Last week, an outing with friends to a concert caused me to change the menu for a big dinner I was doing Saturday night. After hearing a song about the making of mole poblano, a complex dried chile-based sauce from Mexico, I realized I’ve been wanting to make this ever since a Oaxacan cook gave me a recipe nearly 10 years ago.
Having long lost the recipe, which if I recall was more of a scrawl–in Spanish–on the back of an envelope, I found what appeared to be a solid one on Epicurious that included crucial suggestions and warnings that could mean the difference between tired cook/great sauce and scorched cook/ruined sauce.
Early Thursday morning, I rolled through the largest of my local Mexican grocers, searching for 3 kinds of dried chiles and countless seeds and spices. My amusement at the curiosity of the checkout guys (what’s this gringa buying?) turned to delight when I saw my total: $21.75. This was the high point of the day.
And then home, where the grind began. Each ingredient must be cooked separately, then combined in precise ways that all seemed to involve my Cuisinart bowl, which I must have washed a dozen times. The hours of labor, I soon learned, were a cake walk compared to the occupational hazards of making mole. I diligently heeded the warnings to wear gloves whilst de-seeding the ancho, mulato, and pasilla peppers and took care to avoid the sting of popping pumpkin seeds.
But I grossly underestimated the ferocity with which the chiles, now reconstitued and pureed, would spatter when heated in a stock pot. I also was off on the distance a bubble could fly. Within minutes, chile puree was spattered all over the stove, the kitchen cabinets, the floor, my arms. At the moment I realized that a thick, hot sauce made with spicy ingredients burns bare skin in two very distinct ways…a bubble popped and slapped me right in the eye. I recommend removing the contact lens as quickly as possible and then letting the tears flow freely.
It should be noted that the wise woman who first served me mole poblano had not made her own sauce, but purchased a paste from an expert mole maker at her local outdoor market. It should also be noted that like the French, I don’t attempt to make my own baguettes or croissants. Why I felt compelled to make a dish that requires a day of work, techniques I’ve never tried, and more than twenty ingredients, I cannot say. While on my hands and knees scrubbing the kitchen floor in front of my stove, I still didn’t know.
It wasn’t until the Husband and I had a sample with poached chicken for dinner that night that I realized: busting your ass to take a giant leap of faith feels amazing when the result is this good. The mole was simply fabulous. Dark, complex, earthy, spicy, sweet, smoky….luscious. Gorgeous on the plate, voluptuous the tongue. Thank goodness the 20+ people having dinner at my mother’s house were appreciative. But I’m no fool: it will be years before I try making this again. We’re hoarding a container of spare sauce in the freezer…maybe we’ll have mole for Christmas.
