Tales of Nochebuena
Tamales are a must. But there’s so much more to a Christmas tradition.
Tamales, roast pork, Christmas gifts: The Latinx Files revisits Nochebuena nights.
My paternal grandmother’s tamales are just OK.
I know it’s sacrilege for a Mexican American to say that his abuelita’s tamales are anything short of amazing, that they were crafted with love and wisdom that makes them worthy of the Aztec gods, but it’s the truth. Some years, they’ve been a little dry.
But if she asks me how I like them, I will straight- up lie to her face every time and say they’re amazing. Four generations gather under her roof each year, and in preparation for that desmadre, my grandmother does a tamaleada where hundreds of tamales are prepared. I feel incredibly fortunate that my family has this tradition, and the last thing I’d want to do is undermine it by giving my opinion. I’m not a total monster.
I bring this up because it reminds me of one of my favorite Nochebuena ( Christmas Eve) memories.
It happened in the midaughts when I was still in college. I must have been drunk, hungry or both because I unwrapped a sweet tamal ( she makes hers with sugar and raisins), devoured it and immediately proceeded to tell her that this was the best tamal I had ever eaten, and that the sweet ones were my favorites. I said it with such conviction that she believed it. I believed it. ( Yeah, I was definitely drunk.)
From that moment on, she has made it a point to make extra dozens of sweet tamales for Nochebuena just for me to take back to whichever part of the country I’m living in at that particular moment. I remember one year I f lew back to college with a trash bag full of sweet tamales, much to the delight of all my friends who declared that they had never had anything more delicious. Yes, they are white.
Like most things in 2020, Nochebuena during the pandemic wasn’t the same. I didn’t have the opportunity to sit at her table, take a bite and tell her how amazing the tamal is, and watch her face light up. I’m hoping we get to partake in this little ritual next year.
Here is what some of our readers had to say:
Lourdes Reynolds from Tarzana: It’s Nochebuena and a truly magical night in rural eastern Montana circa 2001. My husband is at the hockey rink with our four young children — they have the place to themselves — and I’m at home alone attempting to make tamales from scratch. I couldn’t be happier and more at peace. All is good. It then dawns on me that it’s very possible that at that particular moment in time I could be the only person in Montana making tamales while listening and singing along to James Taylor — the uniqueness of my life experiences coming together in that holiest of nights is seared in my memory. Jalisco, the Valley, Mexicali and Montana all blending together to make that moment happen. The tamales turned out so- so, but the memory is priceless! Feliz Navidad y esperemos un próximo Año Nuevo con muchos más momentos de magia!
Albert Perez of Los Angeles: In 1987, after several months of pleading for my parents to buy me a Nintendo Action set, they budged and bought me one for Christmas. They soon regretted it. The Nintendo system was quickly demonized because it supposedly made you “f lojo” or a “menso.” My parents decided they were never going to buy me anything video- game- related, and they kept their word. I must have played Donkey Kong and Super Mario Brothers like a million times while everyone else was enjoying Super Mario 2.
It’s Christmas 1990, and Super Mario 3 is the greatest thing since New Coke! My parents were still very much on their anti- Nintendo crusade. On Nochebuena, the coolest thing I got was a color- changing hoodie, while my cousins got a trove of Nintendo stuff, including that game. I just broke down and cried like an 8- year- old baby. My aunt saw, and to get me to stop crying she told me to pick a game from the bundle. There’s no question about which one I grabbed! That has to me the fondest Nochebuena memory, crying my way to playing with Tanooki Mario!
Alex Fumero of Miami writes: When I was about 5 years old, my grandfather called me into the kitchen as the family was getting ready for Nochebuena. He said, “Alejandrito, a ti te gusta el lechón?” I must’ve been a Cuban roast pork lover at that age because I remember saying yes. He bent down and picked me up so my face was even with the raised oven we had in our apartment, and through the glass I could see an entire pig splayed out, head and all. He said, “Esto es lechón,” and smiled self- satisfyingly. I don’t remember what happened next except that I still ate it.
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