tamales

the tamale lady is standing in front of the bank every morning when i walk by at 7am. the bank, like all other banks on 86th street in bensonhurst was built when banks were cathedrals, silent and ornate and smelling like elegance, where fancy ball point pens hung at the ends of beaded chains, just waiting for you to sign a check, a deposit slip. this particular bank is on the corner right where the elevated train spills morning folks out onto the sidewalk and although they all walk by her, none of them coming off the train ever stop to buy anything. i wonder about her choice, standing there next to the bank so early. who buys tamales at this hour?

next to her, wedged up against the bank, is one of those beat up push carts the old ladies use to mow down normal pedestrians. the steel kind less aggressive folks use for laundry or groceries. it is crammed with insulated boxes. i do not know for sure she keeps tamales in there. she could have anything in them. most of the ladies in the city sell sweets and little pastry sticks from carts and in harlem there was an old guy who sold flaky and savory pies from a little stand outside a favorite bar. but i want them to be tamales. and every day i walk by her on my way to school and i look at those insulated containers in her cart, wrapped up tight. every day i want to ask her about tamales but the possibility that she might say no keeps me walking past imagining instead.

then today there is a little crowd around her. a woman and three men stand right up next to her cart and one man leans in and speaks to her. he wears workboots and a dusty denim jacket and she laughs and nods and reaches a bare hand into the steam of the container, hauling up a beautiful tamale. she drops it into a square of foil and grabs another for the man, then wraps them up, twist, twist. they could have anything inside them, beef, pork, vegetables, cheese but it is likely they have pork inside, shredded and savory. now, i have never been a huge fan of pork much beyond bacon, but i have never had a bad tamale of any sort and the idea of strolling into work a little after seven am with a steaming tamale or two for breakfast makes me dizzy. i make a note to have tamale money ready for tomorrow.