Good Eats (1999–2012): Season 13, Episode 2 - Tamale Never Dies - full transcript

‐Mmm.
‐Hot plate!

Hot plate.

‐Gracias.
‐[ Chuckles ]

Looks absolutely delicious.

Ladies and gentlemen,
allow me to present the tamale:

cooked corn dough
formed around a spicy filling,

all wrapped up in a corn husk
and steamed.

Tamales are pure simplicity.

They've fueled Americans
on the go for centuries,

from the halls of Montezuma
to the Mississippi Delta.

But like all simple things,
they are very easy to mess up.



American strip malls
are packed to the piñatas

with Tex‐Mex mess halls,
serving up tamales so gnarly,

you need a goblet
of green margarita goo

just to wash one down.

But it doesn't have to be
that way.

If you are willing to obtain
a few basic ingredients,

conquer a few simple techniques,

and apply some sound science,

there is no reason
your own tamales

can't be nutritious,
delicious ‐‐

Hot plate!

♪

♪ "Good Eats" ♪

♪



Flavorful fillings
may form the heart of a tamale,

but the soul is all corn ‐‐
maize, to be more exact.

Now, Meso‐Americans
derived a huge percent

of their daily calorie intake ‐‐
ah, here it is ‐‐ from maize,

which wasn't anything

like what we slather butter
and salt on in summertime.

No, maize is tough stuff ‐‐
starchy and hard.

Also really lasts ‐‐ ah ‐‐
a long time.

These early culinarians
figured out

that they could soften
the kernels

by cooking them
in an alkaline solution

made with calcium oxide
and wood ashes.

What they didn't realize ‐‐

they were altering
the nutritional content

of the kernels,

thus freeing things like niacin
and essential amino acids.

Now, the process
was called nixtamalization,

and we wouldn't have tortillas
or tamales without them today,

because the civilizations
that invented them

would have died out
from malnutrition

before they made
their mark on the world.

And that doesn't seem
like a big deal,

until you think that, well,
without the Aztecs,

we wouldn't have
the "Alien vs. Predator" films,

now, would we, okay?

Now, once nixtamalization
is complete,

the maize can be ground
into a dough, called masa,

which we made in our
tortilla show a while back.

But iconic though tortillas are,
in this culture,

they had nothing on tamales,
which...

[ Clatter ]

[ Grunts ]

This, I don't believe.

‐What are you doing here?
‐What am I doing?

I'm over here trying to reset
the hands of time on tamales.

What are you doing here?

Tamales?
We can talk about tamales.

‐Yeah?
‐If you look

at this ancient
Mayan wall relief,

it's all about tamales

because tamales were
a very important,

everyday food back then.

Kind of like
the sandwich is for us.

In fact, the word "tamale"
comes from the Nahuatl language,

and it means "wrapped food."

‐Well, what are you doing here?
‐You know,

the ancient Mayan women
actually invented the tamale

because their men
were always going off to war,

and they had to cook for them.

So they invented a food

that was highly nutritious
and portable,

and kept well
in the tropical heat.

I'll bet Napoleon wishes
he and his guys

had had some of those
back in the winter of 1807, huh?

But it wasn't just a "K" ration.

It also had an important
social significance,

especially to the Aztecs.

The king of the Aztecs
used to throw an annual feast,

where he just gave away
food to everybody

and they could eat
as much as they wanted.

But the only food

that they could take home
with them were tamales,

and then it was as many
as they could hold in one hand.

Really? So, tamales
have always been "to go."

That's right, and the masa
can be either sweet or savory,

and the fillings can be meat,
vegetables, beans, or fruit.

So, basically anything you
could wrap a corn husk around?

Doesn't even
have to be a corn husk.

Any nonpoisonous leaf will do.

In Colombia, they make huge
tamales using banana leaves.

So, anything that can stand up
to the heat of the steam, then?

Well, the Mayas had steaming,

and you can see it
on this wall mural here.

This is a Mayan steamer,

but the Aztecs just laid it
next to the fire to cook them.

Deb, what are you doing here?

Okay, Alton, I'm taking it.

I am taking this beautiful piece
of culinary art,

and it's going
to be the centerpiece

of Doctor Deborah's Museum
of Nutritional Anthropology!

You think that the Hovitos

who live around here
are going to let

you just chip that off the wall
and waltz out of the jungle?

[ Chuckles ]
The Hovitos work for me.

Oh, Deb, if only they knew you
the way I know you.

You could warn them,
if only you could speak Hovitos.

[ Clicking tongue ]

Oh, bother.

There are five distinct phases
of tamale construction.

First, we must select
and prep a wrapper.

Then,
a filling must be concocted.

The masa, or corn dough,
must be prepared.

We must fabricate the tamales,
of course,

and then we must cook them.

So let us deal first
with the wrapper.

Now, a lot of folks these days

tend to reach
for parchment paper,

but I find that tamales borne
of silicone are usually dense,

and often downright greasy.

Some Central American countries,
like Colombia,

lean towards banana leaves,

but they're highly perishable,

and that kind of derails
the whole convenience angle,

which is why I stick with
good old‐fashioned,

dirt‐cheap, and 100% natural
corn husks.

Dry versions
are available year‐round.

They're usually
right next to the masa harina

at the old megamart.

They've got a shelf life
of approximately 3.5 eons,

so they're easy to keep around,

but it also means
they need to be soaked.

Now I'm planning
on making two dozen tamales,

so I have two dozen,
plus a couple of extras

just in case.

Roll them up and just put them
inside my electric kettle.

There. It's got about 5 cups
of water in it.

Turn it on,
let it come to a boil,

it'll turn itself off,

and then I'm just going to
leave them in there

for an hour,
so that they fully hydrate.

Now, if you don't have
an electric kettle,

that's okay,
just put them in a bowl,

pour the boiling water on,

and then add some kind of weight

to hold them down,
like another bowl or a pot lid.

This is a lot easier.

♪

♪

Right. The wrappers
are dealt with for now,

so we can turn our attention
to the filling.

Although vegetarian
and even sweet fillings

are commonplace, for me,
tamales mean...

meat.

Although the big three ‐‐
pork, chicken, and beef ‐‐

are certainly common
tamale elements,

if we're to strive for
any historic accuracy here ‐‐

and I see no reason
why we shouldn't ‐‐

we must consider
the meat selection

available to pre‐Columbian
Central American cooks, okay?

There were, for instance,
no pigs,

there were no cows,
and there were no chickens.

What they did have was
plenty of rabbi ‐‐

which is probably
another show ‐‐

and they had turkey,
which we have plenty of.

Oh, there was
one other choice.

[ Dog barking ]

Good, boy. Down, boy.

[ Dog barking ]

Go on, beat it.

Uh, it was more
of a ceremonial food.

So, two turkey legs
will do the trick.

All right, for the filling,

a 6‐quart pot
goes down on the cooktop,

and into that goes
2 teaspoons of chili powder,

1 1/2 teaspoons of cumin.

And believe me
when I say unto you,

freshly toasted and ground seeds

will give you
a far, far better flavor.

Also need a teaspoon each
of cayenne pepper,

dried oregano, kosher salt,
and freshly ground black pepper.

Then, in go the legs,
which we will alternate,

such as this.

And then enough water to cover.

It's usually going to take
about 2 1/2 quarts.

Now, we're going to bring this
up to a boil over high heat,

then we're going to
reduce and simmer

until the meat is nice and soft,
about 1 1/2 to 2 hours.

There we go. Excellent.

Now, these are going to need
to cool thoroughly

before shredding.

So, just set them aside

while dealing with
the rest of the filling.

As for the liquid,
let that cool down.

We'll be using it again.

Now, fetch down
a second saucepan ‐‐

a little smaller,
in the 4‐quart range.

Put that to medium heat

and add 1/4 cup
of vegetable oil.

Any type will do.

And wait until it is nice
and shimmery down there.

Now bring one small onion
to the party, finely chopped,

and cook, stirring often,
until the onion is softened.

It'll take, eh, a minute,
minute and a half.

Now invite to the party
3 cloves of garlic, minced,

and one serrano chili,
also minced.

No seeds and membranes, please.

And cook, stirring,
for another minute.

Even though serranos
can be a good deal hotter

than the average jalapeño,

their flesh
is much, much thinner.

So, when seeded, diced fine,
and cooked,

you get a friendly fire,

rather than a ‐‐ pgh! ‐‐
mouthful of afterburner.

Now, while this finishes up,

you might want
to tend to the turkey.

As soon as they are cool enough
to handle,

you want to shred
the turkey meat,

being careful to remove
any skin, bones, gristle,

or anything else
that isn't good eats.

Now when the aromatics
are ready,

just move this
right into the pot.

There.

And add 1/2 cup
of the original cooking liquid.

There.

Now back onto the heat,
bring to a simmer,

and cook for another
2 to 3 minutes,

or until it looks like this.

See, no more liquid

really running
around the bottom of the pan.

So, kill the heat,

and let this come
to room temperature.

And so, with both the wrappers

and the filling
currently in holding patterns,

we turn our attention
to the masa dough,

which is essentially ‐‐

well, it's a biscuit dough,
only kind of different.

Instead of wheat flour,

we'll be using
15 ounces, by weight ‐‐

that's approximately
3 1/2 cups ‐‐ of masa harina ‐‐

a corn‐based flour,
which is available

in just about every megamart
in America these days.

Now, instead of the traditional
biscuit buttermilk,

we're going to be using
2 to 4 cups

of our reserved cooking liquid.

Baking powder and kosher salt
are still in the mix.

2 1/4 teaspoons of the first,
and a tablespoon of the latter.

As for fat,
instead of shortening,

we will be working with 4 ounces
of good old‐fashioned lard.

What?

I mean, sure,
you could use shortening,

and the texture
would be nice and light,

but the flavor would be flat.

Lard, or rendered pig fat?

Ooh, that's flavor.

Lard is lower in saturated fat
than butter,

and it contains about
the same percentage

of monounsaturated fats
as sunflower oil.

What's more, most of the lards
on the market

are free of the trans fats

that so often
lurk inside shortening.

So, come on, give lard a chance.

Let's make tamales.

There we go, 15 ounces.

Now, if you can make biscuits ‐‐
and you can ‐‐

you can certainly make
tamale dough.

Just go ahead and combine
the baking powder,

salt goes in,

and just mix that
with your hand.

Now, invite the lard
to the party,

or shortening ‐‐
or shortening, if you must.

There.

And just use your fingers
for this.

You want to kind of grind
that lard into the flour.

Use just your fingertips
at this point

or you're going to melt
the lard.

All right, so far,
so biscuit, right?

Okay, work in just enough
of the reserved liquid

so that the dough ends up

looking kind of
like mashed potatoes.

I usually work in three doses,

because the last thing
you want to do

is put in too much.

And now you can really
put your whole hand into it.

All right there,
moist but not wet.

Since this dough
doesn't contain the gluten

that you find in wheat flour,
it isn't going to be as gooey,

but it is a little
on the sticky side.

If you're not ready
to build right away,

just cover this
with a damp towel,

and set aside.

♪

♪

All right, here's where we are.

Wrapper, check.
Filling, check.

Masa dough, check.

I guess you know what's next?

Making tamales is less cooking
than factory work.

And the more you think
like Henry Ford,

the easier time
you're going to have

and the more consistent
your tamales are going to be.

I've got a work area laid out,

I've got my ingredients
in order of use,

hardware is laid out.

I even have my strings
for tying bundles precut.

It takes ‐‐ Well,
I cut a dozen of them

just to be on the safe side.

Now, when you get good at this,
you'll probably build

three to six at a time.

But, just for the sake
of demonstration,

we will begin with one.

So, extract one of your husks,

and place it thusly
in front of you.

Notice the larger
end is away from me.

It is concave.

That is going
to be for easier working.

For dosing out the masa,

I'm going to use
a 2‐tablespoon disher.

Makes things
a little bit easier, I think.

Just put a blob
right in the middle.

It's almost like cookie dough
at this point.

Make sure your hands are
a little bit on the moist side,

and you just use
the heel of your hand,

kind of spread that out
into a little rectangular patch,

would be ideal.

You don't want to get more than
about 1/2 inch away

from the edge, though,

or things
are going to get messy.

There, that looks good.

Now, 2 teaspoons of filling ‐‐
a heaping 2 teaspoons.

There, 2 teaspoons
doesn't seem like a lot.

But, remember, tamales aren't
about getting a lot of food

at one time.

This way, we get to eat
more of them.

There.
Just kind of spread that out

into a log kind of shape
like that.

And then, the rolling.
Now, this is kind of cool.

You don't want
to pick up the food.

You pick up the husk

and kind of fold the masa
in on itself, like that,

pull one side away,
tuck the other over,

and then roll.

Not too tight.
It's not a cigar.

Then, on the seam side,
you put a fold,

and then place that down.

That is a tamale.

Now, as soon
as I have three rolled,

I go ahead and tie them
into a bundle.

You always want a bundle
so that the seams are facing in,

so I'm going
to place two like this,

and try to go for the center
or close to it.

And then another one right here.

That way,
nothing can open up on us.

And when it comes to knots,
I like the surgeon's knot.

We've used this
in several shows before.

But if you don't remember it,

take a look
at this stunning graphic.

You just go one extra turn
under,

like a regular knot,
for your first pass,

and then your second hitch
is standard.

There.

You know, in many communities,

tamale making is considered
a social event,

like a quilting bee
or a barn raising.

So, get a few friends together
and make a big bunch of tamales

and then split them up.
Of course,

if you can't get
any friends over,

you can always hire the
neighborhood kids on the cheap.

Come on, you guys,
pick up the pace.

I'm paying you 20 cents an hour.

Only 50 dozen more to go.

[ Children groan ]

Having successfully completed
the fabrication phase,

we now move
to the crucial cooking phase.

Add just enough water
to an 11‐quart pot,

to come up to the bottom
of a folding steamer basket.

Then, stand the tamales,
open end up,

into the pot thusly.

Cover, bring to a boil,
then reduce the heat to simmer.

Every 15 to 20 minutes,
you're going to want to add

about 1/2 cup of hot water
to the pot.

Just pour it down the side.

Continue cooking
for 1 to 1 1/2 hours

or until the dough
pulls away easily from the husk.

Ah, there it is.

Now, a lot of folks
will tell you

that you need a lot
of fancy sides to eat tamales.

I say you do not.

All you need is a knife,
pair of scissors

for, you know, cutting strings,
some hot sauce,

and of course, a beer.

Oh, I should mention
that when they're hot,

if you want to travel with them,

check out
my Meso‐American lunch box.

All you have to do
is wrap them up

in some newspaper

and they will stay
mysteriously hot for hours.

On the other side
of the thermal scale,

you can wrap them up
in plastic wrap,

and freeze them
for up to a month.

To reheat them,
just take off the plastic,

drop them into a steamer,

until they are warm
to your liking.

Now, I would call this

just kind of the perfect
South of the Border meal.

Or is it?

Down in the Mississippi Delta,
that mysterious ellipse of land

that runs west of Highway 55
from Vicksburg to Memphis,

they tell a tale

of the legendary bluesman
Robert Johnson,

who, they say, met up with
a curious character

one night
at a crossroad near Rosedale.

Johnson's career
was just getting started,

and the man offered him a deal.

Want to be the king
of the blues?

What's it going to cost me,
Devil Man?

Just your soul.

Ha! Sole's not in season
this time of year.

Besides, most
of what gets marketed as sole

is actually lemon flounder.

Anyway, uh, legend states
that Johnson did take the deal.

And the devil said to him ‐‐
and I quote...

Robert Johnson, you
the king of the Delta blues.

Now, go on back to Rosedale

and get you a plate
of hot tamales.

You gonna need something
on your stomach where you going.

Now, why in the world

would Old Scratch
come to the Deep South

and evoke tamales?

Uh, well, actually,

at the turn
of the last century,

migrant Mexican workers taught
local African‐American laborers

how to make them.

Now they're as much a part
of life in the Delta

as the blues.

As often happens, when a food
travels far from home,

when tamales came to the Delta

they underwent
a magical transformation.

[ Mid‐tempo blues music plays ]

♪

Whenever I make hot tamales,

I generally go
four to five dozen, minimum.

That means
we're going to need more room

for soaking our corn husks.

I just use the kitchen sink.

Hot tap water will do the trick,
one hour.

You might want to use
a clean towel on top, though,

to make sure
that the floaters stay moist.

Now, here's where hot tamales
get their heat.

The spice mixture
for the filling

begins with 2 tablespoons
of kosher salt.

Then 1/4 cup of chili powder,

one tablespoon each

of smoked paprika
and regular paprika.

Then a tablespoon
of onion powder

and a tablespoon
of garlic powder.

Then, 2 1/2 teaspoons
of cayenne pepper ‐‐

more, if you like ‐‐

one teaspoon of freshly toasted
and ground cumin seed,

and 2 teaspoons
of freshly ground black pepper.

Just mix that up with a fork
and reserve half for later use.

Next, cut 2 pounds
of Boston butt,

or pork shoulder, into chunks,

and add
to a 6‐ to 8‐quart pot

with enough water to cover it.

Add half the spice mix
and bring to a simmer.

Cover, and cook long and low
for 2 1/2 hours,

or until the meat
is fall‐apart tender.

Then, fish out all the pieces

and let them cool on a plate,

leaving the liquid
right where it is.

Now, heat 1/2 cup
of vegetable oil

in a 4‐quart saucepan
over medium heat.

Add one large onion,
chopped fine,

and cook for 3 minutes.

Then bring 4 minced cloves
of garlic to the party,

along with one minced
jalapeño chili,

and make sure
you take the seeds out.

Cook that
along with the spice mixture ‐‐

the remaining spice mixture ‐‐
for one minute.

Then, bring the shredded meat
to the party,

and just cook
until it is heated through.

Now to the dough.
This time,

we're going to use
2 pounds of yellow cornmeal.

That's about 6 cups.

To that, add
a tablespoon of baking powder

and 1 1/2 tablespoons
of kosher salt.

Just stir that in
with your fingers,

and then bring
7 1/2 ounces of lard

to the party ‐‐
that's about a cup ‐‐

and just work it in
until it's mealy, like that.

Then, you're going to need

probably about 3 cups
of the reserved liquid.

Just stir in whatever it takes

to get it
into a nice smooth paste

that is perfectly scoopable
like that.

Almost looks like ice cream.

Building is exactly
as it was before.

Lay out your corn husks,

put down the masa layer,
and then the meat layer.

Just make sure to work that
into kind of little logs.

And then roll and fold,

being sure that you fold up
on the seam side.

Bundle just as before.

Now cooking.

This is where hot tamales
are very, very different.

You want to stack them,

open end up,
in the cooking liquid.

And I like to use a dinner plate

to help kind of
hold things together.

When you've got them in,
add any of the other liquid

you might have kept out
for the dough

and enough hot water

so that the liquid comes up
to within an inch of the top.

Cover, bring that to a boil.

Then uncover, reduce the heat,

and cook for 1 to 1 1/2 hours,
or till the dough is firm.

Packed in a metal container
or a thermos,

along with some cooking broth,

hot tamales will stay hot
an amazingly long time,

which is probably
one of the reasons

that they caught on so well

with field workers
sick of cold lunches.

That and the fact
that they taste awesome.

I prefer mine in the wet style,
served with plenty of broth.

You know, for once,
I think I'll skip

the gimmicky end monologue

and just eat my tamales.

Say, those look pretty hot!

How about you
give the devil his due?

Okay.

‐You wouldn't.
‐Mm‐hmm.

Yow! Aaah!