Here’s a uniquely Mississippi home remedy if you’re sniffling like me as the weather turns colder: Eat a half-dozen or so hot tamales in rapid fashion. That culinary delight also always carries the side effect of clearing up my sinuses.
I was reminded of that while in Vicksburg last week for a newspaper circulation conference. I had heard of The Tamale Place and wanted to try it. It’s in a small building that looks kind of like a former service station along an I-20 frontage road. Just the sort of place where you find the best tamales. Some fancy restaurants have tried to adopt them as appetizers, but it’s not the same as a down-home place that has been making them since before it was cool as a main dish.
At The Tamale Place, there is no seating; You step inside into a small lobby and order through a window. The price was $11 for a dozen, which is right in line with what I normally see of roughly a dollar per tamale. They also served a special tamale that included chili but I stuck with a known entity.
The service was quick, and the product was satisfying. It fit my definition of a good tamale: a soft outside that almost blends in with the ground beef inside so that there’s not a clear delineation between the two. Also, a heat that is palpable but not overbearing.
And, of course being an unpretentious food, tamales are best eaten with saltine crackers. Most restaurants provide them gratis with an order, but The Tamale Place charges 25 cents for an eight-pack of saltines. Hey, it’s an expense for them, and that’s a reasonable price. I didn’t mind paying 50 cents for two packs.
While the tamales were very good, they did not rise to the level of the best I’ve had. That designation belongs to Hot Tamale Heaven in Greenville. It was up until a few years ago a little roadside stand with no seating, only a drive-through window (it has since expanded into more of a fast-food setting). But it’s humble façade belied a world-class taste: It has won the award for best tamales at Greenville’s annual Delta Hot Tamale Festival.
The origins of the Mississippi hot tamale is generally thought to be that a long-ago Mexican worker introduced them to field hands. Being wrapped in corn husks, they’re easier to carry out to eat for lunch while working.
I’ve ordered tamales at Mexican restaurants before and always come away disappointed. They tend to have a thick, doughy, hard-to-penetrade outer layer and only a measly inside of stringy, chewy meat in the middle. I’m not sure if that’s how real Mexican tamales are prepared or just the ones I’ve had. The Southern Foodways Alliance, an authority on such matters, says Mississippi tamales use corn meal instead of corn flour, are simmered rather than steamed and have more spice. Regardless of what causes the differences, I definitely prefer our Mississippi version.
One word of caution is that sometimes Mississippi tamales can get a little soggy, I assume from sitting in the pot too long while waiting to be purchased. They also tend to get too spicy when that happens, I assume rom marinating too long. But that’s still preferable to being too dry.
Most all of those I’ve had have come from restaurants. As common as hot tamales are on Missisippi menus, I’ve only known one individual who made them, Michael Hony, a friend from Greenwood. He uses coffee filters in lieu of corn husks because they’re easier to get commercially. I couldn’t tell any difference in the taste between the two.
Michael also told me that the tamale’s signature taste comes from cumin. Previous to that, I had never heard of that spice outside of Jesus’s criticism of the Pharisees that, “You pay tithe of mint and anise and cummin, and have neglected the weightier matters of the law: justice and mercy and faith.” So it’s always good to learn something new that sheds insight on biblical teachings.
While on the subject of learning something new, I’m always on the hunt for different places to try hot tamales. If you have any recommendations, shoot me an email at csmith@columbianprogress.com. I’d love to hear from you — and test out what you have to say about what of our state’s unique dishes.
Charlie Smith is editor and publisher of The C-P. Reach him at (601) 736-2611.
