It was 6 a.m. on a Friday. The sun wasn’t even committed yet. But there I was, Papa in the recliner, watching a five-year-old eat cashews for breakfast while the fast food industry told me what I couldn’t eat. Spoiler: I didn’t take it well.
After making tamales yesterday, I sat down to write the instructions like I said I would. But the husks and seasonings made me stop and think. What if I just made a kit? If you’d be interested, let me know.
Frozen tamales aren’t bad. But after making (and selling) a million of them, I finally said out loud what I’d been thinking for years: fresh ones are 10 times better.
Every Fall, the tamale texts start rolling in. I used to make thousands. Now? Not a chance. But I might just show you how we did it — masa, sauces, meat prep and all.
What started as a quick breakfast stop turned into a surprisingly great burrito, a purple soda experiment, and a reminder that friendly folks and real food still exist — right on River Drive in Davenport.