I am somehow amazed at how eager others are to broadcast where they’re eating. The dead horse lying at the junction of food, place and internet has been beaten to glue in the past few years, but there’s something about the virtual, real-time mapping of New York City that continues to irk me.

Big words from a food blogger, I know. Yet, I can’t help but think that as new media expands the range of information available on great tastes and great places, social media seems to pin that information to the ephemera of declaration, chopping stories down to announcements, conversations down to responses and the cohesive experience of a meal down to a vivisection of moments that just might be better enjoyed in silence than immediately projected to anyone who’ll click “like.” While I love reading people’s thoughts about food, I wish we could all slow down just a bit to let things simmer before we turn every meal into a venue of conspicuous consumption.

At least, that’s how I feel when I’ve finished a meal on 138th St. and Alexander Ave. in the Bronx neighborhood of Mott Haven. Here, amidst lonely storefronts, public housing projects and the 40th precinct Bronx Police station, one of the best tamales I’ve ever eaten has been served on the street, morning after morning, for almost a decade.

I found myself on 138th at the encouragement of a friend, one whose eyes light up when he declares: “Tamales… the perfect food.” When he sat me down in his office to discuss the finer points of masa and pass on the name of his favorite tamal dealer, he momentarily revived the experience of the personal tip, a hushed form of sharing and guidance whose intimacy and grounding in actual face-to-face interactions allegedly errs on the side of misanthropes and cynics.

My first visit involved a late arrival, fifteen minutes of circling the wrong blocks and a desperate breakfast break at Golden Pizza before a phone call from my source set me straight.

“He’s not on the corner. Go halfway down the block on 138th. On the north side, across the street from the project parking lot. There are two ladies with an orange cooler at the stand nearby. They sell hot chocolate – it’s really sweet.”

The near-invisible table set up to dispense these wonders apparently operates under the name of Ebenezer. Unaware of this at the time, I ambled down 138th, told to look for a stout Mexican named after a character from The Matrix. As promised, just a few steps over from the hot chocolate vendors stood a well-rounded man in tinted glasses and a tan sweatshirt.

“You have tamales?” Yes. “Is your name Neo?”

He was indeed the one. An introduction and a handshake later, I was sitting on the stoop of a nearby apartment building, scooping masa and pork out of a corn husk with a plastic spoon.

Neo’s tamales Ebenezer, by any name imaginable, come pretty damn close to being the perfect food. Particularly eye-opening are the tamales oaxaqeuños, burrito-sized servings of lard-empowered corn meal and assorted fillings, steamed for hours in banana leaves. These tamales – whether they’re eaten fresh or frozen and re-steamed at home – easily overtake anything you can find at Trader Joe’s, the farmer’s market, a sit-down Mexican restaurant or even my super’s wife’s kitchen.

The masa beneath the banana leaf resembles a thick, semisolid porridge more than any kind of greasy and crumbly cornbread. Like any truly addictive foodstuff, it manages to unite starkly contrasting sensations – rich and fluffy, creamy and grainy, firm and delicate – under a banner of a mild, nutty flavor that demands your undivided attention. The filling within is moist to the point of leaking all the way to the tamal’s surface, always apportioned in absurdly generous amounts and endowed with unrepentant flavor.

At $2 a piece, these are the tamales that justify morning trips to the Bronx – Neo, who hits the street by 7:00 a.m. and makes deliveries to workers early on, tends to sell out of these prized bundles by 9:00 a.m on weekdays.

Neo’s tamal rojo, stuffed with dark meat chicken stewed in a rich red mole, offers the deep, roasted flavors of ancho without too much of the accompanying heat – the result is a hearty classic that pretty much anyone could get behind.

His true star, the tamal verde, is not for the faint of heart. Filled with glorious heaps of shredded pork that swim in a classically trained chile verde, these tamales hit with an intensely bright tomatillo flavor and equally powerful chile-fueled heat that combine for one unapologetically tasty kick.

Neo’s corn husk tamales, $1.25 each, are delicious but not nearly as exciting. Noticeably drier and less beautifully proportioned than their Oaxacan-style cousins, they’re only an option when the good stuff has run dry for the day.

A naturally bred businessman, Neo doesn’t need to recognize anyone as mayor to take care of his customers. I’ve received a taste of something different on the house every time I’ve stopped by, each sample an friendly reminder to try something new on my next visit. This particular treat, a tamal sandwich that one of his regulars decided not to buy, is an act of boldness that would collapse beneath the weight of a less qualified tamal. Although it’s not as good as the product undressed, the moistness of the masa and the substantial spread of chile verde makes this gift a nice hand-held alternative to what would otherwise by a very messy meal.

Neo’s tamales freeze extremely well; steaming them right out of the freezer and adding vegetables and a fried egg yields a great, home-cooked meal in minutes. Still, I prefer to eat mine on the spot. I’ve taken to walking across the street, where the project parking lot is bordered by a nicely curved lip of concrete, and sitting down to peel away the brown bag, paper napkin, aluminum foil and banana leaves, each layer hotter and hotter to the touch.

As steam rises from the mass of masa inside, I unfold a copy of the Times I’ve just picked up from the newsstand down the street and begin reading. Stragglers to the morning rush stroll by every few minutes, some of them stopping by Neo’s table to pick up a sack lunch. The sun is out. The sense of urban calm is serene. For 20 minutes, the world outside Mott Haven doesn’t exist, save how much of it I discern through the day’s news.

When I get to work, I email thanks for the tip and let my friend know that I’ll be posting my story about Neo’s tamales on Tuesday. His response:

As it turns out, as I roll my eyes at FourSquare updates, a more worthy man cringes at the thought of spilling the frijoles on one of his most treasured rites. Our shared desire to combat the dilution of life ends up on different notches of the same sliding scale, and I can only hope I’ve done justice to the trust invested in a personal tip.

What matters most is that the start – and hopefully the end – of any chain of Tweets and reTweets is a real discovery, a real conversation… and in my case a real meal outside the realm of new media business. Neo’s tamales certainly don’t deserve to be hidden from the masses, but they do deserve to be sought out and consumed with all senses attuned to the experience at hand. To the extent that I can make this happen, I’ll be passing two bucks from the Bronx to anyone who’ll make the early morning trek with plenty of gratitude.

After all, no one can be mayor of a banana leaf.

Tamales Ebenezer
353 E 138th St
Between Alexander Ave. and Willis Ave.
Bronx, NY 10454

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This entry was posted on Tuesday, May 4th, 2010 at 9:45 am and is filed under Bronx, New York.