Hay Nacatamales

Nacatamales are an almost religious culinary tradition in Nicaragua, a gigantic overstuffed tamale with a standard list of ingredients uniform throughout the country. Nacatamales are prepared fresh in locals' homes; in every pueblo there are several infamous residents who display the sign Hay Nacatamales, meaning they are available for sale on Saturday and Sunday.

The Nicaraguan version of the tamale, wrapped and cooked in a banana leaf rather than a corn husk, is large, undeniably a meal in itself. The key ingredient is either chicken or pork, accompanied by rice, potatoes, tomatoes, an olive or raisin, and a leaf of yerba buena. This is the tried and true recipe, delicious, and available for only $1 anywhere you go. Why mess with a good thing? the only reason I attempted my own was the vegetarian factor. 

Based on hints from neighbors and friends, as well as gringo guidance from this online recipe, i set out to make my own vegetarian nacatamale.

First up, and arguably the most important ingredient: masa. Traditional nacatamale masa is made with lard, the ultimate cooking fat. When I asked around about vegetarian substitutions, I was met with chortles, smirks, and a couple of suggestions. Since I was making a large batch, I went with what I had the most of, sunflower oil. 

Using a pre-packaged masa, I added a cup of oil and mixed until it was too thick to stir. Following a tip from an authentic nacatamale recipe, I squeezed a sour orange into the dough, and then a flavorful veggie-based broth and worked it in with my hands.

The masa is then left to sit for at least 30 minutes. Time to prepare my tasty fillings!

I flavored up a batch of red beans and potatoes,

and a soy meat with summer squash medley. These would be the savory protein-rich centerpieces of my tamales.

Assembly!

Wrapping the masa and filling into a banana leaf was the most fun and most challenging part. I am proud to announce that I myself went out on the farm to harvest nice long smooth leaves with few tears. In order to make the leaf pliable, I warmed each one over a gas burner. The leaves must bend and fold over to hold the tamale inside, and I found this method extremely effective.

A small circle of masa is patted out in the center of a leaf, and I learned after my first batch, a dollop of homemade hot sauce keeps the filling from drying out.

Upon this I heaped shredded cheese, a spoonful of either the bean or soy mixture, and a sprinkle of cilantro leaf. With a few, I also added cooked rice. Later, as I recounted this process to some veteran nacatamale chefs, raucous laughter erupted at the mention of the cilantro. Apparently I was breaking all kinds of culinary taboos.

Sorry, don't have any action shots. The wrapping process took a little practice, eventually I got it. My little banana packages came out cute, no?

These guys were all tossed into a pot which I first layered with bunched up banana leaves in the traditional method for steaming. Being somewhat of a modern chica, however, I did cook with my gas stove rather than over open fire.
Unlike the wood fire fueled kitchens of most Nicaraguans, in which a pot of nacatamales takes up to 6 hours to cook, mine were ready to unwrap and enjoy in about one hour.

Not too shabby!

Die hard fans of the original nacatamale may argue that my masa/veggie creation is only that, an inauthentic copycat of a cultural classic. at worst, I could be accused of culinary sacrilege.

Yet, despite altering the sacred recipe, tasters from the veggie as well as the meat-eating contigency report success!

yerbas & spices

Through a process i like to call taste and error, i have come to learn and identify many old favorite flavors amongst a sea of new and unusual looking plants. This process is an integral part of my cultural immersion as plants have become something of a medium in my communication. i love cooking, i love el mercado, i love gardens, and i love plant nurseries. For these loves, i frequently plunge myself into awkward partially-intelligible conversations in which i'm sure i come across as a gringa loca; HOWEVER, i usually emerge with new and valuable knowledge of the aforementioned heart throbs.
Case in point numero uno: my quest for CILANTRO
A favorite of mine, i came into Nicaragua confident that cilantro was as spanishy as a word can get, an herb requisite in mexican cuisine, certainly an EASY FIND throughout all Latin America! Imagine my dismay when i scoured the market, inquiring constantly cilantro? Hay cilantro? Busco cilantro? and the ladies kept showing me this plant:
obviously NOT cilantro, to which i shook my head and kept searching, oblivious to the identical cilantro scent of Eryngium foetidum, commonly known as culantro (with a hard c, like a k) or Puerto Rican coriander. the above plant grows abundantly in our backyard and has become essential in all my soups, sauces, and salads.

Happily, I made the connection between mentha and mint on my own. despite the lack of any apparent physical similarity, the nose knows While i'm content using mentha in my mojitos, we all know this woody plant with rounded leaves is not a member of the authentic square-stem Mint Family. so what is it?

They handed me this one on a plate: Oregano

Plectranthus amboinicus

Also known as Cuban Oregano, Mexican Mint, and Spanish Thyme. Call it what you will, these guys propagate beautifully from cuttings and do wonders for a spaghetti sauce.

My garden boasts two basil varieties--again, smelling is believing.
The purplish leaves are tiny but pungent, and somehow i got the idea that this one is of Thai basil descent, but i haven't made an official identification yet. It does provide a fantastic flavor in combination with coconut milk, garlic, hot chiles, and one final herbal wonder in mi jardin:

Zacate Limón

Andropogon citratum

Nothing beats the zing of lemongrass in a Thai coconut soup! Not to mention its presence as a grassy bed end plant. Stalks are always available and will propagate readily.