Holy Mole!

It's pronounced MO-lay, with the accent on the first syllable, and it's a staple of Mexican culinary sauces.  I learned about it in the early 1970's when I was in California as a young missionary, trying to speak Spanish and interact with the Hispanic folks in the San Joaquin Valley.
When I asked what was in it, the nice Mexican woman that was feeding us laughed and said that basically, it was made by walking around the kitchen and throwing in a little bit of anything you could find.
So, for a long time, whenever I had a mole craving, I'd buy some Dona Maria in a bottle and spice up some chicken or whatever.

Toward the end of our three-year assignment in the highlands of Peru, I assigned a cheerful Mexican Elder to work in the office.  By luck, he turned out to be a chef  (that's Spanish for "chef"), and when Paula's birthday was approaching, he volunteered to prepare a batch of real mole.  It took him several Preparation Days to hunt down all the ingredients in the local markets.  It then took about four hours to brew up the stuff.

It was perfect, the best I'd ever had.  He had mixed up a large batch, and we froze the extra and would pull it out occasionally when no one else was around.

Of course, Paula had to have the recipe. 

A couple of days ago, with some unexpected free time, we decided to go for it.  I took the list of ingredients to our local International Food Store - Su Tienda Hispana! and found everything.

You know, in retrospect, the check-out lady did look a little bemused when she saw that I was buying most of their stock of a couple of the three kinds of dried chiles specified in the recipe. 

So, the mole factory cranked up.  First, you gently fry the chiles to start softening them up, then soak them a bit, and then try to get most of the seeds out; they are what makes a chile hot.  Then you blend them up with, and I am not making this up, chocolate, peanuts, almonds, chicken stock, sesame seeds, anise, toast, a couple of corn tortillas, salt, sugar, raisins, the three kinds of chiles, a tomato, black pepper, cinnamon sticks, pork lard (!), garlic cloves, a couple of onions, cloves, and a partridge in a pear tree.  And what the heck, throw in the pear tree.  Like I said, a couple of laps around a Mexican kitchen, and Voila! you got mole.  

 Pretty soon, the place was becoming a bit of a mess as we liquified batch after batch.

Holy mole!  We ended up with about a gallon and a half of the stuff!

It was then that I re-read Elder Islas' instructions, and realized that I had missed one teeny-weenie detail in the Spanish instructions.  The quantities specified were supposed to feed treinta personas, which translates to thirty persons!  And even then, I don't think treinta personas could have made it through HALF that much mole.

So we now have enough excellent frozen mole poblano for the next, I dunno, ten years, assuming we use it once per week.  We thought about sending it as Christmas presents, but what with peanut allergies, the fact that it would melt along the way, etc., we put that one on hold for a bit.  However, if a jar of brown goo smelling like chilies and chocolate shows up on your doorstep, you'll know that we love you.  

In the end, we hope that you're smart enough to read your recipes carefully before diving in to a new one.  And that you like mole poblano...

Dave & Paula