Narrative Essay On Tamale Making

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I was 13 years old, my first year back in El Paso since my family moved away when I was four, the first year to join my larger family. It was the first time I was invited to the annual “tamalera,” the tamale-making party held on Christmas Eve. When my father first told me that I had to help my grandma make tamales, I was fairly indifferent. I responded with the normal, pre-teen apathy: “I guess.” Little did I know that tamale making would become such an important part of my life. I arrived at my grandma’s house in bewilderment. The smell of flavored pork and freshly made red sauce wafted out of the windows and rose with the sound of laughter. The family was already there: all four of my aunts elbow deep into bowls of chicken, pork, sauces; my cousins and a couple of uncles with rolled up sleeves spreading …show more content…

Her voice like sandpaper, she rose like a giant among the others, and they all cleared a space for her. Being the mother of four boys, she knew how to make her presence larger and well-heard. She spoke to me in Spanish, which I didn’t understand, but she used over-sized gestures and pointed at the crudely made signs around the room. “Asi, Mely.” She said as she spread a corn husk on her left palm so that the widest part met her wrist. “Y asi” she scooped some masa with a spoon held in her right hand and ladled it with an exaggerated plop on the corn husk. “Y asi” – She skillfully spreads the masa with spoon onto the corn husk. My instruction complete, she handed me the spoon and grabbed my chin. Then she said with complete authority in a voice that crescendo-ed with warning, “Pero, no in reverse!” My family, which had been silently working as my lesson took place, erupted in laughter at this. “Not on the wrong side!” they explained. “She hates that. It makes the tamal

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