Tamales De Rajas Con Queso – Filled With Roasted Poblanos And Cheese.

Okay, okay, let me tell you. It all started with a burning smell… and not from Abuelita’s pastel de tres leches, which is saying something.

Tamales? They are ancient. Like, way before TikTok ancient. The Aztecs, mijos, they were doing tamales—using whatever leaves they could find. No fancy banana leaves back then, you know? It was corn husks or nothing. And the fillings! Forget your cheese and roasted peppers; it was like, insects and turkey and stuff. ¡Ay Dios mío! I don’t even want to think about it. This was survival food, see. Then the Spanish came along—they brought the pork, the chicken, the spices—and things got a little more interesting. More civilized, maybe.

But really, the heart of a good tamal isn’t in the history books. It’s in the hands that make them. Every family has their secret. A pinch of this, a dash of that, a mumbled curse if the masa doesn't cooperate. For us? It’s about getting everyone together. A whole day dedicated to steam and gossip and hoping Tía Mildred doesn’t try to “help.” Believe me, that's a thing. A real thing.

So last year, we decided to make tamales de rajas con queso (roasted poblano and cheese)—Abuelita’s favorite. My cousin, Marisol, offered to bring the music. That’s code for reggaeton loud enough to shake the windows. Honestly, the vibrations probably helped soften the masa. Anyway, everything was going smoothly—well, as smooth as things ever get when the whole familia is involved. Abuelita was overseeing everything, naturally, giving instructions like she’s conducting an orchestra. “Más manteca, mija! Más!” (More lard, dear!)

Then Tía Mildred arrived. Oh, Lord. She breezed in with a plate of her famous pickled jalapeños—which nobody asked for, by the way. They taste like sunshine marinated in vinegar and regret. And she announced, very loudly, that she was going to “supervise” the filling process. Supervise! Like we don't know how to roast a pepper. Like she hasn't been ‘supervising’ every holiday dinner since 1978.

She started “helping” by rearranging all the roasted poblanos. “These aren't aligned properly,” she said, as if it were a matter of national security. Then she started sampling the cheese. Not just a little nibble, mind you. She cut off huge chunks and declared it "a bit bland." Bland! It’s Oaxaca cheese, Tía Mildred, it’s supposed to be delicate. Then she started offering suggestions, like, “You know, a little pineapple might brighten these up.” Pineapple in tamales? ¡Qué horror!

I tried to steer her towards setting the table, but she insisted on demonstrating the proper way to spread the filling onto the masa. Which, apparently, involves using a spatula like she's frosting a wedding cake. Masa went everywhere. On her apron, on the counter, in her hair. She looked like a walking, talking cornfield.

Abuelita just watched with this little smirk, saying, "Mm-hmm," under her breath. My other cousin, Sofia, was trying not to laugh so hard she choked. Even my husband Carlos (who usually avoids family gatherings at all costs) peeked his head in from the living room and whispered, “What is happening?” I just sighed and handed him another stack of corn husks. Distraction is key.

We finally managed to get the tamales assembled—after several more “helpful” interventions from Tía Mildred. And then came the steaming. That’s when things got really interesting. The pot was overflowing, steam was billowing, and someone—I suspect Marisol—turned the music up even louder. It smelled amazing, though, that smoky, cheesy, peppery goodness.

The best part, honestly, isn’t eating them. It’s seeing everyone gathered around the table, sharing stories, laughing until their sides hurt. Except for Tía Mildred, who was busy complaining that her pickled jalapeños weren’t getting enough attention. But hey, you can’t win ‘em all. This year, I may hide the pickled peppers… or suggest she supervise the dessert instead. Maybe pastel de tres leches will keep her occupied. Probably not.

Recipe

Ingredients 🌽🥘

• 4 pounds pork shoulder, cut into large chunks
• 1 tablespoon salt
• 8 medium poblano peppers
• 2 white onions, quartered
• 4 cloves garlic, peeled
• 1 pound Oaxaca cheese, shredded
• 4 cups masa harina (corn flour) for making masa
• 2 teaspoons baking powder
• 1 ½ cups lard, softened (yes, lard! Don’t judge.)
• 2 ½ - 3 cups warm chicken broth
• 1 teaspoon cumin
• 1/2 teaspoon oregano
• 24 dried corn husks

Tools 🔪🥄

• Large stockpot
• Baking sheet
• Blender or food processor
• Mixing bowls
• Spatula
• Steamer pot with steamer insert

Steps

1. First, cook the pork! Place the pork in the stockpot, cover with water, add the salt and bring to a boil. Reduce heat and simmer for about 2 hours, or until tender. Shred the pork and set aside; we won’t need it for the filling itself, but it flavors the masa beautifully.
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2. Now, let's roast those poblanos. Char the poblanos directly over an open flame on your stovetop (or under the broiler), turning frequently until blackened on all sides. ¡Cuidado! Watch out for the smoke. Place the charred peppers in a bowl and cover with plastic wrap for 10 minutes to steam. This makes peeling them easier.
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3. Peel, seed, and slice the steamed peppers. Then, sauté the quartered onions and garlic in a little of the rendered pork fat until softened. Add the sliced poblanos and cook for another 5 minutes. Stir in the shredded Oaxaca cheese until melted and gooey. Set this glorious mixture aside—this is the rajas con queso magic.
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4. Time for the masa! In a large bowl, combine the masa harina, baking powder, cumin, oregano, and salt. Add the softened lard and work it into the dry ingredients with your hands until crumbly. Slowly add the warm chicken broth, mixing until a soft, smooth dough forms. It should be the consistency of peanut butter. You may need more or less broth. This is where Abuelita will tell you if you’ve “got the feel” for it.
5. Soak the corn husks in hot water for at least 30 minutes, until pliable. Pat them dry before using. Spread about 2-3 tablespoons of masa onto each husk, leaving about 2 inches clear at the bottom and sides.
6. Spoon about 2-3 tablespoons of the rajas con queso filling down the center of the masa. Fold one side of the husk over the filling, then fold the other side over, creating a neat little package. Fold up the empty end of the husk to seal.
7. Stand the tamales upright in the steamer basket (I like to tie them in bundles of 5-6!). Add water to the pot, making sure it doesn’t touch the tamales. Cover tightly and steam for 1 hour and 30 minutes, checking the water level occasionally and adding more as needed.
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8. To check if they are done, carefully open one tamal. The masa should pull away easily from the husk. If not, steam for another 15-20 minutes.
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Make-Ahead / Storage

• Tamales can be assembled ahead of time and refrigerated, unsteamed, for up to 24 hours.
• Cooked tamales can be refrigerated for

up to 5 days or frozen for up to 3 months. Reheat by steaming.

Side Dish Pairing

These tamales pair beautifully with a simple Mexican rice and a fresh salsa verde. A dollop of crema Mexicana adds a nice tang!

My Abuelita used to say, “A tamale is more than just food; it’s a little piece of our heart wrapped in corn.”

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