Tag Archives: Mexican

Nochebuena

Text:

“It’s a few nights before Christmas Eve — because we actually celebrate Christmas on Christmas Eve instead of Christmas Day. I think that’s just a Mexican thing. But we’ll gather, like, my cousins and my aunt — and yeah, actually it’s mostly just the women. And we’ll make tamales. And it’s literally — tamale-making isn’t just baking tamales; you’re up for hours. It’s so much hard work. We do it every year, and it’s pretty miserable, honestly. But I like it because I would continue it with my kids, because I think it’s important. I don’t really see my extended family that much throughout the year.”

Context:


Nochebuena — Spanish for “Good Night” — is celebrated on December 24th and is deeply embedded in Mexican Catholic tradition, marking the end of Las Posadas, a nine-day celebration commemorating Mary and Joseph’s search for shelter before the birth of Jesus. For the informant’s family, Nochebuena is the primary Christmas celebration, and tamale-making is its central ritual activity. The labor-intensive process of making tamales — spreading masa, filling, folding, and steaming — typically takes an entire day and is performed collectively, almost exclusively by the women of the family.

Analysis:

The informant’s mixture of affection and mild complaint — “it’s pretty miserable, but I’d continue it with my kids” — is a remarkably honest articulation of how folk traditions sustain themselves even when they are demanding. The hardship is not incidental but parallels how heritage can become a gendered experience. The hours of shared labor are the means by which the women bond and provide sustenance for the rest of the family. This is characteristic of foodways rituals in which the process matters as much as the product: the tamales are not merely the end result but the occasion for the gathering itself. The gendered dimension encodes a specific vision of family structure and cultural transmission, one that the informant has absorbed and plans to carry forward.

Buñuelos

Text:

Context: A dessert RF would make with her family during Christmastime, which they call buñuelos. RF recalls the making of this food being an event–her great-grandmother was well-known in the family for making them and would use a specific cooking instrument (a kind of ornamental iron on the end of a long stick) that has since become a family heirloom. The recipe wasn’t written, only in her great-grandmother’s head, but it included some kind of whiskey or bourbon in the batter, and the buñuelos were to be fried in lard. The iron was dipped in the runny batter, then submerged in the hot oil–the batter would instantly begin to fry and fall off of the iron while maintaining shape (usually a snowflake or a pinwheel). Once cooked to a golden brown, the buñuelos would be placed onto a paper towel to drain excess oil, then placed into a large basin of cinnamon sugar. RF recalls being in charge of this step, when she was young, using a fork to roll and coat the buñuelos in the sugar. They would make multiple trays of them for the big family Christmas party, and everyone would take some home at the end of the night–with a reminder to keep them uncovered, as they would get stale otherwise.

Analysis: This is a Latin American dessert that obviously holds significance for this family and their culture. The act of making the food is, in and of itself, a big deal, and it was clearly important that there was more than enough in supply. I see it as a way to provide for the entire family, and a connecting kind of ritual of cooking, especially during the holidays.

Tamales

Text:

RF: The making of the tamales was a big group activity. With everybody, you know, around the table, and the big pots of the masa, and all that stuff. Most of the time we were over at my [aunt]’s house, and my great grandmother was there, and my mom, and–it seems to me like there were so many aunts and uncles around. But, you know, we’d have the big pot with all the masa that they’d mixed, and they’d mixed it up with their hands. We would go to [store name] and get the masa for tortillas, and then we would hand-mix the lard in, and they would do it with their hands and I was always like, “that’s disgusting.”

Interviwer: [laughs]

RF: And then they would have to soak the hojas in water, and you’d have to clean them because there would be like, the strings from the corn, right? And you would have to make sure there were no bugs in there. And then there would be this big spread out on the table and everyone would have a seat, and there would be… the cheese, the grated cheese with the Ortega chilis. And then there would usually be the pork, like shredded red pork. And sometimes there would be the sweet ones, which I didn’t care for–they would put pineapple and cinnamon or raisins, or something, and they would dye the masa different colors. You know, it was just a big deal, very familial. Everyone had the spoons, and spreading out the masa, and then lay the cheese very carefully, and then roll it and tist it and fold it and prop it up, and–it was a big deal. I don’t think it was hours, but it seemed like it did go on all day.

Interviewer: Yeah.

RF: And then they would fill the big pot. And uh, we’d wait and wait for these things to cook, and then we’d have, you know–we’d have dinner the night before, of tamales, and then we would make enough tamales for the party, and then everybody would take home tamales as well.

Context: RF is a woman of mixed Mexican heritage in her mid 50s. She mentions this food being made in her family during Christmastime, and the making and preparation of the tamales being a big event in advance of a large family Christmas party that happened annually. She was born and raised in Southern California, and mentioned the event of going to a very specific store to search for the ingredients for the tamales with her great-grandmother.

Analysis: I think this ritual of food preparation before a big Christmas celebration is a common one, though one as communal and joyous as it is here is not always the case. I think this is a celebration of family, community, and culture, and a way of expressing care for the people around you. This is especially evident in the point made to allow every family member to bring tamales home with them after the event–a show of care and excess made possible only by a festival atmosphere, a way to take care of every member of the family.

La Mordida

Nationality: Mexican American
Age: 21
Occupation: Student
Residence: San Francisco
Language: Spanish and English

Text: “In my family, when it’s your birthday, everyone sings the ‘Happy Birthday’ song and then starts shouting, ‘¡Mordida! ¡Mordida!,’ which means bite. That’s when you are supposed to take the first bite of cake, but you are not allowed to use your hands. And as you are leaning in to take the bite, someone, usually my dad, shoves your face into the cake. Sure, it’s messy and your makeup gets ruined, but you’ve grown up with it, so you expect it. You can’t get mad at it; it’s tradition.”

Context: My informant told me this about this life cycle ritual, which is something her family does at every birthday celebration, no matter the age of the person. Even if you are turning 1 year or 90 years old. She first experienced it when she turned 1, and she can’t remember, but there is photo evidence of it. She recalls her first memory of it being around five years old, and her older brother did it to her. She emphasized that while it can be a surprise, it’s not seen as mean or rude. Instead, it’s a sign of affection. She associates this tradition with joy, family bonding, and humor. 

She learned this tradition from her parents and grandparents, who grew up practicing it in Mexico. Getting your face smashed into the cake is a larger constellation of birthday customs that include singing “Las Mañanitas” and having a piñata.

Interpretation: La Mordida is a playful, semi-ritualized disruption of a special moment. While it may appear aggressive to outsiders, the act of smashing someone’s face into a birthday cake works as an affectionate hazing, signaling inclusion into the family and community. It shows us the values of humor, resilience, and shared experience that are important in Mexican and Mexican American family structures. 

The word “mordida” literally means “bite,” but in this context, it’s a rite of passage. Taking a bite that isn’t graceful but instead messy is both funny and intimate. It shows there is a deep cultural heritage to younger generations through memories. They don’t watch the tradition; they experience it; they feel it on their faces.

Día de los Muertos

Nationality: Mexican American
Occupation: Teacher
Residence: Nevada
Language: Spanish and English

Text: “Every year for Día de los Muertos, my family sets up an ofrenda in the living room. We put up photos of all our loved ones who have passed away, even including our pets. Alongside, we also include marigolds, sugar skulls, pan de muerto, water, and their favorite foods. Pan de muerto is always a must to add to an ofrenda, it’s a sweet bread with bone-shaped decorations on top. For my grandfather, we always put out a can of Coke, a pack of cigarettes, and juicy fruit gum. My mother also believes in leaving a cup of water for every passed loved one since the journey to get back to Earth is a long one, and they are probably thirsty.” 

Context: My informant is Mexican-American and grew up in Los Angeles. Since she can remember, she has always participated in Día de los Muertos, and now, since she is older, she helps organize the family’s annual ofrenda. Her mother is from Oaxaca and takes the tradition very seriously. The ritual is a mix of sad and beautiful, but gives her a sense of connection to family members she never got to meet or ones she misses. The ofrenda is the emotional center of the celebration, but pan de muerto is the food associated with the holiday. 

Interpretation: The ofrenda ritual for Día de los Muertos represents a profound fusion of indigenous Mesoamerican beliefs as well as Catholic practices. The ofrenda acts as both a physical and spiritual portal, in order to welcome the dead, but also to unite the community through shared memory and tradition. This tradition emphasizes the circle of life and how death is not the end but a recurring part of life that invites return, celebration, and remembrance. Eating pan de muerto together turns the experience from commemoration to communion, where the past is not mourned.