My family doesn’t cook anything crazy or fancy for the holidays — we keep it simple.
Well… let me rewind that.
My mom makes tamales every Christmas. That’s her thing. No matter what’s happening, no matter how broke or tired we are, she becomes a one-woman factory. Masa, hojas, carne, salsa — you already know the vibe.
The turkey used to be bought from this little spot we loved, but they closed. So now we just say “fuck it, let’s make it ourselves.” The stove wasn’t working for a minute — the buttons melted because somebody (I won’t say who) put something too close to the flames — but we finally got a new one and made the turkey at home again.
But the real “special dish”?
It’s the tamales.
That’s the tradition.
That’s the heart of it.
A Mexican Christmas.
Or like they say in Mexico… el Día de los Muertos — a holiday we celebrate on this side, and one we’ll eventually become part of someday. But that’s another day we treat like family too.
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