Okay class, listen up. If we’re being sticklers for language, the singular form of the popular, corn-husk-wrapped treat for which San Antonio is known is tamal, not tamale – not that we expect this distinction to take hold. Everyone loves their tamales, and that’s fine by us.

Here’s another clarification: a tamalada is not a party at which tamales (the proper plural has never been an issue) are consumed, but rather a festive event at which families get together to make these treats for the holiday season. And one final thing: Yes, you remove the husk first. (We forgive you former President Gerald Ford. Hispanic culture has so pervaded the country since your understandable gaffe in front of the Alamo that the mistake would not now be made.)

Now that that’s settled, how about a little history?

Tamales have been around since well before Cortez confronted Montezuma in Tenochtitlan in 1519. Although the maize-based tortilla predated them, archaeological records indicate that tamales – thought of then, as now, as a celebration food – were being consumed around the pyramids of the sun and moon in central Mexico as early as 250 B.C. Also then, as now, they were made by spreading corn masa made of dried corn, simmered with lime and ground on a stone metate into rehydrated, dried corn husks, adding a flavoring (usually a paste of chiles or some bits of wild game or beans) then wrapping and steaming the packets in a clay cazeula.

 At the tamaladas that take place in kitchens all over San Antonio in advance of the holidays, this process hasn’t changed at all in its essence. True, aluminum steamers have replaced earthen ollas, and masa can either be bought from a molino or made from a dried masa de harina purchased at many grocery stores. Traditionalists will still beat lard into the masa until a pinched portion will float in a glass of water.

 And, yes, though beans are always a part of the plan as they were in the Aztec court, fillings now routinely include stewed chicken, shredded pork previously cooked with cumin, chili powder and garlic powder, and even ground beef. A green or red chile sauce may be added to the stuffed masa before cooking, or the sauce may be reserved for anointing after unwrapping. Exclusively during the holidays, sweet tamales spangled with raisins, pecans and coconut may also be assembled; they’re especially good with the cinnamon-spiced hot chocolate that’s another holiday staple.

Not invited to a tamalada? Not to worry. The tradition has become so popular that institutions such as the San Antonio Public Library and the Witte Museum also get into the act. The main library’s tamal-making classes, which are followed by a free viewing of the charming play, Las Nuevas Tamaleras (a tamalera is a tamale maker of the female persuasion), are usually fully booked by early November, so plan ahead for next year. But the Witte offers classes on two Saturdays, Nov. 21 and Dec. 6, from 9 a.m. to noon at a cost of $25 for members and $35 for non-members. Call 210-357-1910 to register. In addition, the San Antonio phone book list 23 sources for tamales, not including multiple locations of some businesses. Delicious Tamales, one of the city’s biggest purveyors, has six outlets alone. They make tamales year ‘round, but their serious season begins in early November. “Regular” tamales here include pork, bean and chicken (plus jalapeños can be added to all of the above) and they routinely include cheese.

And, of course, tamales are a traditional component of the popular Mexican dinner plate year ‘round. The combination of tamales and mariachis at Mi Tierra on Produce Row makes for an especially festive holiday occasion. You can have them (the tamales, not the mariachis) simply mantled with chili meat gravy or cohabiting with enchiladas, crispy tacos, chili con queso, guacamole, even a beef steak ranchero. The Aztecs would be astonished – but they’d also feel just a little at home.