist to hold us, spoil us, and..... to feed us.

I never photographed my grandmother's tamales, and if she ever gets behind the tamalera for one more go, I probably would keep that photo for myself, but I might share a bite with a dear friend or family member.

So, let me share some of the other amazing regional tamales I come across in my travels, and wanders around Latin America, and Los Angeles.

Oh, and the tamales in this series are ones I will personally have eaten! There shall be no "planted" tamales here. I had these ones the other day.


Tamales de Camaron(shrimp tamales), Nayarit,Mexico
These tamales were made by another special abuelita, Magdalena Garcia, owner of Mariscos Chente in Mar Vista. They're not on the menu, but they should be!

The tamal is made with corn masa,and a tomato based sauce with a blend of ancho, and fresh chiles. Magdalena cooks hers with lard, and my oh my are these rich and tender.It is tied at the ends in a corn husk wrapper.



The "Cracker Jack Box" moment occurs when you take a bite and discover two whole shrimps, with shell and head-on, inside the tamale. We eat these whole, shell and all.

These come from the Pacific Coast state of Nayarit, known for its exceptional seafood gastronomy. In LA, you might find these in the homes of Sinaloans and Nayaritans during the holidays.