I recently came across a social media post asserting that “tacos are love”.
As a recipe creator and taco aficionado, I can relate to that. If you ask twenty people what their favorite taco is, you’ll get eighteen different responses, each one attuned to their unique delights. The variety of style and substance ranges from the humble simplicity of meat, lettuce and cheese, to extravagant layerings of flavor and texture.
It makes sense. Tacos are catalysts for lively bantering with your favorite casual beverage. An accompaniment to good times. No two gatherings are ever the same, so why should tacos be? Sure, there’s safety in familiarity, but there’s growth in variety.
As for the two who claim tacos have no value, they are alien mutants. Alert your local extra-terrestrial enforcement agency.
So while I understand this person’s perspective, I offer a counterpoint.
If tacos are love, then tamales are lust!
Think about it. Tacos are often open, unabashed, “take me as I am” foods. Bite-sized street tacos are even feistier. Love ’em or leave ‘em.
But tamales! Even the name evokes entirely different sensations. The word “taco” is rigid and measured. Teeth and tongue clack out the “TA”, followed by the exhalation of “co”. There’s little room for interpretation. Whereas “Tamale” oozes off the lips. Ta-MA-le. A crisp but softer “Ta”, the soft breathiness of “ma”, and the subtle tongue flick of “le”, leaving the lips open and inviting.
Consuming a tamale can be as functional as a taco, but we’ll leave that for people who feel they’ve traveled the world after visiting Epcot Center, or cruise worldly destinations to find wharf-side gimcrack vendors.
No, to fully experience tamales, one should start with the sensual dance of creation. The choices of filling and the seasonings that will enrich them. The selection of chilies, as each year’s harvest brings different flavors and heat levels to craft into an anointing fluid. Seasonings that make the heart race with anticipation.
And then there is the masa. Realizing the consummate pillowy goodness to birth flavors and textures within is a personal and guarded secret to tamale makers. To share one’s masa recipe is to be fully vulnerable, risking that the recipient will use your gift to seduce another.
Once the ingredients are prepared, the husks soaked, and the steam pots readied, the process begins. Our November tamale-making parties are sumptuous gatherings that produce over two hundred or more pillows of perfection, initiated by the blessings of an elder demonstrating the intertwining of ingredients in perfect proportions. Last year, we made beef with red sauce, carnitas with red sauce, cheese with hatch chile and tomatillo, and white corn dessert tamales with raisins and spices.
Guests take turns fashioning them. Some station themselves at a single part of the ritual: masa application, filling insertion, rolling and tying, or steaming and staging ingredients. Others are curious to try them all. Alongside, folks mingle and munch amid the laughter and joy of tamale play. At the end, everyone departs with their pre-selected partners bagged and ready, and just maybe, an unexpected delight if the yield is ample.
Some will consume their creations immediately, while others freeze their gifts for metered pleasure. For them, the delayed gratification rekindles memories of the creative ritual as the tamales steam back to life from their cryogenic form.
For either, the consumption is a sublime unveiling of discovery that involves all the senses. Disrobing the husk to reveal the soft, steamy moistness of perfect masa. Splaying the masa back to expose sumptuous fillings that invite you to indulge in perfect portions of blissful delight. Allowing the depths and complexities to permeate your being, even when enrobed by an over-easy egg.
So yes, tamales are lust, as the post-consumption bliss and craving to share your pleasure with others will attest.