WRAPPED WITH CARE

In San Antonio, Christmas isn't complete without a plate of steaming tamales on every family's table

- CAT CARDENAS

THERE ARE A FEW TELLTALE SIGNS THAT SAN ANTONIO'S HOLIDAY SEASON IS IN FULL SWING.

Hundreds of thousands of twinkling lights adorn the bald cypress trees lining the River Walk and the imposing 50-foot fir that goes up each year at Travis Park.

But what's more reliable than the festive displays or chilly weather is the unmistakable smell of buttery corn masa and spiced pork and chicken that fills so many homes in the city.

A staple for winter celebrations, tamales are one of San Antonio's oldest culinary traditions. The simple dish has been passed down through generations and is now as ingrained in the city's culture as The Alamo or Fiesta. Its origins can be traced back thousands of years to pre-Columbian Mesoamerica, appearing in Mayan glyphs and documented in 16th-century accounts by Spanish missionaries in Central Mexico, who recorded tamales made with axolotl, tuna cactus, fish, and rabbit, among other variations. The name is derived from "tamalli," which is the Aztec Nahuatl word for "cornmeal dough." Throughout recorded history, tamale making was a social event, something undertaken primarily by women, who would wrap masa and a filling into either corn husks or banana leaves and steam until tender. Across Mexico and Central America, tamales were (and still are) eaten on special holidays like Día de los Muertos, but as the indigenous populations converted to Christianity, tamales became associated with Christmas.

Over time, these practices morphed into the modern-day "tamalada," a tamalemaking party for the whole family. At these gatherings, everybody-from the smallest child to the eldest grandparent-has a job.

The most crucial role is the masa mixer.

Without that person, everything falls apart.