Tamales are a staple for most Mexican families, especially at Christmas. The perfect tamales should only be cooked no more than 1  1/2 hours, and the masa (corn dough) should easily separate from the hoja (corn husk). My mother made the best tamales in the world, and I wanted to try her recipe for our “Annual Tamale Contest.”  I called my sister Norma several times to be certain of our mother’s recipe for tamales. In the past Mike was always the one getting everything prepped for the tamales, but this time things were going to change. In the last 2 years our tamales have not won. All I could think about was winning the contest with my Mom’s secret recipe.

Mike and I did a lot of running around on Saturday to get all the ingredients together. We went to a different Mexican market for the masa this time. Masa is the freshly cooked corn, ground up, and mixed with lard.  We purchased 25 pounds of masa, but Mike mentioned that the masa looked too mushy. My sister Norma assured me that Mother always used pork shoulder for the meat. Mike made the sauce with California chiles, pasillas, and New Mexico chile, just like my Mom. Mike kept reminding me, “This is your show; I’m just helping.” As Mike cut the meat I browned it in a large frying pan, and then transferred it into the sauce. For two hours we allowed the flavors to unite into one, and soon our home was filled with the sweet aroma of Mexican comfort food. Before Mike went to bed he told me, “Make sure you let the meat cool down before putting into the fridge.” It was already 10:00 P.M. and my eyes were getting heavy when I went to check on the meat, It was still too hot. I wondered if this putting hot food away was an Old Wive’s Tale. I Googled it, and sure enough, every single post said that it was fine to put hot food in the refrigerator.

The following morning was production day. I recruited my neighbor Adele, one of my longtime friends to help us.

I taught my class of catechumens at St. Norbert, and from there went to the Dollar Tree to pick up a plastic table cloth. As usual, I left the store with a lot other junk, including Christmas headbands for the kids.

I Came home, soaked the corn husk and waited for the laborers to arrive. Sonja, Russ and the kids, including their dog, arrived at 2:30. My job was to mix the masa with sauce to give it some color, but I decided to go off on my own tangent and add some broth from the pork shoulder. No one knew I was doing this, until nosy Russ asked, “What are you putting into the masa?” “None of your business” I answered. Russ would not leave it alone, “It looks like fat!” “It’s my Mom’s recipe!” I sharply replied. It was not my Mom’s recipe, but my creative way of making things taste better.

I cooked the first dozen tamales for us to enjoy while we worked. The tamales had been cooking for over 2 hours when I got one out and served Adele. The weirdest thing happened. When I opened the tamales it was like mush, Mikos opened the second one and said, “Mom, these are raw!” “No they’re not, they’ve been cooking for almost two hours, ” I replied. Poor Adele, she graciously ate the mushy tamales and said that they was great. Mike was all over this and said , “I knew we should have never changed where we bought the masa, it was way too moist!” So we continued to cook the tamales for another half  hour. This time Sonja got into the act, saying, “Wow, what happened Mom? They’re sticking to the hoja (corn husk)!” I had no reply, but I started to panic, because at this point we were almost done with the production. Mike said, “Cook them longer!” Someone cranked up the heat on the pot and while everyone was pointing fingers at me, the tamales started burning. The smell hit all of us at the same time because we were all in the kitchen. “Oh my God, now you’re burning them!” Sonja yelled.

These are the loving words that came out of my family’s mouths:

Mikos: “Mom, did you make tamale soup?”

Sonja: “They taste so good, but they look so awful!”

Mike: “The masa was too moist because we did not buy it at the right place.”

Russ remained silent but we both knew what I did. So to clear my conscience, I sat down and said “Well, maybe because I added some broth from the pork shoulder to the masa, this could have changed things.”  At this point everybody started going crazy. Even Jenny, who did not help with the production, said, ” So you compromised the masa?” and her loving husband, my only son, Mikos, added, “You’re never going to win with these tamales Mom.”  Russ finally opened his mouth and ratted me out saying, “It was not broth, it was fat.”

After everyone left, I called my sister Norma and shared with her my observation that the recipe that she gave me was a disaster. At first she was very empathetic, then came all the questions: “Did you put the meat away while it was hot? What did you do? You guys worked so hard.” Then I told her about adding the broth. “You did what? You added more lard? That is not our mother’s recipe!” She ended the conversation with, ” It’s a shame, It’s a crying shame!” I told her to shut up (in a nice way).

So on December 15, 2018 I will enter both of my pork and chicken tamales, and pray that God will fix this debacle in time for me to be crowned the “New Tamale Queen.”

Please remember that we are entering into the New Liturgical Year, and Sunday was the first day of Advent. The first Sunday of  Advent symbolizes Hope with the “Prophet’s Candle,” reminding us that our Lord Jesus is coming. We prepare our hearts for his birth.

God Bless You!

In the spring of 2016, our son invited us to join his family on Easter Break. I love to travel but had never been to Cabo San Lucas, so I was looking forward to the adventure. Though my ancestors are from Mexico, I personally have no real roots in Mexico, no tías or tíos, nor cousins either.  My cultural connection is not based in Mexico, but from the traditions our mother handed down to us, although she was born in the United States. All that I had heard of Cabo San Lucas was that it was a vacation site for singles, a party town. I never knew about the dangers of swimming in the waters of Cabo San Lucas either, but would soon find out.

When we arrived the airport was bustling with signs welcoming people, and scores of locals vying for your attention to sign up for the popular excursions.  The environment was a bit overwhelming.

We finally make it to the car rental office, where shady persons tried to extort more money than we had agreed to. Our son Mikos took charge of the situation, but in his frustration I had to come in a couple of times to help with the translation. Because Enterprise Car Rental in Mexico is different from the United States, we did not want to start an international war, so we gave in to their demands.

Our granddaughter Maddie was worried sick because she had broken a chain letter. We explained that as Christians we do not believe in this type of superstition. When we arrived at our hotel, I had locked my luggage, but I could not open the darn suitcases. Using my date of birth in different sequences did not help the situation. In the meantime, everyone was excited to get down to the pool. Not me, because my bathing suit was still locked in the suitcase. Finally Mikos called the room and asked me, ” What’s taking you so long?” My reply, “Maybe Maddie should have sent that chain letter after all, I can’t get the lock on my suitcase to open!” Finally, after an hour with the help of a porter, I was down with the rest of the family at the pool. We took a stroll along the beach and Mikos and Wil got into the water. I noticed that the water was a little rough so I avoided it. It took Wil under and dragged him down. After that Wil did not want to have anything to do with the Sea of Cortez.

I’m not a summer resort type of girl, because the sun had taken it toll on my skin, and this whole bathing suit thing is overrated, I am not a fan, but do like a good piña colada. Just I was settling in lounge chair and sipping my drink, a huge lizard crept near my chair and I was petrified. Apparently these reptiles like to sunbathe too, as they were everywhere, and never posed a threat.

The following day we took advantage of the rental and headed towards San José de Cabo. We walked around the beautiful village. Mike and I were bumping heads that morning; I can never recall why I was upset but I was. We came to the steps of Parroquia de San José, a catholic church. I walked in and said a prayer to be freed of this spirit of anger. This beautiful humble church was most welcoming and satisfied  my need to be rid of all unwanted negative spirits. I love that in any part of the world, we can visit the Tabernacle of our Savior Jesus Christ.

The next day I wanted nothing to do with the pool. I looked out hotel our window and noticed the lounge chairs near the beach. I told Mike that I wanted to be by the water. We got out towels and headed down to the beach. I had recently purchased a bathing suit cover-up, that had flattering slip on pants. My cover-up had become my dear friend, and made me feel confident enough to walk around without feeling the least bit uncomfortable. We picked out a spot, laid out our towels and rested. From the lounge chair I opened my eyes, only to discover a red flag flying above me. In English and Spanish, it read: No swimming allowed!

I was getting really hot lying in the sun, so I told Mike that I was going to cool off  in the water. As I walked down toward the beach I could no longer see Mike only the flag waving wildly at me. I noticed a few local vendors selling silver jewelry; other than that, it was the sea and me.

The water felt so good on my feet, so I went in deeper. It took only a matter a seconds for sea to take me in. I had no control of the strong undercurrent that dragged me deep into the ocean. I felt my head hit the surface of the ocean floor, I was in shock and went into a panic. I could not come up for air because my body was being tossed out my control, almost as if heavy hands were holding me down. I came to my senses and started to pray, asking God to help me. Suddenly, just like Jonah, the ocean spit me out. I was drunk from all the beating I took. I looked back at the sea and my cover-up was being driven back to the ocean, I foolishly went back in to get it, saying, “Oh Hell No, you’re not getting my cover-up!” I grabbed the cover-up and the ocean dragged me in again. This time  was much worse; with one hand holding tightly to the cover-up, I allowed the ocean to toy with my body, knowing full well that I was in a perilous situation. Again I prayed, and again the ocean granted me another reprieve and spit me out. I was dazed, running away from the wicked sea and the near-death experience, when a vendor selling silver crosses came to me and said in Spanish, “Señora, necesitas una cruz más grande!” Translation, “Lady you need a bigger cross.” I could not agree more.

I finally got back to Mike, who looked at me and said, “What the hell happened to you?” I replied, “I almost died while you were all comfortable sun bathing!” I was a mess, with lumps of sand all over and inside my bathing suit. My hair was gritty, with millions of grains of sand, and my ears were packed with sand. I tried to shower off some of the sand at an outdoor shower but it was useless. I was a walking bag of sand, and with every step, I tried to rid myself of the excess weight.

San Lucas was watching over me that day. I apologize to my guardian angel for putting her through all this.  And, thank you, my  angel, for helping me retrieve my cover-up.

Psalm 93:4 (NKJV) The Lord on high is mightier Than the noise of many waters, Than the mighty waves of the sea.