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 Tamale
Making 101
I’m a strong-willed woman, college educated, a multi-tasking
queen, and I run a happy household.
That’s all nice. But why can’t I cook?
This feeling of inadequacy hits me every December.
As a Latina, aren’t I supposed to be genetically
engineered with culinary super powers? Geez, at
least for tamale making season! My dad, uncle, nana,
aunts and mom-in-law are all tamale maestros. You’d
think I’d pick up a few tips.
But noooo…. Instead, me in the kitchen is like
Napoleon Dynamite on the catwalk. The only recipes I
can handle are those of the arts-and-crafts variety.
Last year I decided I didn’t want to ditch my
destiny. Maybe I just needed one-on-one training
from a masa mentor. So I asked my dad to print his
recipe for 30 dozen tamales, and I memorized it line
by line.
I cheered and threw my fists in the air like Rocky
when I survived the first day of his tamale boot
camp. I went on to shred the beef and pork while
bouncing my body, Shakira style, to the beat of
Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree that streamed from
the kitchen stereo. I rocked!
Day two was not as smooth. As I ripped the stems off
of the last of the chile pods, a seed flung up my
nose. Calmly and as ladylike as possible, I stuck my
finger up there to retrieve the seed. After several
seconds of searching, I couldn’t find it, and my
nostril began to throb from the heat. I excused
myself and headed to the restroom for a more private
(and extensive) inspection.
I sat on the bathroom counter and pressed my profile
to the mirror. My heart raced from the four-alarm
fire pain. I planted my index finders on the rim of
my nose to search for the teeny villain. It didn’t
help. The exterior of my other nostril began to
sting just as bad.
Finally, it clicked. Doh! Despite the antibacterial
hand wash, the chile pod residue lingered on my
fingers. And I had just rubbed it all over the
inside and outside of my sniffer.
I was in a chile-nose inferno of a panic. I hopped
off the counter, raced to the kitchen, grabbed a
little chunk of ice from the freezer and sprinted
back to the bathroom. I stuck the ice nugget inside
my flaming nostril to soothe the pain. It felt sooo
yummy and cool. That is until I inadvertently
sniffled, which caused me to suck it up with more
force than a Hoover vacuum attachment. The sharp ice
chunk became lodged in my upper bridge.
In that instant of shock, all I could thick of was
how the ice would travel up to my brain. I would
pass out and die. People would sob at my funeral. I
envisioned them approaching my family to say: “What
a shame! What happened to Kathy?!”.
And my husband would reply: “She tried to make
tamales, but picked her nose with chile residue on
her hands. She then inhaled a piece of ice and it
got stuck. It didn’t melt in time. We couldn’t save
her....”
I couldn’t let that happen! But the sensation of the
searing ice chunk was more agonizing than the chile.
So I did what any quick-thinking crafty chica would
do. I pressed my finger to close off my open nostril,
aimed for the sink and blew hard out of the clogged
one. The ice shot out like a marble from a cannon
and made a loud clink in the sink. Eyes watering and
lightheaded, I looked into the mirror and asked out
loud, “Did that really just happen?”
I didn’t want to injure myself any further so I
reached for the safety of a scrub towel. I wrapped a
piece of ice in it, and held it up to my nostrils in
tandem until the pain went away. I never told my
dad.
Moral of the story: Wear gloves when de-seeding
chile pods. As for me, I refuse to let the chile
seed win. I’m going to tackle Tamale Making 101
again this year. If I fail, I can always make a
glittered cornhusk wreath!
Kathy Cano Murillo is a journalist, artist and the
author of five craft and creativity books. She has a
weekly Internet radio show, the Crafty Chica Podcast,
and you can see her on the DIY Network in 2006.
Visit her web site at
www.CraftyChica.com. |
