It was 2006, and I was the new gringo on the block. I’d recently married a San Antonio girl—“Puro Southside,” as they say—and she was taking me home for my first Christmas tamalada. These tamale-making parties are a holiday tradition among many Latino families in Texas, but the event was new to me. A proper tamalada is, first and foremost, a communal affair. It’s a combination assembly line and family reunion. There are hours of gossip, usually about a relative who isn’t present, shaggy-dog stories, well-worn jokes, and fond remembrances. And beer. Lots of beer.
But Herlinda Lopez-Wood says she never got to enjoy tamaladas. She spent every holiday season working