My praise for Sinaloa Express’ tamales is complimenting on a level usually reserved for my mother’s tamales. She only makes them Christmas and select special occasions. She never buys them because, like the legion of Mexican moms before and after her, she says, “Why buy something she can make so much better, with mine and my sisters’ begrudging help, when you can make it at home?”
I had not found the restaurant, carreta, or señora to rival her corn-husk-wrapped pockets of masa love and, for my own safety, refrained from questioning that it was possible. Now, I can genuinely say I’ve found a little slice of Sinaloa and home here in Los Angeles in restaurant form: Sinaloa Express. Though if you ever ask me in front of her, I will have to lie and say they don’t even come close.
One bite of their tamal de puerco and I was a believer.