Holy Tamale
Here's the prescription for a socially acceptable addiction. Subway it to Sunset Park's Fifth Avenue corridor, a 15-block enclave where Mexico dominates both language and cuisine. Lick a mango-and-chili popsicle. Munch a crispy roasted-pork taco. And, above all, devour tamales. Like heroin, a single taste can create a junkie.
Tamales are a joy as simple as the sunrise: steamed corn flour (or masa) wrapped in cornhusks and studded with fillings, animal and otherwise-chicken, peppers, cheese, in sauces red, green and sometimes inky black. Consider them treasures. And the jackpot sits at Rico's Tamales.
This humble eatery started as a Red Sox?colored street-food stall. Smiley aproned women dispensed tamales for a slim dollar. One killed hunger. Two equaled gluttony. Three, well, three created belly-stuffing bliss. Rico's popularity forced relocation to roomier digs with, you know, a front door and indoor plumbing. Like Chinatown's one-time dumpling cart turned Dumpling House, Rico's has made a smooth transition by sticking to its roots. The awning remains bright red, offering, as ever, "Delicios Tamales Oaxacaqueños." In English or Spanish, delicious is a universal language.
Join the mostly Mexican clientele at one of the wobbly silver tables. Get cozy, then bob along to ranchero music (for giggles, scope out jukebox selections No. 68 and No. 89) and wonder several things: Why's that chandelier dangling from the dingy ceiling, and what's up with West Indian hot sauce? Such incongruities are whitewashed by free, freshly fried chips served alongside tangy guacamole. They're delivered by young, maroon-shirted waitresses, who buzz around the restaurant like hummingbirds. The girls are sunny and pleasant and won't mock your pidgin Spanish, at least to your face. Just speak slowly and follow this directive: order every tamale on hand.
In minutes they arrive steaming and stacked-edible firewood. Grab a plastic fork and unwrap the corn husks, slowly, like a lover. Revealing the Rajas Con Queso ($1.25) will make vegetarians quiver; roasted green-chile strips mingle with creamy cheese. They're surrounded by soft-yet-spongy masa, an oft-mangled equilibrium. Fiery fiends will dig the chicken-stuffed Oaxacaqueño. The artery-hued offering is all tongue-singeing zest, no balance, yet begs repeat bites. During one of several Rico's trips, it made a diner mumble, "It's?unfortunately delicious." Sadly, the Pollo Con Rajas (chicken with green chiles) is Wonder-bread bland, as dry as Death Valley, but suitable for those of weak palate.
Luckily, it's but one misstep. My dining companions oohed and ahhed at the green-as-grass, sinus-clearing salsa verde, studded with pillow-soft chicken. Wars were waged for the final crumb. They also swooned for the Hershey's-dark mole, a messy, complex delight. While fellow tamales keep their insides confined to the masa jacket, the mole leaks like a pen in a shirt pocket. It's chocolaty yet spicy, sweet yet bitter, a perfect marriage for tender chicken. Only public decorum kept us from licking plates like mangy dogs.
Rico's also offers a stacked Mexican menu of meaty, palm-size tacos (about $1), chilaquiles ($6) and tortas (around $5). But they pale in the tamales' non-greasy shadow. It's hard to make one superlative dish, much less 20. If you're still curious, try an Arroz Con Leche (liquid rice pudding, $1.50) or Champurrado (chocolate-flavored corn and milk, $1.50). They're thick, satisfying drinks, though hardly thirst-quenchers. Stick to grapefruit Jarritos, an effervescent Mexican soda.
Still, tamales are street food. And Rico's hasn't forgotten its lineage. Tamale-laden Igloo coolers beside the entrance offer to-go convenience. Lines sometimes stretch onto the sidewalk, so the takeout ladies are less patient than the waitresses. Polish your high school Spanish and say, "Quisiera un (or dos or tres) tamale de _____." Fill in the blank, and tamales will be quickly tonged into a plastic bag. Five are hefty enough that, if you're caught in a street fight, they could double as a brain-bashing weapon. But why destroy such precious sustenance?
With spring here, walk your tamales several blocks to lush Sunset Park. Spread out on the grass and drink in the Manhattan skyline. Now unwrap a tamale and take a greedy bite, letting the masa disintegrate on your teeth. If you want another nibble, and another, and another, it's understandable: Tamales are habit-forming and, at a buck and a quarter, they're one of the few fixes everyone can afford.
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