Untitled Document
Hot tamales and they’re red hot, Yes, she got ’em for sale I got a girl, say she long and tall She sleeps in the kitchen Her feets in the hall Hot tamales and they’re red hot, I mean Yes, she got ’em for sale, yeah — Robert Johnson, recorded in 1936
Hot tamales were my 93-year-old grandmother’s
last meal. She was rapidly failing, and my mom was having difficulty
getting her to eat. Mom suggested a roster of her favorite foods, but
nothing appealed to Nana. Then inspiration struck: “Would you like
some tamales?” my mom asked. “You know, that sounds
good,” replied Nana in her weakening voice. “Tamales and some
beer.” She ate two tamales and drank two beers, then slept more
restfully than she had in weeks. The next morning she slipped into
semiconsciousness, and she died a few days later. Tamales had always been one of Nana’s
favorites. Nana used to reminisce about the tamale men who’d push
carts down Springfield streets most evenings in the early part of the last
century, hawking their wares. The tamale men and their carts had
disappeared by the time I was a child, but the same style of tamales were
served in the many chilli parlors around town. By the time I returned to
Springfield after college and four years in Chicago, the chilli parlors had
pretty much disappeared as well, but Springfield-style chilli and tamales
still showed up around town in taverns and local diners. Those last tamales that Nana savored were Art’s
Tamales. So are most of the tamales that are still to be found in stores,
taverns, and restaurants (outside of Mexican establishments) in Springfield
today.
Art’s Tamales were first sold in 1932 in Peoria
by Art Knutsen, who made them in his kitchen at home. Eventually they
became so popular that the operation was moved to a commercial facility in
downtown Peoria and then to a former abattoir in neighboring Metamora. By
1980, Knutsen had died and the down-home business had been purchased by
Dave Chinuge, who operates it today. Except for the substitution of vegetable oil for beef
suet, Knutsen’s original recipe is unchanged. Unlike Mexican tamales,
which are made with masa (dough made from corn that’s been treated with lye,
which affects the flavor and boosts its nutritional value slightly),
Art’s Tamales are made with cornmeal. The filling contains beef,
spices, and other ingredients, such as onions and garlic. The Art’s Tamales factory operates
Tuesday-Thursday, making about 4,000 tamales each day. Chinuge has expanded
the operation to distribute his tamales throughout central Illinois, though
he says that these days he sells more tamales to restaurants and groceries
than to taverns and bars. I recently visited the Art’s Tamales factory.
Any thoughts I’d had of a huge, soulless operation fled as I drove up
to the small cinderblock building, surrounded by cornfields, on a rural
road. “Hi, I’m Zach, but you can call me
Art,” said a cheerful guy wearing a hairnet as I entered. He stood
beside a huge stand mixer filled with cornmeal tamale dough, trays of beef
filling standing at the ready nearby. He looked a bit young to be the
owner, so I wasn’t surprised when Chinuge appeared and introduced
himself. The “factory” was a model of simplicity and ingenuity.
After the dough and fillings are prepared, the mixtures are put into a Rube
Goldberg-esqe contraption that Chinuge designed and had custom-built.
Basically it’s an extruder that works along the same principle as a
cookie press or pastry tube for making cake decorations. The filling is
placed in a cylinder that’s centered inside a larger cylinder packed
with the dough. Tight-fitting lids slowly press out a long tamale rope onto
a conveyor belt, after which the rope is cut into individual portions by a
rotating stainless-steel paddle wheel. Chinuge’s customers like their
tamales in a variety of lengths, so different wheels with more or fewer
cutting paddles are used. As the cut tamales move down the conveyor belt,
they’re stacked on trays and taken to the next room, where workers
wrap and tie them, then package them on trays or in boxes. The recipe hasn’t changed much over the years,
although these days most Art’s Tamales are wrapped in a special
parchment paper rather than the traditional cornhusks. “People always
wonder why we can’t use husks from the cornfields right outside our
door,” says Chinuge, laughing, “but modern farm equipment
shreds the husks, so we have to import them from Mexico, and sometimes
they’re expensive and hard to get in enough quantity for our
needs.”
Maybe it’s nostalgia, but I do think that the
cornhusk-encased tamales have a bit of extra flavor. Local consumers rarely
have to make that distinction, however. Chinuge says he gives his
Springfield customers priority when it comes to the cornhusk-encased
tamales: “It’s traditional in Springfield, what people
want.”
Several local groceries and markets sell Art’s
Tamales, including Ciota & Foster (2879 N. Dirksen Pkwy.,
217-544-3447), the Country Market (1301 W. Wabash Ave., 217-793-6800), and
Humphrey’s Market (1821 S. 15th St., 217-544-7445). Joe’s Chili
Bowl (2401 S. MacArthur Blvd., 217-793-0613) and Joe Rogers’ Original
Recipe Chili Parlor (820 S. Ninth St., 217-522-3722) serve them in chilli
or on the side. (In old-time Springfield chilli parlance, a “double
header” was a bowl of chilli with two tamales) Art’s Tamales can also be found at the Trout
Lily Café (218 S. Sixth St., 217-391-0101). “We’ve been
featuring them as our regular Tuesday Blue Plate Special for the last
couple of years and sometimes on Wednesdays as well ” says Kate
Hawkes, the Trout Lily’s owner. “We have regular customers who
count on them, and they can get upset if we’ve run out before they
come in.” Hawkes serves the tamales topped with melted cheese and
optional onions and chili. Art’s tamales are a snap to prepare: Simply
steam them for at least 15 minutes (longer is OK) and they’re ready
to be eaten by themselves, in a bowl of chilli, or garnished as desired. Whether you eat them in a restaurant or at home and
even if you’ve never had them before, eating Art’s tamales will
give you a taste of Springfield’s past.
Send questions and
comments to Julianne Glatz at realcuisine@insightbb.com.
This article appears in Jul 19-25, 2007.
