Koo-Koo for Koosala

The undercooked prawns
Quickly cause gastric distress,
But you get the blame.

-Disheartened diner

I had a cabbage epiphany, a slaw about-face standing in my kitchen mindlessly flipping through a cookbook one early summer afternoon. Like most conversion stories I was ready, soft beam of light focused upon me--underneath the surface, changes gently mounting for months before. I had wastefully spent years of my youth snubbing befuddled and undignified sops of cruciferous matter benched on the side of my plate segregated within its own shallow saucer. I hardly felt bad about it, while its presence seemed required at every barbeque, picnic or party centered on a buffet table, I have never seen anyone fawn or fuss over koolsala.

But Vegetarian Planet by Didi Emmons had me rethink this salad which I spent years avoiding. Super sized tubs of macaroni salad, coleslaw, and potato salad, the holy trinity of deli sides daubed with a yellowish film greasy and aged, never did much to excite me. Nor did the milky pool of humiliation which surrounded and suffused shreds of wilted cabbage and carrot arouse much more than sympathy. Can anyone eat something looking so pitiful and forlorn? Shall we burden the dish further with the factual reality that cabbage is both relatively inexpensive and durable and a quick rumble with a pair of uncouth hands translates into crude cheap chew?

A pickle slice draped
Across its curvaceous peak
Fails to seduce me

-Loveless and lonely

Emmons explains that coleslaw liberated from its cloying mayonnaise base is a wholly different and exciting breed. Her suggestion is to lighten up the dressing and think outside of the Brassica oleracea box. Consider-- a heavy handed dose of mayonnaise is about as becoming as showing up on a date with a face thickly covered in cold cream. Interesting initially perhaps, but quickly the mask obscures and finally detracts, leaving the other party uninterested and more than a little indifferent. Yet a romp with a light brisk dressing, a splashy shimmer of oil, lime juice and herbs conveys a more liberal and carefree tone. It might be equivalent to wearing a thin sheer bodysuit, inviting and revealing the shape and taste underneath.

In this Dionysian spirit, the color, taste and texture of ingredients is celebrated and glorified: radiant ribbons of radicchio bewitch a glad celebration of carrot confetti infectious with the charismatic crunch of jicama dancing the lively tango with ruddy red cabbage. Plucks of caper, jots of parsley, mint and chive, and a slow pucker whine of lime, festive little party favors entangled within this veritable vegetal jubilee.

And the enjoyment is contagious. First the making of slaw is artful improvisation at its best. A food processor fitted with a shredding blade literally makes the process almost too quick to digest. I would actually recommend saving it for at least your third time, so that you can properly sink into the hypnotic ribbon making rhythm. Select your most beautiful bowl preferably low, wide, and broad like a pair of generous welcoming arms. Equip yourself with a heavy sharp knife, steady cutting board and all the colorful crisp vegetables that strike your fancy. Remember a little goes a long way, particularly when it comes to hacking something solid into a bunch of bits.

Size matters. This absolutely translates into texture, mouth feel and how the dressing distributes over the ingredients. The difference between a cabbage strip one-quarter of an inch thick, an eighth, or a sixteenth is considerable. Hair thin cuts gives an admirable crunch but with a delicacy that enables the diner to work less for their meal. All focus can then be applied towards taste and appreciation, effort to a minimum. I pay attention to length- too long and pieces dangle distractedly out of one’s mouth, too short and the vegetable becomes a stub which is decidedly too inelegant to be considered. I also shy away from cubes which is better suited for a toy box rather than this salad.

After all of this fancy knife work is completed and a small colorful mountain remains, it is time to consider the dressing. I have found that this is a time to amplify the intensity; the hard vegetables can handle it. In fact they need it. Of course you can fall back upon a simple mustardy balsamic dressing, but I encourage you to explore and own your slaw. I actually like to whirl mine up in a blender, taste and tweak style. I am particularly fond of blurring up jalapeno, cilantro, mint, shallot, fish sauce, lime juice, brown sugar, apple juice and oil. After the dressing passes the taste test, drizzle all over the slaw, toss and wait.

By now you might be breathless from excitement: the relaxed but concentrated chopping, the artful dressing composition, the slivers luxuriating, steeping and in fact beautifying within its marinade. This salad is irrepressible joy and shiny health- I have yet to serve it to a friend without at least a mini slaw conversion occurring. To boot, it is addictive. I end up sneaking it into omelets, sandwiches, and on top of soups and salads, even colorful hanks as a snack. Don’t be surprised if it steals the show from your main course. It is a magnificently easy way to eat your vegetables and beautify your world at the same time. Who knows you just might become a little koo-koo for Koolsala too.

Make-Your-Own-Coleslaw: I hope this doesn’t provide too much grief to just produce a list. I guess when it came down to it, I had a hard time deciding which type to write down, so I let you decide. I tend not to use much more than 4 ingredients for the slaw. The dressing I tweak a bit, depending on the mood, a little sweet one day, more savory the next. It is all unscientific, adding a bit more of what is needed. Just dress little by little like a regular salad (no big puddles) and let it rest for at least two hours. The list is meant to broaden the scope beyond the typical cabbage, apple, carrot, mayonnaise, vinegar and mustard. Just cut as thin as possible and dream up the possibilities. Fennel, pear, red cabbage and golden raisin? Celery, radicchio, jicama and blue cheese? Green cabbage, apple, snap peas with a curry dressing?

Possible Slaw Fixings:
Green cabbage
Red cabbage
Radicchio
Fennel
Celery
Celery Root
Carrot
Apple
Pear
Sugar snap peas
Asparagus
Jicama
Water Chestnut
Bean Sprout (avoid alfalfa which tends to get soggy)
Scallions
Basil, mint, parsley, cilantro

Dressing:
Olive, flax, grapeseed, walnut oil
Balsamic, apple cider, champagne vinegar
Dijon, honey mustard, wasabi
Shallots
Garlic
Apple juice
Honey, maple syrup
Tamari, fish sauce
Lime juice, lemon juice, pomegranate molasses
Peanut butter, avocado, coconut milk, yogurt, mayonnaise (a spoonful can give the right body sometimes)
Jalapeno
Curry powder

Toppings:
Capers, chopped olives, toasted coconut, sesame seeds, currants, blue cheese

Cloisons Etanches

It isn’t often that I wave the white flag and hang my head in submission to an overwhelmed system brought down by surfeit. It was the beans- circus colored pectin pumped sugar coated chews in vibrant flavors of a tropical fruit bowl. Had I stepped away from the jellies like good sense counseled, I would have been brought to a completely different turn in the road and I might now be discussing the virtues of oat bran. But with caution and reason thrown to the wind, I am now buried in the sugary residue of Easter past: glittery Peeps, Cadbury Cream Eggs, speckled mini eggs, foiled chocolates, jellybeans and bunny pops- a glut of goodies all crammed into my ever widening maw these past ten days. Trying to regain composure whilst ignoring the mounting jeers from the confectionary rabbits who have escaped a rapacious demise, I am working towards absolution. If the body is a temple, mine is a sugar shack.

Noticing the ebb and flow of appetite has been my way to stay in close contact with my animal self. While I trust my appetite to point me towards that which nourishes me, this information can occasionally still send me off kilter. For example this Easter with my basket aflutter with merriment, I completely gave in to the bright mirth filled colors and sweet innocence of the season. Over and over I was delighted by the gritty crunch of sugar against teeth as I bit into more jellybeans that I thought possible to eat. But the mounting jittery peak and crash of sugar levels, the high expectations and dashed hopes of mediocre meals, and various other trials and tribulations culinary and otherwise finally had me searching for my reboot button. Filled with crapulous insult and energetic fatigue from over stimulation brought on by mindless consumption, I found myself wanting to dissolve into the quiet of things and settle back into myself.

“We are entering a new era. The old categories are dead and gone, for we have passed over into a different world- a world in which I suggest we sensitize ourselves to what Levi-Strauss calls ‘entropology’ (as opposed to anthropology)- the notion of a people recognizing and exploring its own disorientation, its own disintegration, its own running down, and then finally, perhaps, its own possibilities.” T.C. McLuhan from The Way of the Earth

In spite of my internally frenzied state I was able to ferret out a thin appetite for something bland, smooth and voluminously nourishing. Jook, congee or rice porridge is a food which has grounded, nurtured and restored me in times of imbalance. Valued in Chinese medicine as being a simple healing food, the recipe can be tailored to suit the individual’s needs. Essentially rice and water are cooked for hours until most of the grain’s structural integrity dissolves into a starchy puddle. The nurture and nutrition of rice warms and fills the empty places within. With the help of a Chinese herbalist or mother, the medicinal value can be fortified with the addition of varied ingredients such as dried scallops, ginger, scallion, astragalus root, and jujube dates. For me, this expert was my acupuncturist who first helped orient me inward with the heightened awareness of a tracker. Slowly I began to pay attention to my body, discover the continuum and play of balance and even locate my own sources of nourishment and healing. Jook was one of those fundamental recipes ever bubbling within my pressure cooker in those early years. Today thankfully I can recognize this barren land of depletion and finally let go of the candy bowl, chocolate bunnies aside. It is time to re-establish connections neglected and lost- which includes the memory of this old recipe. The making and eating of jook is a ritual for me, a time honored intention to listen and participate with the quiet-loud world within.

Just Jook makes about 7 servings: This is a time to leave the MSG bouillons aside. We are including only the “cleanest” ingredients for this soothing porridge. The long cooking time makes for a food which when eaten allows the nutrition to be absorbed easily without requiring the body to work hard to digest it. I read on Rebecca Wood’s website that a minimum of three hours is needed to balance out the yin and yang energies of the ingredients. Consult a Chinese herbalist (I found this site to have interesting information about jook) if more information about the body’s energetic system is needed.

Ingredients:
Turkey carcass
Cold water
1 ½ C long grain brown rice
2 dried Shitake Mushroom
4 slices of ginger root
5 dried shrimp
3 garlic cloves coarsely chopped
1 large daikon radish grated
Salt
3 scallions finely chopped
Toasted sesame oil
Braggs Liquid Amino/ tamari
A grate of ginger root
Pickled turnip

Directions: Place turkey carcass/ bones and cover over with cold water. Cook over medium-high heat to get a soft rolling boil and lower the temperature to medium-low. Skim off scum and cook for at least an hour (depending on time constraints and/or richness desired). Strain bones and impurities out and put the stock back into an ample sized heavy stock pot. The stock should equal at least 9 cups. Rinse the rice in cold water and pick through for stones and floating grains. Add the rice, mushrooms, ginger, shrimp, garlic, daikon, and salt in the stockpot and cook over low heat covered for at least 3 hours, but as long as 6-8. Alternately one can use a pressure cooker for about an hour. Add water as needed to maintain a medium thin gruel consistency. In this case, forget that gruel can be cruel. Pull out mushroom caps, remove and discard stems (they can be reserved for a future stock) and slice thin. When the grain is practically dissolved, serve in bowls with the garnishes as desired: reserved scallions, toasted sesame oil, Braggs/tamari, a grate of ginger root, pickled turnip. It is easy to go overboard by adding more condiments to pump up the flavor, but for me this is one time to hold back and allow the interior to reset. Good appetite.

Rock the Casbah

What other spice mix can boast a lengthy exotic list of ingredients ranging from a cantharid based aphrodisiac like Spanish fly to psychoactive hashish, nutmeg and peppers alongside the floral nuance of rose petals? Ras el Hanout translates to “top of the shop” and is a Moroccan spice blend that challenges the well worn phrase that warns- less is more. Understandably the mix reflects the region’s cuisine which is based upon interaction with surrounding Berber, Moor, Middle Eastern, Mediterranean and African food. It is the romance of camels traversing the ancient sands of the Sahara mixed in with the lively banter between merchant and buyer of the crowded central souk.

Knowing little of Moroccan cooking, I unwittingly purchased a fiery red tagine years ago solely attracted by its unusual conical top rising dangerously like an earnest intent filled volcano. In actuality the form allows heat and moisture from foods cooked at relatively low temperatures to circumnavigate the interior space of the vessel, yielding relaxed cuts of meat, sumptuous fruits and silken vegetables lazily napping in velvet sauces. This stumble into foreign land, this loll into lax has provided me with a taste for a different kind of braise, one that is warmed from the eternal sun, honeyed and perfumed throughout.

Since receiving a handsome faceted jar of Mustapha’s Morrocan Ras El Hanout recently I’ve been in a spice induced reverie, a carpet ride to places far and outside my familiar. Inhalation of this tawny powdered terrain reveals a substance perfectly suited to anoint a holy space shadowed by nameless hallowed void. Or better still I find, a fatty hunk of meat. Somehow I lose myself in this story, this travel where scents blend so seamlessly with place and time. There is no tail of twig or finial flower which leave dominant tracks in this bouquet. And because of this I wander, unable to pin my past experiences upon this new one. Coriander, Cinnamon, Grains of Paradise, Cardamom, White Pepper, Saffron, Mace, Fennel, Rose Petal…. I find the flavor veiled and mysterious, moucharabieh revealing a fragment of taste once explored and now slightly askew. I am pulled in by my senses to that which I cannot understand, reconciling the new with the old and somehow traveling further away and at the same time closer to the center. Slowly the significance of man’s history with the spice trade goes beyond commerce and reveals itself as noble search to augment life, to flavor food, to embellish that which is ordinary yet sustains. Spices and exploration go hand in hand. This desire is more valuable than gold and awakens us beyond our ordinary selves into piqued expansive existence.

Scheherezad’s Magical Prune and Pig Tagine serves 4-6: I have never tasted an authentic tagine- only my own. What I do know is that I love prunes and use every excuse to include them. This quick assemblage infused with hard to pin point Ras el Hanout made an exotic feast which had me dreaming of far away places all week. While I’m not sure if I made best use of this spicy, floral mix, I look forward to other travels with it. And unfortunately the inclusion of Spanish fly and hashish has been outlawed, but rock the Casbah anyways.

Ingredients:
1 ½ lb. boneless pork short ribs cubed
Salt and pepper to taste
4 teaspoons Ras el Hanout
1 1/2 cups canned beef broth
1/4 cup honey
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 onion chopped
2 medium carrots chopped
½ small head of cauliflower, broken into pieces.
1 fennel bulb chopped
½ C dried prunes
1/3 cup slivered almonds toasted

Directions: Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Dry rub salt, pepper and half of Ras el Hanout into pork. Meanwhile sauté onions in oil until golden brown. Make slurry with the remaining spice mix, broth and honey. Mix all ingredients except almonds together in a Dutch oven. Bless with more olive oil, cover with lid and place in the oven for about an hour until pork is tender. Serve with couscous or rice and sprinkle with slivered almonds. If using a stove top tagine, I would saute the vegetables first and then add the rest of the ingredients cooking on low. From time to time, check the meat to see when done.

Cheap and Cheesy, No Whey!

There are moments when I am struck by my own tight and stingy ways, especially when the pinch takes a hold of me over a rather paltry sum. Take for example this yogurt dessert treat a friend brought over about a month ago. Skeptically I sniffed at this store brand, self proclaimed creamy decadent treat assuming that I would taste another pumped up, moussed and rippled dairy product. Suffice to say that after the tip of the spoon barely grazed my teeth, I was hooked. Perfect voluptuous mouth feel, the fresh taste of cream delivered straight from an alpine cow, the lilt and suggestion of plum with a scatter of ground walnuts- a beautiful dream. But at seventy five cents per 8 oz. container- I balked, and then I grimaced before proceeding to buy one dessert treat a week for the next sweet month.

Yet even while I was heading towards the chilled dairy aisle to stuff cup into cart or lazily dipping into silken layers of pure white goodness, a small portion of me held onto this nagging irritation. That I had fallen into the trap, where marketing executives dream up new ways to feed consumers fat and sugar and happily pay for it, especially considering that I was actually holding back from consuming four desserts a week at an eyebrow raising three whole dollars. Confident that I had cracked the code to creaminess and from this strange and ridiculous high horse I decided to achieve more for less by straining the whey from a quart of plain yogurt to condense it. Later I would dapple the hand clotted cloud with exotic fruit compote. Time being what it is however, the fancy fruit never actually materialized and instead, applesauce pulled from the cupboard made hasty but suitable stand in. The resulting hyped up cream from this ordinary thickened yogurt was surprisingly good, an epiphany considering that I’ve always regarded yogurt cheese with derision, as just a dulled down substitution for the more desirable and alluring cream cheese.

The Farmer in the Dell

(sung mournfully around a plate of high priced goat cheese)
The cheese stands alone, the cheese stands alone!
Hi-ho the derry-o, the cheese stands alone!

With my heart and mind now open to this kitchen sink cheese, I must take time to disclose another tragic example of my frugality to wind my way down to the conclusion of this post. I adore chèvre. But it can be a little painful to exchange five dollars for a chunk the size of a walnut. And in the rare event that I do, at poorly considered moments I spread the good stuff so unbearably thin you can actually read the word “cheapskate” underneath. Lucky for me and this miserly mingy habit, there is hope in the form of a recipe recently found on Leite’s Culinaria for yogurt cheese balls steeped in herbs vaguely reminiscent of a Laura Chenel artisan goat cheese. While the process takes a few days for the whey to drain sufficiently, the individual steps are irresistibly simple and the results devastatingly delicious. I had no idea that my bittersweet short lived love affair with an undisclosed yogurt dessert treat would eventually lead me towards one of the best things I’ve eaten in 2007. Do yourself a favor whether you’re cheap and cheesy or not- and try these. You will yield a gorgeous plate of flavorful cheese nuggets and in the process, play around with curds and fancy yourself a cheese maker without wearing those irksome hairnets. Now the cheese needn’t stand alone as we all join together hand to mouth in glorious harmony.

Yogurt Cheese Balls serves 6-8: Adapted from a recipe by Victoria Jenanyan Wise. The proportion of salt to yogurt produces a remarkably similar texture to goat cheese. I used completely different herbs/spices but loved the results- spicy, garlicky and addictive. As a quicker alternative the spices and herbs can be mixed into the yogurt cheese and served in a bowl. (I tried this method recently using a low fat yogurt and only one day of draining...it is fine but nothing to rave about. The cheese was too sour and thin. It makes all the difference using whole milk yogurt, draining over several days, making the balls and using the olive oil.)

Ingredients:
1 ½ quarts good quality plain whole milk yogurt
2 tsp kosher salt
6 Tblsp extra-virgin olive oil
2 cloves garlic chopped fine
2 chili de arbol crumbled and toasted with seeds
2 tsp chopped fresh rosemary (more or less)
1 tsp chopped fresh oregano
1 tsp chopped fresh thyme

Directions: Line a colander with cheesecloth and dump the yogurt in. Place the colander in a bowl deep enough to collect the whey but still be held away from the yogurt above. Leave in the refrigerator overnight. Next day dump the whey and stir the salt into the thickened yogurt. Place the salted yogurt back in the refrigerator to drain another day. Next day dump the whey and roll the thickened yogurt into walnut sized balls. Place onto a plate lined with paper towels. Refrigerate again overnight loosely covered. Place the balls in a shallow bowl or tray and mix the chili, garlic and herbs with the oil in a separate bowl. Pour over the cheese balls to coat and put in the refrigerator again for at least two hours. Serve with crackers and spread as thickly as you want.

Method, Madness and Mole

When I was a kid cooking was something elaborate and primal, instinctual and sensuous. It seemed obvious that one would roam the earth listening and learning while collecting mushrooms and moss, transparent beetle wings, berries and maybe even a few unsuspecting young cattails. A return home by twilight’s hush, satchels bursting with exquisite specimens of nutritive life meant another round of ritualistic movement in the form of thrash, scrape, mush and mix. Still later the fresh and found ingredient would be free to mingle and mate within a cast iron cauldron and in slow easy tempo flower wines would be imbibed, incantations mumbled, and hunger graciously eased for yet another night.

Years later my methods have been altered and tamed to suit my concession to modern day society but the desire and intent still share semblance to my youthful imagining. No other dish sings to me quite as passionately or makes me sigh heavy with relief than Mexican mole. D_ pointed out, making the invisible visible, that it has become a small tradition for me to make this dark secretive sauce whenever old friends travel eastward to visit. While eaten only a handful of times, there is something in the making and the tasting that connects me to a hidden place and blindly I have been fumbling towards it ever since.

People say that mole is a celebration food taking days to prepare. That it is a food that magically swells to feed hundreds and that the recipe cannot easily be altered down for meager portions like six or four without serious consequences to the final product. Mole contains chocolate, food for the Gods- and even hopeless sinners like us. It also positively luxuriates in lard, glittering shimmering fat that tinges the nuts, chilies, spices and fruit with a porcine perfume both warm and lingering. Aptly named from the Aztec Nahuatl word molli meaning sauce or mixture, it is an undeniable amalgamation of harvest and plenty.

The first time that I tasted Mole Poblano I felt that I traveled to a space where nothing but smoke, earth, heat and love existed. Somehow the great intensity of those singular elements whittled down into a final substance the color and depth of iron rich clay. Transfixed I embarked on a full immersion mole making experience over the next few days. Ingredients were located from unfamiliar and sundry sources; packages were carefully parceled and unwrapped. My friend and I clung to a composite recipe scrawled down upon well worn paper as if our very own abuela had passed it down from generations past. We carefully recited directions and stiffly broke tasks down into digestible components and then, we began to cook.

There is something about the slow unfolding passage of time which allows one thing to transform into quite another. The making of this meal is a moving landscape of texture, scent and picture bracketed by soft stilled space. It is thoughtful, full bodied meditation as well as the light chirpy bubbles of happy bantering. Either way, it is breath and the soul of being.

Ironically my entrée into this world was not ushered in with gaiety or the usual convivial spirit of celebration; rather it was intermixed with the mind numbing grief and searing pain that accompanies the sad termination of a marriage. I also was contending with the untimely loss of my physical ability and independence due to the deterioration of my body from disease. This hard blunted territory, this unkind terrain was softened and made bearable by the reflective process of this ancient sauce. Where the crimson red blood of chilies being rhythmically split, seeded and stemmed stain fingers sticky- the color of life and forbidden passion. Where the dried chili pod bodies smolder, wither and writhe upon a hot pan giving into glowing shades of colored translucency. Where the burnt acrid scent reaches swiftly past the nostril to a point in the back center of one’s being. Where the eye-popping cache of nuts, fruit and spices are counted, toasted, and pounded into a rich tawny mixture satisfying the heart of the most poetic forager. And finally where all separate parts, a thousand moments in time join together in one big gesture to mingle, condense, swirl and recreate into something earthy, infinitely layered, loamy and enduring.

So last week as I rejoiced in Honey’s cross country arrival and stay, we ceremoniously unpacked a chortle of chilies with the hope and desire to subdue the jagged edges of spring as well as celebrate friendship and life-- for the making of mole is all about participation and engagement with that which sustains. And it isn’t just about fiestas and mariachi singers either. Deep below in the muck of the mix is a quiet humble truth- that all shapes of joy and ecstasy are born from the salty tears of loss too.

Mole Paste- This is an adaptation from Jacqueline Higuerra McMahan’s recipe. This makes approximately 1 quart of paste which will have you feasting for days. I used about 1/3rd of the paste to make the sauce, which served about 8. I froze the rest. This is a good basic recipe although not very hot. The first time I made it I used 2 other kinds of chilies and it was deeper and earthier. This is a great time to explore and play with the different varieties of chilies. It wouldn’t be a bad idea to taste little bits to determine how each contributes to the overall flavor. And of course when the paste is added to broth and stirred slowly, it will need to be tasted and tweaked to satisfy the moment. Make this with a loved one. And Sher, no moles were hurt in the making of the sauce!

Ingredients:
10 dried ancho chiles
8 dried pasilla negro (or negro) chiles
6 dried guajillo or mulato chiles
3 T golden raisins
3 T prunes
1/2 cup almonds
6 T raw sesame seeds
1/4 cup raw pumpkin seeds
1 slice bread
1 corn tortilla
One 5-inch piece of Mexican Canela (soft-bark cinnamon)
6 whole cloves
1 tsp black peppercorns
1 Tbsp reserved chili seeds
1 tsp fennel seed
1 1/2 t dried oregano
3 oz. grated unsweetened chocolate
2 heaping tablespoons of Dagoba Xocolatl cocoa powder

Instructions: Break of the stems of chilies, split them down the middle and shake out the seeds (reserve a bunch). Heat a skillet and slick it down with a bit of fresh lard (it is okay to skip this part, but it does smell heavenly). Toast the chilies in batches until slightly toasted. Be careful not to blacken them. Lightly toast the dried fruit too. Place the chilies and fruit in a large bowl and cover with boiling water for about 30 minutes, reserve the liquid. Sauté the nuts separately in more lard until golden. Alternately you can of course toast them in a 350 degree oven until golden. Toast the tortilla and bread until lightly golden, reserve. Dry roast the seeds in the skillet until fragrant and then grind them. In three separate batches grind the soaked chilies and fruit, nuts, spices, chocolate, and tortilla/bread in a blender with the reserved chili water until it forms a smooth paste. Continue blending until all the ingredients are used and form a puree the consistency of thick gravy.

Mole Sauce:
3 large tomatoes roughly chopped
1 sliced onion
4 cloves garlic
2 tsp olive oil
2 C Mole Paste
¼ C peanut butter
¼ C almond butter
2 cups chicken broth for thinning

Instructions: Place the tomatoes, onions, and garlic in a pan with the olive oil and roast at 375 degrees for about 35 minutes. Puree the roasted vegetables and any accumulated juices in a blender until smooth. In a heavy pot combine the puree, mole paste, nut butters and chicken broth and stir over medium heat. The flavor changes a lot over time, we let it cook for about an hour plus and then set it to cool. The next day we cooked it again for another hour, adding more stock as needed to have the consistency of thickened cream. Taste and tweak and then pour the sauce over roasted turkey. It is nice to serve this with corn tortillas, pinto beans, rice, fresh salsa, and maybe a jicama-radish cilantro salad.