Photo by Gustavo ArellanoThere's a Shrine of the Holy Tortilla in Lake Arthur, New Mexico. The Wisconsin Mount Horeb Mustard Museum has on permanent display 71 mustards from Latin America in addition to a Southwest U.S. version made with tequila and jalapeños. My friend swears there's a Tomb of the Unknown Gordita in Texas.
But no one created a permanent exhibit honoring Latin America's most enduring dish, the tamale, until John Rivera Sedlar experienced an epiphany over masa. Last Saturday, Sedlar changed the course of culinary history by hosting a preview of his Tamale Museum at Mission San Juan Capistrano.
The worldwide tamale community had been abuzz over the Tamale Museum since last summer. That's when Sedlar–flanked by such celebrity chefs as Mary Sue Milliken and Susan Feniger of Too Hot Tamales fame–announced at the end of last year's San Juan Capistrano Tamale Festival his intention to create the world's first tamale museum. The tamale-loving crowd cheered.
Sedlar is a tall, aristocratic man–his smooth looks and crisp cooking uniform betrayed only by a pair of worn brown Adidas–and exhibits confidence that can be mistaken for arrogance. In the tamale world, he is known as the Tamale King, a man whom The New York Times has called “one of America's treasures, a genius in the kitchen.” But his peculiar calling is tamales. He's written books on the subject, made a video, and cooks them almost daily. With his new museum, he now seeks to become the worldwide guardian of the legacy of the humble, millennia-old meal.
He politely refused to answer most questions about the museum's genesis, explaining that not only did he have to train Mission docents in tamale lore before the preview's 10 a.m. opening, but he also was supervising the preparation of gourmet tamales for the concurrent Tamale Festival. “It's a long story,” he replies. “Actually, it's a short story. But I simply can't tell it right now.”
Sedlar did let out that he thinks a tamale museum is important because of the masa meal's hefty weight, not just on the belly, but on the Latin American soul. Every country in Latin America has a variation on the dish and, according to Sedlar, there are more recipes for tamales than any other platter in the Western Hemisphere. “Tamales are mystical,” he says with the solemnity of someone describing the theological significance of Easter. “They symbolize birth and death. They're prepared for all the high holidays. They're just wrapped in tradition.”
The preview will be held in the Mission's soldier barracks, where the museum will stay through the end of the month before closing until the museum's official opening in the fall. Then, its founding document states, the Tamale Museum will serve “to acquire, collect, and conserve material; to facilitate research; and to educate through exhibits.” It aims to put the tamale in its proper historical, culinary and even religious context–one of the current panels showing in the mini-presentation describes how nuns in colonial Mexico would support their orders by selling tamales so wonderful that “consumers tended to ascribe a spiritual value to these delicacies, considering them to be blessed as well as filling and flavorful.”
“It's a stretch for some people to think of a tamale as befitting of an entire museum,” admits Sandy Wheeler, assistant administrator for the Mission. “But people eat. A normal part of everyday life is eating. That's history.”
Wheeler and Electa Anderson, executive director of the Friends of the Mission, are pleased that Sedlar chose the former adobe of Father Junipero Serra to house his museum. The connection? “We're trying to preserve the architecture of our heritage while John is trying to preserve the tamale,” Anderson explains. “He's spent his life learning about its history, the various ways of preparing them. He could have been the Wolfgang Puck of tamales, but he'd rather teach about tamales.”
The preview is a delicious mind-tease. There's a solitary metate (“a grinding stone passed down by three generations,” a docent says); pictures of prehistoric tamales in the shapes of frogs, fish and stuffed iguana; and papier-mâché skeletons dressed in habits and gripping candles. Restoration efforts are currently under way for the Mission's three different kitchens–one will become a replica of Frida Kahlo's kitchen–and will also be part of the permanent collection.
Sedlar brings the vision. Corporate sponsors, including Corona, Tapatío, The Orange County Register's Coast Magazine and, of course, Maseca (Mexico's largest flour producer), have supplied the money.
“We're not even scratching the surface here,” Sedlar says right before he opens the doors for tourists. “There's going to be other foods, speakers, workshops. But look at it right now! It's inspirational! It takes your breath away!”
And, yes, an enchilada exhibit is in the works.
