Learning From the Master

So today I decided to finally tackle Mami’s tamale recipe. You know, the one she’s been trying to teach me since I was Sophie’s age and I kept insisting I “already knew how.” Spoiler alert: I did not know how.

Learning From the Master

There’s something so sweet about FaceTiming with your mom while she patiently walks you through the masa technique for the hundredth time. My phone propped against the olive oil bottle, her face on the screen giving me the same gentle corrections she’s been giving me for years.

The secret is in the masa texture - Mami’s been trying to teach me this for fifteen years

The look on her face when I held up my first attempt though - pure maternal love mixed with “ay, mija, what is that?”

When you show Mami your tamale attempt and she just starts laughing

Two hours later and my kitchen looks like a masa bomb went off, but I actually managed to make something that resembles the tamales of my childhood. Still not as good as Mami’s (they never will be), but getting closer.

The beautiful mess of keeping family traditions alive

There’s something magical about keeping these family traditions alive, even if it means admitting your mother was right all along. Again.

Now I just need to figure out how to get this masa out of my sweater. Some traditions come with a price.