By Hallie Davison
Have you ever tried to cook something from a memory? When my mom’s family — a big, San Antonio crew — used to gather for Thanksgiving, my aunts would whip up something we call "Tamale Stuffing." (Tamale, because, yes, we're in Texas.) It's a quintessentially regional mash-up of cornbread dressing and warm tamales with some egg and enchilada sauce to pull it all together. It's not pretty to look at, but it sure is delicious.
I don't get the chance to gather with that side of the family as often these days, now that I live out of state, but the tamale stuffing has been on my mind for long enough that I couldn't help but try to recreate it this year. I found myself texting my Aunt Susan for clues, digging through old community cookbooks, and even ordering a worn copy of The Star of Texas (published by the Junior League of Houston in 1983). What emerged is a dish that tastes like my childhood kitchen, holiday noise, and a very specific kind of South Texas comfort. Everyone who tries it asks where it came from — and like most good recipes, the answer is hard to pinpoint, but it's somewhere at the intersection of family, memory, and creativity.
