Alright, so the other day, I got this sudden, massive craving for a proper Nicaraguan nacatamal. Not just any nacatamal, but the real deal, the kind that takes you back. So, I figured, why not try making them myself? It’s a bit of a project, sure, but totally worth it in the end. I’m gonna walk you through how my adventure went.
Getting All The Bits Ready
First things first, I had to get my ingredients in order. This isn’t like whipping up a quick sandwich, no sir. For the masa, I used a good quality corn flour, the kind specifically for tamales. You can’t just use any old cornmeal. Then, for the filling, I decided on pork. I got a nice piece of pork shoulder, because it has good fat content which means flavor.
I chopped up the pork into decent-sized chunks. Then I made a marinade. Threw in some crushed garlic, a good splash of sour orange juice – if you can’t find sour oranges, a mix of orange and lime juice works in a pinch – and a generous amount of achiote paste to give it that classic color and a bit of earthy flavor. Let that sit for a good while, so the flavors could really get in there.
While the pork was doing its thing, I prepped the veggies. Chopped up some potatoes, tomatoes, onions, and green bell peppers. Some folks add rice, olives, capers, even prunes or raisins. I kept mine fairly traditional this time around, but I did wash some uncooked rice to add to each nacatamal. Oh, and a sprig of hierbabuena (mint) for each one is a must for me; it adds a freshness that’s just perfect.
Tackling The Masa
Now, for the masa. This is where things can get tricky. I mixed the corn flour with some of the pork lard I rendered (you can use shortening or oil too), some of the marinade from the pork for extra flavor, and warm chicken broth. Seasoned it with salt. You have to mix it really well, until it’s smooth, like a thick, spreadable paste. Not too dry, not too wet. It took a bit of fiddling, adding a little more broth here and there, until I felt it was just right. I remember my abuela saying the consistency should be like wet cement, but tastier, of course.
The Assembly – Wrapping These Bad Boys
Okay, this is the fun part, but also the part where you need patience. Banana leaves are key. I got a pack of frozen ones, thawed them out, and then carefully wiped them clean. To make them pliable, so they don’t crack when you fold them, I quickly passed them over a low flame on my stove. You can also blanch them in hot water.
Then I laid out a piece of banana leaf – sometimes I use two, layered, for extra security. Plopped a good scoop of masa in the center, spread it out a bit. Then a portion of the marinated pork, some of the chopped veggies, a spoonful of rice, and that sprig of mint. Sometimes I’ll add a slice of tomato on top for presentation. Then, a smaller scoop of masa on top of the filling.
Folding them is an art. You bring the long sides of the banana leaf together, fold them down a couple of times, then fold in the ends, like you’re wrapping a present. My first couple were a bit messy, not gonna lie. But you get the hang of it. Then, you tie them up securely with kitchen twine. You want them snug but not so tight that they can’t expand a bit while cooking.
The Long Simmer
Once all my little packages were assembled and tied, it was time to cook ’em. I got out my biggest stockpot. Lined the bottom with some leftover pieces of banana leaf to prevent scorching and add more flavor. Carefully arranged the nacatamales in the pot, trying not to pack them in too tightly.
Then I added enough water to come about halfway up the sides of the nacatamales. Some people add salt to the water. Brought it to a boil, then reduced the heat to a simmer, covered the pot, and let them cook. And wait. This isn’t a quick process. We’re talking at least 3 to 4 hours of simmering. The whole house started to smell amazing, that unique, steamy, corny, porky aroma. I had to top up the water a couple of times during cooking, just to make sure it didn’t run dry.
The Moment of Truth
After what felt like an eternity, it was time. I carefully lifted one out with tongs, letting it drain a bit. Placed it on a plate. The anticipation was real! Cut the strings, and carefully unfolded the banana leaf. Steam billowed out, carrying that incredible smell.
And there it was. A perfectly cooked nacatamal. The masa was tender, the pork was falling-apart soft, the veggies were cooked through, and the rice had absorbed all those lovely juices. The flavor? Oh man. Just incredible. All that effort, totally, totally worth it.
It’s a labor of love, making nacatamales. It’s not something you whip up on a weeknight. But it’s a fantastic weekend project, and the payoff is huge. Plus, you usually make a big batch, so you have leftovers, and they’re almost better the next day. Served with a good cup of coffee and some Nicaraguan bread (pico), it’s pure comfort food. My little adventure was a success, and I’m already thinking about the next batch!
