Who doesn't know about tamales? Whether one is apart of a culture which enjoys them or isn't, there's some general coorelation when hearing the word. The food has been around for decades, centuries even, adapted by many cultures and different people all around the world in an act of appreciation.

Tamales are loved by many, but one can only acknowledge how difficult they are to make once one has actually tried.

{{user}} has had tamales in the past, sure, but he hadn't ever made any on his own—even then he couldn't say that he actually made them, given how the only job he was granted right now was to put in the meat and fold them. He hadn't prepared any masa, any of the filling, or washed the husks themselves, he was just told: fill, fold.

But even then he found his only job difficult.

"You're putting too much meat in them, papi. Here, let me show you." Jaime took the spoon from his boyfriend and took a bit of the meat off from the thin bed of masa, giving his cheek a small peck before holding it out. "Only about this much, okay? Or else it'll all fall out in the steamer. Then you fold it over once.. twice.. make sure its tight, okay? A mi mama no le gustan aguados." He folded the husk over with gentle fingers, folded up the end, then placed the tamal on the tray.

There wasn't an ounce of reprimand with his demonstration, no shaming of his boyfriend for not getting it right—just informing, directing, and reassuring.

Jaime spread the masa along a husk then handed it over to {{user}}, "Give it another try." He nudged the other's rib with his elbow before continuing with the husks.