We made 17,000 tortillas.

There are experiences in a cooking career that stay with you.

For me, working the Masters is one of them.

There is something about Augusta during Masters week that is hard to explain unless you have been there. The preparation, the standard, the history, and the number of talented culinary people who come together from all over the country make it unlike anything else I have experienced.

I have been lucky enough to cook in a lot of places over the years, and this one sits pretty high on the list.

For the past two Masters, I was trusted to lead the Taqueria team inside Map & Flag.

This past year, over seven days, we made more than 17,000 tortillas.

By hand.

We were doing somewhere around 2,500 to 3,000 a day.

There were eleven people on the team, two sous chefs, culinary students, people already working in the industry, and several key members who had come back from the year before.

That second year meant a lot to me.

We already knew each other. There was trust. There was rhythm. The expectations were understood.

I went there to lead, mentor and teach, but both years I came home reminded that I am still very much a student of this craft.

And somewhere in those seven days, we became tortilla nerds.

When you make that many tortillas, you start paying attention to things most people probably never think about.

The temperature of the water.

How the masa feels.

How long it rests.

How evenly the dough ball is pressed.

Whether it stayed covered.

The temperature of the comal.

And then there is the puff.

That little pocket of air that forms between the two layers of the tortilla when everything is working.

When it happens, you know it.

The tortilla gets soft. It gets pliable. It has the texture you are looking for.

And after you have made a few thousand of them, you start chasing that puff.

We would compete with each other a little. Who made the best tortilla? Who got the best puff? Who could keep their station the cleanest and their rhythm the strongest?

It was fun.

But underneath that competition was something serious.

We cared.

If you make one tortilla, you might get lucky.

When you make more than 17,000, luck does not help you very much.

The ratios have to be right.

The water has to be right.

The dough has to feel right.

The portions have to be consistent.

The rest matters.

The heat matters.

And everyone on the team has to understand what good looks like.

One of the things I would say is:

If you don't weigh it, you're guessing, and we don't guess.

That does not mean cooking should feel rigid.

It means that when you understand the standard, you can repeat it.

And once you can repeat it, you can start having fun with it.

That is something I have learned over and over again in kitchens.

There are Al Pastor Tacos on the SEASON board this week, and when I saw them there, I started thinking about Augusta again.

Not because I expect anybody reading this to go home and make 2,500 tortillas.

Please don't.

Start with twelve.

People get intimidated by homemade tortillas because they picture the whole thing happening right when dinner needs to be on the table.

That is the part I want to change.

The masa can be mixed ahead.

Let it hydrate.

Portion it.

Keep it covered so it does not dry out.

Put it in the refrigerator.

Your salsa can be made.

Your filling can be ready.

Your onions can be cut.

Then, when everybody is around the kitchen, that is when you press them.

That is when you put them on the hot griddle.

That is when somebody notices the first one puff and suddenly everybody wants to try.

That is not more work at 5:30.

That is the good part.

We talk a lot about the 5:30 moment around here.

This is another version of it.

Good cooking does not mean every part of dinner has to happen at the same time.

The work can happen earlier. The good part can happen at 5:30.

That is how professional kitchens work.

Preparation and cooking do not have to happen at the same time.

You do the quiet work when you have the time so that when it matters, you can actually enjoy cooking.

At Augusta, we had to stay ahead because there was no other choice.

At home, the stakes are obviously different.

But the principle is exactly the same.

You do a little work ahead so dinner does not own you later.

I think there is something bigger here than tortillas.

There are recipes you make once.

And there are skills you carry.

Learning what masa should feel like is a skill.

Knowing when the griddle is hot enough is a skill.

Seeing that tortilla puff and understanding why it happened is a skill.

Once you know it, nobody can take it away from you.

Maybe you show your kids.

Maybe your husband or wife takes over the press.

Maybe a friend is standing in the kitchen with you and learns how to do it.

Eventually somebody else is making the tortillas.

That is one of my favorite things about food.

You do not only pass down recipes.

You pass down the confidence to make them.

Tortillas show up in a couple of different ways this week.

On the Plant-Based side, the Al Pastor Tacos are built with achiote-marinated jackfruit, charred pineapple, white onion and cilantro. The important move is getting the jackfruit really dry before it hits the pan so it chars instead of steaming.

On the Classic side, the Turkey Enchiladas Verdes take tortillas in another direction with roasted poblano, tomatillo and queso fresco.

And the week reaches well beyond tacos, from Shrimp & Grits to Strip Steak, Chicken Florentine and Char Siu Pork.

But this week, I want you to try the tacos.

And if you have always bought your tortillas, keep buying them when you need to.

I do too.

But make them once.

Keep a bag of good masa harina in the pantry. I use Masienda heirloom corn masa harina.

Add warm water. Learn what the dough should feel like. Press a few. Put them on a hot griddle and watch what happens.

You may understand pretty quickly why eleven cooks in Georgia became tortilla nerds.

Before I go, hit reply and tell me: Have you ever made tortillas at home? I really do read the replies.

Michael

Chef Michael Rossi

Have a question or just want to say hello? Write me anytime at [email protected].

P.S. If this made your week a little easier, forward it to one person who's staring down the same 5:30 question. That's the whole way SEASON grows, one cook telling another. Send them here: tonightsseason.com/dinner