Christmas Tamales

A few years later, once we were established in Costa Rica, I said to Gerardo, “Why don’t we invite the family out to Atenas, along with a few of our friends and clients, so they can experience what it’s like to make traditional Christmas tamales? It would be a good gathering, a perfect way to jump into the season and give our clients a chance to experience the culture, feet first.”

Gerardo spoke with Mami, and they set a date. She gave him a shopping list of ingredients we’d need for the tamales. She would prepare the corn and take it to the mill for grinding. I put together a short list of people to invite and began making calls. We made hors d’oeuvres and a big urn of sangria. Mama made our family’s fruitcake cookies. We told everyone to bring something that was part of their own special Christmas tradition. John and Patsy brought Spam musubi, something John loved growing up in Hawaii. There was a spread of snacks, from chips and dip to ham roll-ups, and cookies to chocolate fudge.

The day before, Gerardo and I slow-cooked the pork butt according to Mami’s strict instructions, using just the right amount of spices to make a rich caldo to mix with the masa.

The next day, when Mami arrived, she took charge. We set up an assembly line. The pork was pulled and cut into generous chunks. White rice was cooked, seasoned, and colored with achiote. The vegetables were washed, peeled, and sliced. Plates held red bell pepper, thinly sliced carrots, sweet peas, garbanzo beans, yellow rice, sliced tomato, raisins, and olives.

A large stack of banana leaves, smoked over an open fire, was laid out on a table. We wiped each leaf clean, front and back, then cut them into large squares and stacked them neatly at the end of the table next to a large spool of twine.

Mami began preparing the masa. She added the freshly ground, already-hydrated cornmeal to a large pot, followed by a few mashed potatoes to make the masa tender. Then she added a generous amount of lard, Salsa Lizano, and a touch of ketchup for color. Next came the la bomba spice mix. Little by little, she added ladles of pork stock to the mixture, mixing by hand after each addition. When the masa was ready, Mami announced, “Estamos listos, muchachos. Hagamos una fila.” We’re ready, everyone. Let’s make a line.

Frank and Karen, John, Patsy and the girls, Mama, Gerardo, his sisters Rita, Sandra, and Sonia, and I crowded around a long table set up in the carport. All the ingredients needed to make our tamales were lined down the center. Mami took the lead and made a demonstration tamale for us to watch and learn from.

First, she placed a few banana leaves on the table. She took a heaping spoonful of masa from the big kettle and placed it in the middle. Next came a tablespoon of rice and a chunk of pork, followed by the carrot, bell pepper, peas, garbanzo beans, and a few raisins.

Then she carefully folded the banana leaves over one another, as if wrapping a Christmas package. She cut a length of twine and wrapped it end to end and across, making a perfect square, then tied it off in a neat bow.

“Así se hace. Si te gustan las pasas, ponlas. ¿Aceitunas? Ponlas. Haz los tamales como te gusten, pero tienen que llevar masa, cerdo y vegetales.”

We all began, some with a little more trepidation than others. Mami and Gerardo’s sisters made their rounds, helping out when needed. “Así no,” Mami would say, taking over and gently folding the leaves. “Dobla las hojas así,” she’d add, with the loving smile of a mother.