Tamales Oaxaqueños – Banana Leaf–Wrapped Tamales With Chicken Or Mole

My cousin Rafael? ¡Ay Dios mío! He thought he could improve my grandmother’s mole. Improve it! Like she didn’t spend seventy years perfecting it. The drama, people, the DRAMA.

Tamales, see, they’re not just food. They’re history, mija. Oaxaca—that’s in southern Mexico, for those who didn't pay attention in geography—they’ve been making tamales wrapped in banana leaves since before we had…well, before we had anything good. The Zapotec and Mixtec civilizations? Centuries ago? They were already at it. These aren't the pork-in-corn husk kind, mind you. This is Oaxacan. Think delicate, fragrant, and a little bit of a challenge to eat without getting sauce everywhere. It's an old, old tradition, linked to celebrations, to offerings, to just...life.

And then came the Spanish, of course (always gotta mess things up, right?). They added ingredients, tweaked flavors, but the basic idea remained. Banana leaf wrapping kept everything moist, flavorful, and frankly, smelled amazing. Every family has their own version, passed down through generations. The filling can be chicken, pork, even vegetarian options now, but always with that delicious, complex Oaxacan mole or a simple, spicy adobo. It’s like…a hug in a leaf, you know? A messy, wonderful hug.

It all started with Abuela Elena’s birthday. Eighty-five years young, and still sharper than Rafael with a spice grinder. She decided this was the year to make Tamales Oaxaqueños, the real deal. Now, our family has rules about Abuela’s cooking. Rule number one: do NOT offer suggestions. Especially not Rafael. He thought he knew better, adding cinnamon to the mole when nobody asked. ¡Ay, caramba!

“Just a touch, Elena,” he said, all innocent. “To enhance the flavor profile.”

Abuela’s eyes narrowed. You could see the chancla hovering in her mind. My mother intervened, thankfully. But the damage was done. The aroma was…off. Not bad, exactly, just…not Abuela.

Then my sister, Sofia, got involved. She's a pastry chef, thinks she's Julia Child, constantly trying new techniques. "Maybe we should sous vide the chicken?" she suggested. Sous vide! In a banana leaf tamale! Abuela nearly had a heart attack.

“Sous what?” she sputtered. “We don’t need fancy machines! We have pots and love!”

Honestly, it was exhausting. Everyone offering their ‘improvements’. I tried to stay out of it, mostly because I knew better than to mess with Abuela’s cooking—or her chancla. But then Tía Mildred showed up.

Oh, Tía Mildred. She's convinced she's a food critic, even though her most discerning taste test is deciding which brand of instant coffee is least offensive. She started criticizing the size of the banana leaves. “Too small!” she declared. “Not enough leaf coverage! It will dry out!”

Abuela, who had been simmering quietly until now, finally exploded. “Mildred, you couldn’t tell a banana leaf from a pothos plant!”

It devolved into a full-blown family argument. Spilled salsa, accusations of culinary incompetence, the works. And poor Abuela, sitting there with her unfinished tamales, looking heartbroken. I stepped in and managed to calm everyone down (mostly by promising everyone extra tamales, once we re-made the mole without cinnamon).

I took over the mole, carefully following Abuela’s recipe. No cinnamon. No sous vide. Just good, old-fashioned ingredients and a whole lot of stirring. We spent the next six hours assembling the tamales, wrapping them in those beautiful banana leaves, steaming them to perfection. It was chaotic, messy, but…it felt right.

Finally, they were ready. We sat around the table, the entire family, and tasted Abuela’s Tamales Oaxaqueños. They were perfect. Rich, flavorful, and filled with love. Even Rafael and Sofia admitted their ‘improvements’ hadn’t been necessary. Tía Mildred just kept saying "Needs more salt!"

And when Abuela smiled, that was all that mattered. The drama? Worth it. Every spilled drop of salsa, every heated argument, every near-chancla incident. Because in the end, it wasn't about the tamales themselves. It was about being together, honoring our traditions, and remembering what truly matters: family. ¡Y comer bien! (and eating well!)

Recipe

Ingredients 🌽🥘

• 1.5 lbs boneless, skinless chicken thighs (or pork shoulder)
• 1 tbsp olive oil
• 1 onion, chopped
• 3 cloves garlic, minced
• 1 tsp cumin
• 1/2 tsp oregano
• 1/4 tsp smoked paprika
• 6 dried ancho chiles, stemmed and seeded
• 4 dried guajillo chiles, stemmed and seeded
• 1/4 cup almonds
• 1/4 cup raisins
• 1 tbsp sesame seeds
• 1 corn tortilla, torn into pieces
• 1 slice of day-old bolillo bread, torn into pieces
• 1/4 cup chicken broth
• Salt and pepper to taste
• 3 cups masa harina (corn flour for tamales)
• 2 cups warm chicken broth
• 1 cup lard or vegetable shortening (lard is more traditional, don’t tell Abuela I said that)
• 24 large banana leaves, softened over an open flame or in a warm oven
• Cilantro sprigs for garnish

Tools 🔪🥄

• Large pot
• Skillet
• Blender
• Mixing bowls
• Steamer basket or large pot with a rack
• Tongs
• Kitchen twine (optional)

Steps

1. First, cook the chicken! Season it with salt and pepper, then sear in olive oil until browned on all sides. Add onion, garlic, cumin, oregano, and smoked paprika; cook until fragrant.
2. Rehydrate those chiles! Place ancho and guajillo chiles in hot water for 30 minutes, or until softened. Drain and add them to the blender along with the cooked chicken, almonds, raisins, sesame seeds, tortilla, bread, and chicken broth. Blend until smooth – you may need to strain if it's too chunky. ¡Ay, qué rico!
3. Now for the masa! In a large bowl, combine masa harina with warm chicken broth and softened lard (or shortening). Mix well until a soft, fluffy dough forms – test by dropping a small amount into water; it should float.
4. Time to assemble! Lay a banana leaf flat on a work surface. Spread about 1/4 cup of masa onto the leaf, leaving a border around the edges. Spoon 2-3 tablespoons of the mole chicken filling on top of the masa.
5. Wrap it up! Fold the sides of the banana leaf over the filling, then fold in the ends to create a neat package. Secure with kitchen twine if needed. Repeat with remaining ingredients.
6. Steam those beauties! Arrange tamales vertically in a steamer basket or on a rack inside a large pot. Add enough water to reach just below the rack. Steam for 3-3.5 hours, checking water level occasionally. They’re done when the masa pulls away easily from the banana leaf.
   ⏱ Timer

Make-Ahead / Storage

• You can prepare the mole sauce a day ahead and store it in the refrigerator.
• Assembled, uncooked tamales can be frozen for up to 3 months. Thaw completely before steaming.
• Cooked tamales can be refrigerated for up to 4 days. Reheat by steaming or microwaving.
• Don't worry if they stick a little; that means they're good

!

Side Dish Pairing

A fresh and vibrant Mexican rice salad complements these rich tamales perfectly. The acidity cuts through the richness of the mole, and the coolness provides a nice contrast.

“Well, that's all folks!"

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