When I arrived at Northgate Gonzalez market and was immediately handed a free apron that read I ❤️ Tamales and several blobs of uncooked masa, I knew immediately I had made the right decision for a Friday night.
Even my mother, who invited herself along after her favorite novela was cancelled due to soccer, looked grudgingly impressed. She’d spent the entire ride complaining she did not need tamales-cooking classes because she was a world-class tamales expert.
Let me be clear: In all the years I’ve been alive, my mother has never produced a single tamal.
Instead, she criticizes everyone else’s tamales.