@BobbyWilson1004@PEAtotheNUT After almost 20 years in Texas, I combine Texas BBQ with Georgia BBQ. Brunswick stew made with brisket hits in a way you can only imagine.
Texans have an intentional food safety blind spot when it comes to tamales.
We would never buy a hamburger out of a trunk of a car.
No back of a bike chicken.
Or soup from a backpack.
Or anything else cooked by a stranger with no explanation.
But tamales?
All suspicion disappears.
A cooler shows up. No signage. No credentials. No origin story.
We don’t ask questions. We ask how many dozen.
This isn’t an accident. It’s a choice.
Everyone has a tamale person.
A lady from church.
A guy in a parking lot.
A coworker’s aunt selling out of her trunk.
Even with H-E-B and legit online ordering, we still trust the cooler more than the store. We'd get into a fistfight over how good the tamale hookup we have is.
It’s December, peak tamale season.
I had a guy show up at my house several weeks ago while I was home sick. I checked my Ring camera and all I saw was a short Mexican guy with a slide-top Igloo cooler.
I knew exactly what he was there for.
I said hello on the intercom. Told him I was sick. He asked if I wanted any tamales.
I was devastated, I had to say no. I didn't want to give him the flu. But I was adamant he come back next time he was selling.
Will I ever see him again? Maybe. Maybe not.
Do I know where he gets them? Absolutely not.
Will I buy some if he ever comes back? You betcha.