Meet Yuki.

An 82 year old with the energy level of a teenager. A lady who can work a room like no one I’ve ever known. A woman with a boisterous laugh. A determined spirit. The most optimistic outlook on life.

She’ll make strangers feel like dear friends—and to her, they really are dear friends. She’ll stay up and bake bread til 3 in the morning just so her hairdresser can have a fresh loaf. Seriously. She’s kinda crazy—but a great kind of crazy. She’s a true servant, generous giver, lover of people kind of crazy.

This is Yuki. This is my grandma.


She’s a joy--a role model to many. And to me, she’s hesed.

Let me explain. This past weekend it was her 82nd birthday. Now, I know that on my birthday I like to be “pampered”. I want Steven to take me out to a nice dinner and serve me even more than he already does. (I realize that I sound somewhat like a brat at this point, but hey, just keeping it real. Isn’t that what we all want on our birthdays?)

Most would assume that an 82 year old would want this as well. Better yet, after 82 years she deserves to be pampered on her birthday. But no, not Yuki. My grandma’s idea of a birthday is having the whole family—25 of us rugrats—over to her house to cook for US.

HUH?

Not only that, but she wanted to make her homemade tamales and tacos. Her homemade tamales. This is an act of love. This is an act of service. This is an act of deep, deep hesed.

I know this because this year I helped her make them. One of my New Years resolutions is to learn a few of my grandma’s secret recipes—I want to be able to cook like my grandma some day. Basically, I want to be like my grandma some day and well, I can’t do that without knowing her food.

My grandma’s food is old school. It’s the real deal. It's real homemade. Forget the “boxed cake and homemade frosting” kind of homemade. That kind of homemade actually disgusts her. I remember how I once left a pre-made pie crust in her refrigerator and told her to use it. (I thought I was being nice. Not so much.) She looked at me square in the eye and said “I DON’T USE PRE-MADE”. It ended up in the garbage. (How dare I bring pre-made pie crust into her home. What was I thinking?) My grandma’s homemade is from scratch and I mean everything is from scratch. There is no cutting corners with her kind of cooking.

Don't believe me? Take a look for yourself.

TAMALE MAKING WITH GRANDMA: HESED IN A HUSK


Starting from scratch. Masa, baking powder and salt.


Pour in stock (homemade stock of course) and mix it up with your hands. It's messy. And fun.


Now add the masa mixture to the blender of already whipped Crisco.


Keep adding and blending.


And adding. And blending. How many of these tamales are we going to make, grandma?


Introducing the meat. It's delicious. It's mouth-watering. It's homemade. She made it the day before, so unfortunately I didn't get to see the process. All I know is that it must have taken a LONG time. I mean, 12 lbs. of pork shoulder has to take a long time, right? And yes I just said 12 lbs. Again, how many of these are we planning to make, grandma?


Now it's time to put the masa mixture into the husk. This is where it gets tricky. Grandma's instructions were to put the masa exactly 1/2 inch down from the edge of the husk. If it was any more or any less, it wouldn't be right. I started sweating at this point.


Now add the meat. Not too much, not too little. (Like I said before, there was 12 lbs. of meat in front of me, so I tended to add a little too much meat for my grandma's liking.) I was rushing...and my grandma doesn't like rushing.


Now add two olives. Well, two halves of an olive. "Why two?", I asked her. "Because that's just the way you do it." Well okay then, two it is.


After the meat and olives are placed correctly (phew), it's time to roll the masa together. The two masa edges must "kiss" each other perfectly in order to ensure a good tamale. If they don't kiss, the tamale will fall apart and the meat will spill out. If they kiss too much, the masa will be too thick on the outside resulting in a tamale not up to grandma's standards. Yikes.


Now, wrap the husk around the tamale and fold the empty bottom upwards. And there she is! You're all done. With one. How many more to go, grandma?


"LAUREN. WE'RE MAKING 100. I WANT EVERYONE TO BE ABLE TO EAT 4 TAMALES A PIECE, OKAY?" Since there's really no arguing with grandma, I rolled up my sleeves and got to work. (I told you she was kinda crazy...) Oh, and I forgot to mention that 3 days prior to this event, grandma fell on some ice and bruised her chin, lip and cheek. (Hence the bandaged face..) She also fractured her thumb. When I called her to see how she was, she said "The party is still on!" I didn't really call to ask about the party, but I guess that was her way of telling me she was A-OK.

Hmm, so maybe she's not kinda crazy...she may just be straight up crazy.


First batch done. Now it's on to...


Steaming the tamales. For an hour!


And voila! There they are...


DELICIOUSNESS.


Up close and personal.


A bite of heaven.

So there they are. My grandma’s homemade tamales. Hesed all wrapped up in a husk. I realized this afternoon how much love, patience, time and energy goes into just one of these tamales. It’s something that most people probably don’t even think about—mostly because they’re so delicious that they wolf em down in .5 seconds, but still.

I realized something else, too. While I was completely exhausted and needed an hour nap after the day’s events, my grandma, on the other hand, was more energized than ever. She loves this kind of stuff. This kind of stuff is, what I believe, keeps her so sharp and so vibrant at 82 years of age. The excitement for her not only lies in the food itself, but in the atmosphere that good homemade food brings. To her, having everyone over and being able to feed and serve all of us is so rewarding. She loves hearing that “we’re stuffed” and that the “food was the best”. She loves having us all around her house laughing, teasing and hanging out with each other. That’s all she wants for her birthday—that’s all she ever wants.

I so enjoyed this day with my grandma. I feel like I got to experience hesed in a real and tangible way—authentic love played out through food. And I got to taste it too. And even as a picky eater and non-tamale-lover, this hesed tasted oh so good.