This funky place was my last stop before leaving Natchez to head back to Baton Rouge. I couldn’t help but think the whole time that this lunch would be so much better with beer. Reading up on Mississippi tamales, I couldn’t really find a straight answer as to why tamales were so prized in a community with so few Hispanics. There were tales of migrant workers or Native Americans introducing the tamale to field hands (slaves) as an easy to transport meal, but I couldn’t find a clear reason for the Mississippi version to persist when there’s such easy access to more authentic tamales. These were okay, I even got some chili to top them off with to recreate what they call a gringo pie (tamales smothered in chili, onions, and cheese) but I’ve had so many better tamales, it was hard to see what all the fuss was about. All of us old enough to remember Muffaletta’s tamale joint on North miss those more than any other tamales. Fat, greasy, and fantastic with a High Life. And certainly venison tamales have worked their way into hunting camp processing over the years, but the Mississippi claim on great tamales seems as overblown as being the state that birthed the blues. Now they may have caused the blues, but certainly New Orleans and Memphis and Chicago have just as much if not more ownership of the blues. Anyway, still think this place would be a lot more fun with a bunch of friends and a bucket of beer.
