I think I mentioned in a post before Christmas that I was going to perform a traditional Panamanian ritual-make tamales for Christmas Eve–and that I was going to use what was supposedly a traditional recipe from Eric Jackson’s newspaper, The Panama News.
Why I never really considered asking Martiza Espinosa for the recipe for her tamales, which are delicious, I don’t really know. But I didn’t. Instead, I decided to follow a recipe written by a man.
Jackson’s mother was Panamanian, so I assumed he knew his tamales. But he’s male. And while there are many very good male cooks, given Jackson’s generation (more or less mine), it’s a dangerous assumption to make that a male of my generation knows how to cook anything, including water. I am nothing if not reckless, so I went ahead with it.
Even a complete tamale innocent like me should have known that THREE lbs of cracked corn was a little excessive. I even had glimmers of doubts. But hey–first time through you follow the recipe, right? So, I dutifully bought 3 lbs of cracked corn.
Other ingredients: capers–which Mary loves and which I loathe. Well, who knew–perhaps the taste was transformed in tamales. Olives? Hmm–that didn’t seem too off the wall. But how come there was nothing in the receta (recipe) that corresponded to the red flecks in Maritza’s tamales? I was pretty sure they were red peppers, but, let’s go with the expert. After all, no one but an expert would dare to publish a recipe titled “Traditional Panamanian Tamales” in his own newspaper.
There were other oddities–like the lack of salt in the masa (dough). However, Mary and I use very little salt, so I thought maybe the recipe didn’t need it. Onwards.
The receta specifically called for pork as part of the filling, and mentioned a pork loin, roasted. We had never had tamales here with pork in the filling, but the thought made our mouths water. The only one we knew about is sold at PriceSmart–an absolutely delicious, seasoned rolled roast. But it really was too large, and we had just had one a few weeks ago. So, I spent several days, hitting all the major supermarkets in David, but could not find a pork roast or any sort of pork cut that looked as if I could use it for tamales. Questioning the people behind the butcher counters got me doubtful looks and negative replies. Fact is, Panamanian cooking doesn’t feature roasts–most Panamanians have no use for an oven, since traditional cooking is stovetop. Panama City, as an international city, is a different story; no doubt you could get the right type of pork there, but not here. No matter; chicken is the standard here, and that’s what I cooked up.
The wrapper called for was bijao leaves, which suited us just fine, since we have a huge plant outside. That gave me a tiny pause, because around here, the first wrapping is always banana or plantain leaf; the second wrapping is or can be bijao. But Jackson specifically mentioned that they added a desired taste to the tamales. And he knows what he’s talking about, right?
I had already decided that I was NOT going to spend Christmas Eve making tamales, and besides, the receta said that I could refrigerate them. So December 23rd was set as the Big Day–Joyce’s first venture into tamale making. Mary set up our grain grinder outside.
Cooking 3 lbs of cracked corn is not trivial but I managed. Then came the grinding; it took 2 of us, one grinding, the other feeding the corn in. That took quite a while.
One of the things you discover rapidly when cooking traditional Panamanian style is that there’s a good reason for an outdoor stove (fogon)–space. We have a 6-burner gas stove, but it doesn’t serve for the kind of big pots that you need. Cooking the corn wasn’t too bad, but boiling the bijao leaves was another matter. Still, we managed.
It became nearly instantly obvious that we had enough masa to make tamales for the entire pueblo. Mentally, I cut the amount of corn next time down to 1 lb. AND our masa was too dry. We had fed some of the water from the grinding back into the dough, but not enough. OK, next time we know. I began making giant-sized tamales, desperate to use up the masa. We’d been working since early morning, and it was afternoon.
Finally, we finished! I don’t remember how many we had, but somewhere between 25 and 30, I think, not a few of them huge. The last step–boiling them.
This is where we really could have used the traditional fogon and a large, wide pot. It was a long, batch process given we could only cook about a half dozen at a time for 40 minutes a crack.
Finally, exhausted, we were all done. I’m pretty sure we ate a tamale–and whether then or later, I realized that the lack of salt was critical. Still, at least they weren’t inedible, there was that much to say for them.
The next day, Christmas Eve, we went up to the Espinosas early, bringing with us a loaf of fruitcake and a number of tamales. Maritza invited us to Christmas Eve dinner after Mass–”Nada especial,” she said. Of course, what Maritiza considers ordinary and what the rest of us think is ordinary are two entirely different things, as it turned out.
So, after Mass we went over to the house, where one of Ricardo’s brothers and his family were also gathered for dinner. I love Maritza’s idea of nothing special: she had bought a big ham from someone in El Banco, and we had ham, arroz blanco, roasted vegetables (which we brought with us)–and my tamales! I was absolutely terrified. Real live Panamanians were going to taste my tamales–and what would they think? I could barely eat (which means that I only had one generous helping of everything).
I watched carefully, but no one fell off their chair writhing in agony, so I figured I’d passed that hurdle. In fact, everyone seemed to be eating the tamales as if they were, if not delicious, then at least acceptable. The women just sort of turned a polite blank when I said there was no salt in the masa, cringing internally. I asked Maritza (finally!) what she put in her masa and was told not only salt but pepper and finely diced red peppers. Both women were surprised to find that the receta had called specifically for leaves for the taste. Maritza uses the leaf from a particular type of plantain–platano chino–for the inner wrapper; I’m going to get a shoot of that plantain as soon as I can plant without watering. She also said that this type of tamale is called is called tamale de olla, or pot tamale–I wasn’t aware that there was any other kind.
So that was my big adventure. Until about a week ago, we still had tamales in the freezer, but Mary finished them. I was so irritated at not having followed my own instincts about the salt that I refused to have anything to do with them.
But just wait until December 23rd this year!
How’s that for a luscious-looking piece of fruit? I was walking the dogs this morning and saw to my surprise that one of the large papayas had ripened completely–and that we’d had a sharecropper already, either a bird or a fruit bat (can’t blame Ethel–too high up). You can see where I cut away the shared part. I’m nearly certain that this papaya was not ripe yesterday, because I walked Fred in the same area. So, either in 1 or 2 days, ripe fruit.
