A Trinity of Tamales

But first, before we get to the rectangular goodness, a brief history lesson: Tamales have their origin in Mesoamerica, around 5,000 BC. The Aztecs considered them portable food—pre-Columbian Clif bars if you will—and filled them up with everything from squash blossoms to frog meat.

Cooking is laborious and can take up to a full day depending on amount. It starts with nixtamalized corn (masa), that's then aided by lard or shortening. After the stuffing and before the steaming comes the wrapping (cornhusks or fancy banana leaves are the norm) and they're not limited to savory varieties (my Dad was a big fan of pineapple-stuffed tamales de dulce, though I could never stand them). While we're on topic, the singular is tamal, the plural, tamales. Blame the bastardization of the former on good ol' fashioned American back-formation.

There are several theories as to why the comfort food is so tied in with Christmas celebrations, including a not-so-nice joke. Wanting to learn more, I decided to turn to my friend and noted gastronome Gustavo Arellano, but he beat me to it by posting an online video explaining the phenomenon.

"Tamales is living, breathing culture. It's probably one of the oldest foodstuffs known to mankind that fundamentally hasn't changed in its millennia of existence," the ¡Ask a Mexican! columnist notes. "During the holidays, mankind just likes hefty meals, that's why you have your Thanksgiving dinner," he continues. "The same things with Mexicans, we like hearty meals…big, thick flavors that you can enjoy with a lot of people."

Looking to make your holiday extra special? Ditch the HoneyBaked ham and place your orders here instead:

When you think tamales in Santa Fe, most people think

Posa's

. With two locations

(1514 Rodeo Road, 820-7672

and

3538 Zafarano Drive, 473-3454)

, Posa’s is king. A recent visit to their Rodeo factory further cemented their reputation. Tchotchkes, a handful of awards and

lucha libre

memorabilia recounting the glory days of patriarch Antonio Posa adorn the faux-finished walls.

Norteño

music blares from the sound system, and behind the counter, the magic happens nine hours a day by the dozen full. Try a spin on a classic: the “tamale pie” ($7.25)—a bowl stuffed with two pork tamales, ground beef, beans, red chile (because I’m a contrarian) and topped with the

de rigueur

diced tomato, onion and shredded iceberg lettuce. Green chile cheese as well as veggie options are also available. Not in the mood to hop on the tamal train? Offerings including their famous chile dog burrito ($6.35) and taco salad ($7.95) abound.

El Molero Fajitas

(East San Francisco Street and Lincoln Avenue)

wasn’t going to be part of this countdown. That is until Cindy, our administrative assistant, came inside the editorial department a few days back in a frenzy trying to pawn off the remainder of a dozen she had bought on a whim. She’d already wolfed down a few and was begging for someone to take them off her hands. Not to mention, the green chile kick had perhaps proven to be too much for her delicate Tex-Mex palate. At $2 each, they’re stout and hearty. Molero owner Daniel Caldera prepares the pork and chicken flavor bullets himself. “La masa,” the Plaza staple of 25 years says when asked about his secret. He learned the process from his mother, and when it comes to his own plate, he opts for the red chile pork iteration—a chunky vessel of red-infused goodness that’ll have you asking for extra napkins and coming back for more. Asked how many units he moves during the holidays, Caldera’s answer is succinct. “I don’t know,

pero

it’s a lot.”

On the slightly thinner side but no less flavorful, the newly released tamales at Tortillería Chabelita (1722 St. Michael's Drive, 474-0557) get the job done in spades. An hour wait was not enough to deter me from getting my grubby hands on these buck-a-pop creations that come stacked cheek by jowl and in a flash fog up their Ziploc bag enclosure like the windows at a Polish bath house. The question here is, should I eat three of these babies in a row before embarking on an 850-mile road trip? Eh…why not. Specializing in corn tortillas, the move to serving some of the best tamales in town developed here as a natural progression. "It's a Santa Fe tradition," Chabelita herself tells SFR, taking a break and patting her brow. "It's a two-to-three step process. First you ready the meat, then you prepare the masa, then you make them and then you cook them." She jokes that though some consider the steps to be therapeutic, she might need some therapy of her own come slow season.

As to the sordid punch line of why Mexicans like to eat tamales during the holidays, it's because it gives us something to unwrap come Christmas. I'd like, if you'll allow me, to rewrite that. We like them because they're a treat. One that instantly dresses up any special occasion. We prefer them because they're an infallible connection to our past and at first bite, memories—good ones—come to mind. We like them because their prep is laborious and communal. For one night, your tías play nice, your sisters put their differences aside and work toward a common goal; your abuelita gets back the pep in her step and is given a reason to beam with pride. We love them because they're damn good.

Santa Fe Reporter