In Mexico, the air is thick with the steam and aroma of tamales on the eve of February 2. But the story begins weeks earlier around the table with rosca de Reyes, a sweet, circular, firm brioche-like bread adorned with sugar and dried fruits, symbolizing the crown of the Magi who traveled to meet baby Jesus. Baked inside is a hidden plastic or porcelain figurine, a nod to the biblical story of Mary and Joseph’s efforts to hide their newborn from Herod’s wrath.

Whoever finds the figurine in their slice—each person cuts their own—becomes the padrino of the upcoming feast, tasked with providing tamales for everyone present. It’s an honor, sure, but some slyly angle their slice away from the center, hoping to dodge the tiny guest hidden inside. Others, upon finding it, might pause for a split second before casually tucking it into their cheek, as if nothing happened. Sharing the rosca de Reyes is  a communal ritual and a delicious way to keep the tradition alive.

Tamales, the heart and soul of the Día de la Candelaria feast, are a culinary marvel in their own right. Crafted from corn masa that has undergone the ancient, transformative process of nixtamalization, these bundles of joy are a testament to the depth and breadth of Mexican cuisine. Whether wrapped in corn husks or banana leaves—depending on the region—and steamed to perfection, each tamal carries the imprint of generations past, shaped by indigenous techniques, Spanish influence, and local ingredients.

But describing their physical preparation alone ignores the mysticism that runs through the kitchen; it’s believed that the energy brought to the tamal-making process—whether through dance, prayer, or the rhythm of music—affects the outcome, turning a simple meal into a communal exercise in alchemy.

Día de la Candelaria marks the day Jesus was presented at the temple and coincides with the first day of the Aztec calendar. Tamales were the food of choice for the feast, as many pre-Hispanic gods received corn offerings—it was believed that humans were made of corn.

But beyond its religious roots, the feast is a communal affair—one that unfolds in kitchens and dining rooms across Mexico and beyond. Sharing tamales on Día de la Candelaria is a reminder of the enduring power of food to bring people together across generations. It’s a tradition that doesn’t just honor the past; it stitches it into the present, inviting family and friends to the table to continue a story that is still being written, and like everything that is Mexico, it always entails a little bit of magic.