Once a year around Christmas, my dad’s side of the family gets together to have a tamalada. It’s an all day event where we team up to pump out anywhere between 150 to 300 tamales. Basically enough to feed a small village. It’s difficult for me to describe exactly what a tamale is but it’s kind of like a steamed, dense cornmeal thing stuffed with goodies. Here’s some pictures of what they look like.
You don’t eat the corn husk on the outside though. That’d be super nasty.
We’ve been doing this for over 20 years now.. but some things never change.
As chaotic as things may seem from the outside, this is an extremely structured operation and anyone who wishes to be involved must adhere to our very strict tamalada etiquette.
At the start of the day, my mom bustles around the house cleaning things. She will enslave anyone within her line of sight to help with this ritualistic cleansing. At this time we also prep all the ingredients to go inside the tamales.
This is what we put in our tamales:
These ingredients must go on in a specific order, otherwise the tamale magic is made null and everything is ruined.
The order goes- hoja (the cornhusk) masa (mushy corn dough stuff) shredded chicken in sauce, potatoes, onions, olives, raisins, hot peppers and more sauce.
As well as this specific order of creation, each ingredient and the person that commands it has a different social ranking in the operation. Making the masa is the highest position. My grandmother and aunt do this part and are revered as goddesses.
Placing the raisins is the lowest ranking position. Getting demoted to this position is the worst possible insult.
Tying the hoja after the tamale has been stuffed is the last and trickiest job. Because the ties are also cornhusks, they can break very easily so things can get frustrating. Also, if the tamale is stuffed too full sometimes “corrective surgery” needs to be done. My mom does this as well as anyone who is new to the tamalada. It’s an initiation rite.
So here are the social rules of a tamalada:
1) Stake your claim on your station as quickly and violently as possible. You don’t want to get stuck with the raisins.
2) Snack on whatever your ingredient is. Don’t do it too much though otherwise you’ll never be allowed near it again
ex: me with the olives
3) Constantly criticize others on the quality of their operation. Do this loudly.
4) Choose conversation topics that would make other more proper folks cringe in discomfort
ex: relaying in graphic detail the experience of your last colonoscopy
5) Just be generally awkward ex: my dad and uncle trying their hand at twerking
6) Never stop talking. There should only be a moment of silence if the pressure cooker explodes,
blows up the kitchen and people are uncertain of what to do.
This year we had four newbies: My uncle (Jim), my aunt’s “man friend” (Rodger), my sister’s boyfriend (CJ) and my fiancée (Daniel).
All these folks did an exceptional job and thus I shall award them with their ceremonial tamalada names.
“Big Jim Onion-Man”: for an exemplary job at the artful placement of onions
“Rodger Three-Hands”: for the masterful skill he displayed in managing 3 separate ingredients when
some people abandoned their posts
“CJ-dem-peppers-doe”: for dealing with the hot peppers, from the can to the tamale to the table
“Daniel-san the finisher”: for sticking through the full initiation of tying tamales without whining.. too much 😛
Congratulations everyone on another spectacular tamalada year! Eat up.
She May Be Daft.. 
Omg this made me laugh so hard. I can imagine your family doing this and it’s SO PERFECT. I love your blog, hope you guys are doing well! (●u●)/
Yet again another amazing blog that had me laughing 🙂
Hi Gaby! Reading your ‘Tamale Tradition’ story was really fun and funny. The pictures were great and the resemblance to those in your family was neat. Peter enjoyed the story, also and wondered if raisins are a typical Mexican tradition in tamales.
That was awesome! Well done, Gabs.
LOL!! Twerking Dad & Uncle Jim?! Really??