Sayulita

Note: Between now and January 1, we’re going to write about ten of our favorite things (in no particular order), from 2009.

The Tamale Lady of Sayulita. Photo by David Lansing.

“You may not be able to tell at first that tamales are being cooked except perhaps by the steamy windows—but later on a rich, subtle smell of corn husks, masa, and good lard, all intermingled, fills the house and gets stronger as the cooking nears completion. After their allotted time, you open one up to see if it is done. You heave a sigh of relief as a soft, spongy, white tamal rolls quite easily from the husk. It could so easily have been heavy and damp.

“Tamales are made for an occasion, and an occasion is made of making them. Men, women, children, and servants all join in with good humor, shredding, chopping, stirring, and cleaning the husks until all is prepared. Then everyone converges to form a real assembly line, some daubing the husks with masa while others add the filing, fold, and stack into the steamer. And there is nothing quite as delicious as that first tamal, straight from the steamer.”

–Diana Kennedy, The Cuisines of Mexico

I think the first time I came across The Tamale Lady was Christmas Day two or three years ago. I was lounging, half-asleep, on a beach chair in front of Don Pedro’s in Sayulita, Nayarit. This particular stretch of sand is one of the most remarkable in the world (although it never seems to pop up on those ubiquitous “best beaches” magazine lists) for not only is the water warm and cerulean, the breezes mild, the palm trees shady, but you can sit here all day and eat and drink just about anything you want without ever having to move, from little spears of charcoal-grilled shrimp to a fermented pineapple drink called tepache served in a hollowed-out pineapple husk. Sit there long enough and you will hear the calls and whistles for roasted peanuts, jelly beans, chicharrón, mango chunks, torta Mexicana, elote con queso, coconut ice cream, and plastic cups brimming with spears of watermelon and jicama.

But do not be tempted. Wait. Until you see a short, gray-haired woman with large hoop earrings carrying a blue plastic pail: The Tamale Lady. The first time I tasted her wares was serendipitous. I had been waiting for the woman who usually came around with the tin pail selling tortas. But she was sick that day or maybe just taking the day off and suddenly it was almost two o’clock and I was starving. So when I saw the little woman, dressed all in white, calling out, “Tamals!” I flagged her down, figuring I’d buy a single tamale to appease my hunger while waiting for something more substantial.

In her bucket were pork tamales, tamales de pollo, and, because it was Christmas, she said, tamales dulces—the sweet corn tamales from Jalisco flavored with piloncillo (cones of raw sugar), anise seeds, and cinnamon. Curious, I got one of those.

What a revelation! The kernels of corn inside the moist husks were as sweet as if they had just been harvested that morning (which it probably had) and the piloncillo and spices gave it a Christmas-y cookie flavoring. Licking my fingers, I ran down the beach after her.

“Excuse me,” I said, “but that is the most delicious tamale I’ve ever had.” She smiled.

“Mi tamales de carne de cerdo son también muy buenos,” she said.

So I tried the pork tamale. And then the chicken. Each was more remarkable than the last.

“¿Cómo te llamas?” I asked her.

She shrugged. “La señora tamal.” The Tamale Lady. Who I hope will be on the beach again this Christmas selling her amazing tamales dulces—another one of my favorite things.