Some are baptized with a shot of tequila — I was born wrapped in corn husks.

I grew up among cornfields, my feet in the wet earth and my hands full of corncobs.

My grandmother welcomed me in the middle of a tamaliza, with tamales of biznaga, cinnamon, and honey — her hands, my first school of magic.

From her I learned that tamales are divine food, and that each time I knead and wrap them, I return to the womb of Mother Earth.

I am a tamalera: a keeper of Mexico’s most sacred culinary ritual. We are the sorceresses of corn — those who feed the cities and the countryside alike.

Through my cooking, I want to show the world the roots of Mexico and Latin America — the faces, hands, and ancestral flavors of my people.