Every week, we take you somewhere new. One country. One beloved dish that tells its story. The vegetables and fruits that grow in its soil. Join us on a journey through the world's kitchens, where food is memory, tradition, and love on a plate.
Mexico
Week of October 30, 2025
Mole Poblano
The Story Behind the Dish
In the baroque city of Puebla, where colonial churches rise against volcanic peaks, a sauce was created that would become Mexico's most complex culinary achievement. Mole Poblano, with its deep mahogany color and symphony of flavors, is more than a recipe—it's a bridge between two worlds, blending pre-Hispanic chocolate and chili traditions with Spanish-introduced spices and techniques.
Legend tells of Sor Andrea de la Asunción, a 17th-century nun at the Convent of Santa Rosa, who frantically invented the sauce when the Archbishop was coming to visit. In her panic, she began throwing ingredients together: dried chilies, chocolate, nuts, spices, and over 20 other elements. The result was miraculous—a sauce so complex that it would take hours to prepare and generations to perfect.
But mole is older than that legend suggests. The word itself comes from the Nahuatl "molli," meaning sauce or mixture. The Aztecs created early versions using wild turkey and chocolate. Today's mole poblano represents the beautiful collision of indigenous and European traditions: chocolate and chilies from the Americas meet cinnamon and cloves from the Spice Islands, almonds from the Mediterranean, and sesame seeds from Africa. It's Mexican history in a sauce, each ingredient telling a story of trade, conquest, and cultural fusion.
How to Make It
Ingredients
Preparation
- Toast the dried chilies in a dry skillet for about 30 seconds per side until fragrant. Remove stems and seeds, then soak in hot water for 30 minutes until softened.
- Meanwhile, simmer the chicken in salted water for 45 minutes until cooked through. Reserve 3 cups of the cooking liquid as stock.
- In the same skillet, toast the almonds, sesame seeds, and torn tortilla until golden. Set aside. Toast the raisins briefly until they puff up.
- In a blender, combine the drained chilies, toasted nuts, sesame seeds, tortilla, raisins, garlic, onion, tomatoes, cinnamon, cloves, and 1 cup of chicken stock. Blend until completely smooth—this may take several minutes. The sauce should be velvety.
- Heat the lard or oil in a large, heavy pot over medium-high heat. Pour in the blended sauce (it will splatter!) and fry for about 10 minutes, stirring constantly. The sauce will darken and thicken.
- Add the chocolate, sugar, and remaining chicken stock. Stir until the chocolate melts completely. The sauce should coat the back of a spoon. If it's too thick, add more stock.
- Simmer the sauce for 45 minutes, stirring occasionally. Taste and adjust salt and sugar. The flavor should be complex—slightly sweet, earthy, with subtle heat and deep chocolate notes.
- Add the cooked chicken pieces to the sauce and simmer for another 15 minutes to let the flavors meld.
- Serve over rice, sprinkled with extra sesame seeds. The mole should be thick enough to cling to the chicken but fluid enough to pool around it.
Mexican Vegetables
Ancient ingredients that define regional Mexican cooking
Huitlacoche
Central MexicoAmerican farmers call it corn smut and throw it away. Mexicans call it huitlacoche—"sleeping excrement" in Nahuatl—and consider it a delicacy worth more than the corn itself. This blue-black fungus transforms ordinary kernels into something that tastes like mushrooms met truffles. It's been prized since Aztec times, stuffed into quesadillas, folded into tamales, stirred into soups. When the rainy season hits, farmers watch their corn hopefully, waiting for this "Mexican truffle" to appear.
Nopales
Throughout MexicoThe prickly pear cactus appears on Mexico's flag for good reason—it's been feeding people here for millennia. Strip away those dangerous spines and you've got nopales, paddle-shaped cactus leaves with a tart, slightly slimy texture like okra. Grill them and they taste green and bright. Mexicans add them to tacos, scramble them with eggs, toss them in salads. They grow where nothing else will, turning desert into dinner. The Aztecs knew what they were doing.
Epazote
Southern MexicoThis wild herb smells like gasoline to some people, like heaven to others. There's no in-between. Mexicans toss it into pots of black beans not just for its pungent, slightly medicinal flavor, but because it actually reduces the gas beans cause. Its serrated leaves and distinctive aroma have no substitute—cilantro won't work, neither will oregano. When you taste authentic quesadillas in Oaxaca, that strange, compelling flavor? That's epazote. Ancient and irreplaceable.
Mexican Fruits
Tropical and ancient fruits from Mexico's diverse regions
Mamey Sapote
Yucatán PeninsulaCut through its rough brown skin, and you'll discover salmon-pink flesh that tastes like sweet potato met apricot, with hints of chocolate and honey. The Mayans treasured this fruit, growing it in their sacred gardens. Today, mamey appears in Mexican ice cream shops, blended into licuados (smoothies), or eaten with a spoon straight from its shell. It's so rich and sweet, you'd swear someone added sugar. They didn't—that's just what 3,000 years of cultivation creates.
Pitaya (Dragon Fruit)
Southern MexicoThis spectacular cactus fruit looks like something from another planet—bright pink skin with green flame-like scales. Slice it open and you'll find white or magenta flesh dotted with tiny black seeds. Mexicans have been eating pitaya for centuries, long before it became Instagram-famous. It tastes subtly sweet, like a mild kiwi mixed with pear. Street vendors sell them cut in half with a spoon, perfect refreshment in Mexico's tropical heat. The cactus that produces it blooms for just one night.
Tejocote
Central Mexico HighlandsSmall, golden, and tart—this Mexican hawthorn is the soul of ponche, that spiced fruit punch simmered in every Mexican home during Christmas. Raw tejocotes are mouth-puckeringly sour, but cook them with piloncillo and cinnamon, and they transform into something magical. The Aztecs called them texocotl. Today, they appear at winter markets piled high, destined for holiday celebrations. Some make them into candy or jam, but most people wait all year just for that first cup of steaming ponche.
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