Did I just eat the best tamale of my life? The masa -- moist, fluffy and steaming -- did not conceal a meat filling, but instead hid gems of sweet corn. It wasn't slathered in a flamboyant, fiery sauce, but only a generous drizzle of Mexican crema, enough queso fresco to add a mild tang, and the barest inkling of chile verde that whispered from a sauce so light I at first mistook it for melted butter. The tantalizing touch of green and a demure heat that tingled like a first kiss had me scraping the husk for every last clinging drop of it. Simplicity. Magic. Perfection. The kitchen at Tarasco's New Latino Cuisine had once again delivered a plate of restrained and effortless beauty, this time in the form of an inglorious lump of dough wrapped in a homely dried maize leaf that Tarasco's had treated with the same affection that many upscale restaurants devote to trios of expensive proteins or exotic ingredients fawned over by the easily impressed. But this was just corn: earthy and humble masa, candy-sweet kernels, and a waft of woody, farmland perfume from the steamed wrapper.
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