This past weekend, the third annual Los Angeles International Tamale Festival brought Angelenos from across the city to MacArthur Park. People flocked to this revived mecca of Latin American heritage, expecting to spend an afternoon gazing at the lake, horchata in one hand and Oaxacan black bean tamal in the other. However, beneath the husk visitors found disappointment.
The streets were filled with hungry people, and rumors of silky Honduran tamales, sweet ones from El Salvador and creamy delights from Guatemala led people onward.
Unfortunately, expectations surpassed reality. Of the 50 some-odd booths lining Seventh Street, only about five were dedicated to tamales, and of those five, three were from the same vendor, Mama’s Hot Tamales Café, the local beacon of tamale hope which drove so many to this festival in the first place.
The lack of vendors caused huge lines and massive shortages, as waits reached 30 minutes and fears of not eating grew when tamale after tamale was crossed off menus throughout the festival. The scene was not painted with happy faces but rather with annoyed ones as people fought off political campaigners and cell phone dealers with the hopes of finding a vendor offering tamales.
Feeling the pressure, I settled on Tamales Alberto, a small vendor with only “verde con pollo” ““ a tamale commonly found throughout Los Angeles ““ left in stock. Unfortunately, mass production got the best of Alberto’s as the masa was overcooked and the chicken was smothered by an overpoweringly hot green sauce.
One of the two grossly long-lined Mama’s booths advertised a variety of exotic tamales, such as “tamal con queso y jalapeños” and the fabled “tamal oaxacqueño de mole.” Upon approaching the server, however, the only tamale left was tofu, a Santa Monica special.
With greetings from Mama herself, the second Mama’s booth and easily the busiest, was surrounded by a sense of anticipation. If Mama was here, there had to be tamales. And there were tamales; again though, nothing too special was left, just a chicken with green sauce from Michoacán and a chicken with red sauce from Guatemala.
The Guatemalan tamale lived up to its creamy reputation, but the bland filling left much to be desired. The green-sauced one, though better than Alberto’s, suffered from the same overcooked fate that all tamales that sit around are destined to face. Not even the over-priced “aguas frescas” helped elevate the underwhelming experience.
Though the festival was a disappointment, that doesn’t reflect on the cuisine it served. The tamale is a delicate creature, a gift embodying a rich Latin American tradition. Mama’s restaurant churns out some of the freshest, most authentic tamales in Los Angeles ““ and they never sit out as they did this weekend. Guelaguetza, only a few miles from UCLA, offers an incredible tamale saturated in black “mole,” an immensely rich and complex sauce made from chocolate, burnt grains and toasted chiles. This festival may have been a bust, but there are a plethora of tamales throughout Los Angeles, each with its own history and just waiting to be unwrapped.
““ Jonathan Newman
E-mail Newman at jnewman@media.ucla.edu.