Other people's kitchens: Maria Gabriela Ake Ortega

Aside from a startling number of bakeries, there's not much to do in Pomuch, but there's plenty to look at. I had come for the pan de pomuch -more on that later- and after meeting the bakers I took a slow wander down the town's main street. The hot, hard-packed dirt road was dotted with sleeping dogs. Men relaxed in the shade, shirts rolled up to their armpits. Groups of students in neat school uniforms crowded onto the benches in the central plaza. A few vans passed, and the streets were crowded with trici-taxis, bicycles that have been chopped and welded onto two-wheeled benches with bright awnings and curtains.

In front of one house I spotted a hand-lettered sign advertising Tamales de Holoch. I pushed past the metal gate, which opened onto an lush courtyard and a traditional thatched wood home. A woman appeared in the doorway and gestured for me to follow her inside, where she sat at a small table loaded down with bowls of food.

Maria Gabriela Ake Ortega was born in Pomuch, where she lives with her parents, children, and her two year old granddaughter. She makes tamales every day with her daughter, filling them with shredded chicken and pork from animals that her neighbors raise. With one hand, she pinches a piece of masa, a soft dough made from ground corn, and flattens it into a thick round. To that she adds col, a savory mixture of corn flour, onions, tomato, and chile, cooked until thick and gelatinous. She piles the shredded meats on top, and pinches the tamale closed, then encloses each one in a corn husk, which the Mayans call holoch.

As we sat in the shade of the small thatched hut, Gabriela's father used a machete to cut wood in the courtyard, then began to build a small fire beneath a wire grate. When all the tamales were tightly wrapped in holoch, she piled them into a tall pot set atop the flames. After several hours of slow steam, the col and the masa fused into a savory, flavorful pudding enriched with a spicy meat filling.

I sat for some time at Gabriela's table talking about family and food. When the time came to catch the evening bus to Campeche, I left the cool hut to walk back up the street, where the dogs hadn't moved an inch.