Masa in the limelight; Masa : the Spanish word for "dough": in practice, the soaked and ground corn meal used to make tamales, tortillas, sopes, tostadas, huaraches and other antojitos, or appetizers

Art Culinaire, Spring, 2006

THE CAUSTIC ACTION OF CALCIUM HYDROXIDE, or lime, is what separates masa from a lump of indigestible ground corn. To create lime, calcium carbonate (CaCO3), naturally occurring in limestone, coral, chalk and shellfish shells, is heated, a process that releases carbon dioxide and results in the formation of calcium oxide (CaO). In this form, lime can be heated to 4661 degrees Fahrenheit without melting. Until the widespread use of electric lights, theater technicians took advantage of calcium oxide's high melting point, heating it with a flame until it emitted a bright white light, which could be aimed at a stage--hence the term "limelight." We can only assume that extreme care was taken to keep the limelights perfectly dry, because when calcium oxide comes into contact with even the slightest amount of moisture, it rapidly heats, bubbles and releases a large amount of high-temperature steam. Lime in this form is referred to as unslaked lime, meaning that its fundamental thirst for moisture has not been satisfied, or slaked. Calcium hydroxide (CaH2O2), the form used to make masa, is calcium oxide which has been treated with water. After the aforementioned chemical reaction causes all the moisture in calcium oxide to evaporate, you're left with a powder known as slaked lime, or pickling lime.

Masa is made from dried field or dent corn, a variety with far less sugar than the sweet corn that graces the American table. Field corn has a very thick outer skin that must be chemically loosened and removed to make the kernels edible. When boiled with corn in a 5% solution for about 20 minutes, slaked lime loosens the indigestible skin surrounding each kernel. Later on, removing the skin will help create a relatively uniform, soft dough. Vitamin B-3, or niacin, is also unbound by this process, making it possible for the human body to absorb it. After the initial lime treatment, the mixture, known as nixtamal, is left overnight. Then the corn is drained and rinsed in fresh water, and the skins that float to the top are discarded. The resultant swollen kernels look identical to what is known in the American South as hominy; however, for masa, the nutrient-rich hulls are left intact, whereas hominy's preparation calls for their removal.

Traditionally, the nixtamal is ground on a metate, which looks like a miniature, low-slung coffee table made of volcanic rock, with a sloping depression in the center or off to one side. A grinding stone called a mano (literally, "hand") or metlapil, also made of volcanic rock, is used to crush the kernels against the metate's rough surface. The fineness of the grind depends on the intended use of the dough: masa that is intended for tortillas is finely ground, while masa for tamales is more coarsely ground. Of course, in modern kitchens and tortilla factories, mechanized grain mills and food processors have replaced the metate, but in the more isolated parts of Mexico, patting out perfectly round and flat tortillas by hand is still considered a valuable skill, one that is taught to young girls shortly after they are old enough to walk. Despite its seeming simplicity, the art of torear is perfected over the course of many years, and it is not easily picked up by even the most accomplished gringo chefs. For those who do not find themselves living in rural Mexico, tortilla presses, like grain mills, are inexpensive, widely available and easy to use.

Masa tastes and behaves best on the day it is made, but very few modern chefs have the space, time or expertise to make it properly. "Fresh masa is hands-down the best," wrote Rick Bayless in his 1996 book Rick Bayless's Mexican Kitchen (Scribner), "but it's close to impossible to make at home, it's an effort to find in most communities and it's easily perishable." Indeed, Chefs Aaron Sanchez and Richard Sandoval, who created a number of recipes using masa for this story, both reported with regret that making masa from scratch was simply not practical for their very busy restaurants. In most cases, the chefs instead use masa harina, dried and powdered masa that can be easily reconstituted with hot water. "I'll give you an idea how far masa in this country has come," says Sanchez. "It used to be that you could only get all-purpose masa, but now you can get all these different grinds--coarse for tamales, finer for tortillas," he explains. "I make every masa product in my restaurant every day. I love it. It's like a ritual to me."

A CENTERED SUPERSTAR

AARON SANCHEZ

CENTRICO & PALADAR

NEW YORK, NEW YORK

AARON SANCHEZ HAS JUST TURNED 30, BUT HE'S ALREADY RACKED UP MORE diverse experiences than many chefs twice his age. From a teenage stint at K-Paul's in New Orleans to hosting a television show, writing a cookbook, developing lines of cookware and apparel and, oh yeah, owning and running two restaurants, the young chef is in seemingly constant motion.

Sanchez was born in El Paso, Texas, and spent his early childhood years watching and helping his mother, Zarela Martinez, cook traditional Mexican dishes for her catering business. Before her son was 10 years old, the family had moved to New York. Martinez eventually opened her first Manhattan restaurant, Zarela, which continues to offer an antidote to the wan bean burritos that had long defined Mexican cuisine in the United States. In the early 1990's, she enrolled her son in a master course taught by Paul Prudhomme, who would become Sanchez's culinary mentor and first serious employer.