On KJZZ's SOAPBOX, The Show turns over the the mic to listeners. For winter 2022, writers tackled the theme EATING CHRISTMAS.
Angel Ortiz is a writer and chef at FnB Restaurant in Scottsdale.
“Evidence of tamale making goes back to 8000 B.C.” Unless You're a Fregoso.
My evenings are spent cooking at FnB — one of the best restaurants in the country. When I tell people this — along with the fact that I’m of Mexican lineage — it’s assumed I come from a line of cooks. I must’ve learned from my family. This presumption, while logical, is wildly inaccurate. My face may look like it belongs on a bottle of hot sauce, but it’s a facade.
I learned to cook for survival.
My mother Yolanda, is an inspiration. Attending every function and performance, she did it as a single mother, juggling a career while raising three children Awe inspiring yes, but a cook she is not. Little Angel was unfettered; I loved French fries, McDonald’s specifically.
Tamales, are a Mexican Christmas tradition and one reason I look forward to traveling home to California for the holiday. Having grown up close to east Los Angeles — an area known for Mexican food — instead of making tamales, a family member would purchase them from a tamaleria. They were delicious, no one cared where they came from.
One fateful year, the Fregoso women — my mother’s side — decided to make tamales.
Why? Who the hell knows!
I assume it was for the experience since not one had ever made them. People who have the art of tamale construction down have a system.
The Fregoso women did not.
To be clear, I am not an authority on the tamale. It’s a specialized skill. For efficiency, everyone is given a job in the composition; there is masa spreading, filling, then wrapping. Prior to that, husks must be soaked, filling prepared and masa made with some semblance of proficiency. The Fregosos procured masa from the Latin grocery as the ladies had already traveled too far from the wheelhouse. Mom phoned ahead of time to warn me they weren't the same as tamales of Christmases past.
They hadn't made many.
The endeavor had been exhausting as the Fregoso women are a bossy bunch. I imagine there was yelling — there always is — and none of them relish cooking or had experience with tamale production. Key components when you’re supposed to be making, like, a hundred of something.
I have vivid memory of approaching the tamale pot, apprehensively lifting the giant lid, gazing upon the Fregoso tamales then comparing them to the professionally crafted ones my uncle had bought in fear we would run out of food.
The purchased tamales were uniform and plump.
The Fregoso’s were snack-sized and haphazardly wrapped. So maybe they weren’t the best I’ve eaten and perhaps a little bland. It was a first attempt and as a chef, I cannot tear apart food prepared with love.
In any case, it was unanimously proclaimed that they weren't doing that again. The trauma had been great.
This year when I go home for Christmas, there will be ham and my mother’s version of chili beans.
The tamales though, we leave them to the experts. It’s for the best.