WHEN I MET BRUCE in the mid-nineties, I was an academic in Texas and he was a creative director in New York. We played the long-distance, back-and-forth game for as long as we could stand it.
On one of my trips to see him, I couldn’t figure out what to bring. After all, he was a trained chef who now worked on some pretty crazy ad accounts. He put in a zillion hours a week and still cooked at home every night just for the fun of it.
I thought I’d met an urban sophisticate. Instead, his Manhattan apartment was a frickin’ country store: shelves of homemade pickles, chutneys, and sauces. I had Proust; he had apricot preserves.
He also didn’t leave Manhattan, except to go to Queens for the Jewish holidays. “Why should I go anywhere else?” he asked once. “It’ll all come here eventually.”
Because of all that, I brought him mole (that is, MOH-lay, from an Aztec word meaning “sauce” or “mixture”—as in guacamole, or “avocado mixture”). It was the best thing I could imagine. Mostly because he didn’t know what it was.
Stocked with spices, nuts, and fruits, moles are the curries of Mexico. They aren’t faux Tex-Mex, the stuff I’d grown up with. Moles are complex and textured. Like Proust.
As you can see, I, the non-Manhattanite, was the true snob. Which as far as I was concerned meant I knew where to get the best mole.
Not from a restaurant, mind you. Every Christmas, I bought the dark, chocolaty variety: a Crisco can full of mole negro from a woman in east Austin. Once she’d used most of the shortening—and I mean most, because there was always some ringing the inside or floating like white chips in the sauce—she’d fill the cans and sell them off to waiting Austin liberals for a hefty profit.
For my part, I froze it in chunks, the better to use it all year.
And that’s how I came to bring him a bag of mole chunks, slowly thawing on the flight from Austin to New York. (These were simpler times. People didn’t question you when you brought bags of chile sauces on planes.)
Right off the jetway, I straight-armed the bag at him.
“What is it?” he asked, a little cautious.
Ha! I’d caught a New Yorker off guard. But admittedly, the stuff wasn’t at its best: icy bits of mushy brown ooze. Still, I had to put a good face on it.
“Mole,” I chirped, opening the bag. “Try it.”
Without a moment’s hesitation, he stuck his finger in there.
That he did so will tell you everything about Bruce.
And that he did so at LaGuardia because I was so excited about the stuff may explain how we ended up together.
Ever since, he’s been perfecting his moles, slowly shifting and changing the recipes.
These three are his grail. He’s never had a chance to show them off. But goat is definitely the right moment. Because moles are often served with goat below the Rio Grande, a magnificent pairing.
Although I’ll admit I’m a little miffed. Because he was right. It all eventually did come to him. He didn’t have to leave home.
New Yorkers. You can’t beat ’em even when you try.
Here’s a classic, often (but not always) made with chocolate for a rich, sweet, elegant finish—but with one Bruce-induced twist: roasted cashews. They offer a rich balance to the chiles and spices, already so presently fragrant in the dish. There’s really not much else you need, except tortillas, as well as some shredded lettuce, chopped tomatoes, and grated hard goat cheese for garnishes.
4 dried ancho chiles, stemmed and seeded (see this page)
4 dried mulato chiles, stemmed and seeded (see this page)
4 dried pasilla chiles, stemmed and seeded (see this page)
¼ cup (60 ml) chopped golden raisins
Boiling water
3 large tomatillos, any papery hulls removed, halved
2 large plum tomatoes, halved
2 cups (480 ml) reduced-sodium chicken broth, plus a little additional if necessary
¼ cup plus 2 tablespoons (85 g) chopped roasted cashews (do not use salted cashews)
2 tablespoons white sesame seeds
3 medium garlic cloves, minced
2 teaspoons ground cinnamon
1 teaspoon salt
½ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
¼ teaspoon ground allspice
¼ teaspoon ground cloves
One 8-inch (20-cm) corn tortilla, torn into bite-size bits
2 tablespoons lard, rendered duck fat, or unsalted goat butter
2 pounds (910 g) boneless goat stew meat, cut into 1- to 1½-inch (2.5- to 4-cm) cubes
1 ounce (30 g) unsweetened chocolate, chopped
1 ounce (30 g) semisweet chocolate, chopped
1 teaspoon honey
1. Tear the chile flesh into big pieces, then toast the fragments in batches in a dry skillet set over medium heat, just a couple of minutes. They should become aromatic with little brown marks—not too far, or they’ll turn bitter.
2. Place the toasted chile fragments in a big bowl along with the chopped raisins. Cover with boiling water and set aside for 20 minutes.
3. Meanwhile, position the rack about 4 inches (10 cm) from your broiler’s heat source and preheat the broiler. Set the tomatillos and tomatoes, cut side down, on a lipped baking sheet and broil, without turning, until pretty well charred, perhaps 3 to 5 minutes, depending on how hot your broiler gets.
Alternatively, you can do this operation on a grill, setting them, skin side down, on the grate over high heat.
4. Place the charred tomatillos and tomatoes in a food processor fitted with the chopping blade. Add the broth, cashews, sesame seeds, garlic, cinnamon, salt, pepper, allspice, cloves, and the torn-up tortilla. Drain the chiles and raisins in a colander set in the sink, then add these to the food processor as well. Process, scraping down the sides of the canister a few times to make sure everything takes a spin on the blades.
If you don’t have a food processor, you can use a blender, but you may have to help the contents along by turning off the machine and pushing everything down onto the blades occasionally.
In either case, if you find the mixture is too thick (your dried chiles may be even drier than Bruce’s), thin it out with a little more broth, usually no more than a couple of tablespoons. You can make the mole negro to this point, then scrape it into a nonreactive container, cover, and store in the refrigerator for up to 4 days or in the freezer for up to 3 months.
5. Heat the lard, duck fat, or butter in a large Dutch or French oven over medium heat. (Isn’t that a glorious sentence?) Add all the mole negro and fry it in the fat for about 4 minutes, stirring constantly.
6. Plop in the goat stew meat, both kinds of chocolate, and the honey. Bring to a simmer, stirring until the chocolate has melted; then cover the pot, reduce the heat to low, and cook, stirring occasionally, until the meat is fork-tender, 2 to 2½ hours.
You can substitute up to 3½ pounds (1.6 kg) bone-in goat neck slices (see this page) for the stew meat but the resulting mixture will need to cook longer, up to 3½ hours. To prevent the sauce’s scorching, add a little extra broth—perhaps ½ cup (120 ml)—at the start and then watch the pot to make sure it doesn’t dry out during the long cooking.
Great mole needs great corn tortillas. You can make a dozen from just three ingredients. Mix 2 cups (455 g) instant masa harina (often marked for tamales on the package) and 1 teaspoon salt in a medium bowl; stir in ½ cup (120 ml) water, then continue stirring in water in 1-tablespoon increments until a soft dough forms (you’ll probably use a little less than 1 cup (240 ml) water in all, but the amount depends entirely on the day’s humidity and the moisture content of the masa harina). Divide the dough into 12 balls, each about 2 inches (5 cm) in diameter. Roll each ball between sheets of plastic wrap into circles 6 inches (15 cm) in diameter and ⅛ inch (.3 cm) thick. Alternatively, use a tortilla press, following the manufacturer’s instructions, to press the balls into tortillas. In either case, keep the tortillas between the sheets of plastic wrap after they’ve been flattened. Set a medium skillet preferably nonstick, over medium heat until a drop of water sizzles in the pan. Slip a flattened disk into the skillet and cook until speckled brown and slightly puffed, about 1 minute. Turn and cook until mottled on the other side, a little less than 1 minute. Transfer to a plate lined with a clean kitchen towel; fold the towel closed. Continue making the tortillas, stacking them in the towel one on top of the other.
Red mole is not necessarily as complex as the black stuff—no chocolate and no blend of chiles—but it’s also made with oregano and thyme for a more herbaceous finish.
6 ancho or dried New Mexico red chiles, stemmed and seeded (see this page)
Boiling water
4 tablespoons (¼ cup [60 ml]) rendered bacon fat, divided
1 small yellow onion, chopped
4 medium garlic cloves, chopped
1½ pounds (680 kg) boneless goat stew meat, cut into 1-inch (2.5-cm) cubes
1 tablespoon Worcestershire sauce
1 teaspoon dried thyme
1 teaspoon dried oregano
½ teaspoon ground cloves
½ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
1 bay leaf
1 cup (240 ml) reduced-sodium chicken broth
1 tablespoon red wine vinegar
2 ripe plantains, peeled and cut into 1-inch (2.5-cm) pieces
1. Tear the chiles into large pieces, then cook them in a dry skillet set over medium heat until lightly browned and very aromatic. Transfer them to a large bowl, cover with boiling water, and set aside for 20 minutes.
2. Meanwhile, melt 2 tablespoons of the bacon fat in a large Dutch or French oven over medium heat. Add the onion and garlic; cook, stirring often, until wilted, about 3 minutes.
3. Push the onion and garlic to the sides of the pot, then add the meat chunks in batches, browning them well in the residual fat. As they brown, transfer them to a plate and add more until all are nicely done.
4. Take the pot off the heat. Scoop out the onion and garlic and place them in a blender or in a food processor fitted with the chopping blade. Drain the chiles in a colander set in the sink, then add them to the blender or food processor. Also add the Worcestershire sauce, thyme, oregano, cloves, pepper, and bay leaf. Blend or puree until smooth.
5. Melt the remaining 2 tablespoons bacon fat in the pot set back over medium heat. Scrape the chile paste into it and fry for 3 minutes, stirring almost constantly.
6. Return the meat and any juices on the plate to the pot. Also add the broth and vinegar. Bring to a simmer, stirring occasionally; then cover, reduce the heat to very low, and cook, stirring occasionally, for 1 hour.
7. Add the plantains to the pot and continue cooking, stirring once in a while, until the meat is falling-apart tender, 1 to 1½ additional hours.
MORE TO KNOW
Ripe plantains are not yellow. They are quite brown, best with lots of black splotches across the skin. If the peel sticks to the flesh inside, the thing’s not ripe enough and will have an unpleasant, alumlike taste that won’t balance the chiles’ kick.
LESS TO DO
As to the fat in the recipe, Bruce and I went round and round on this one. Bacon fat? Really? I asked him how many people had rendered bacon fat in their refrigerators. He said, “They should just fry up a couple of slices and make their own.” Sigh. We’re just lucky he didn’t insist on rendered smoked pork jowl fat. If you want to cheat, use 3 tablespoons almond oil and 1 tablespoon smoked paprika (see this page). You’ll get a smoky flavor without having to fry up bacon in advance.
This one is a coarse green sauce, made from pepitas, a.k.a. green pumpkin seeds. You might want to double the sauce, then freeze half for another day. It does make a killer condiment at an outdoor barbecue, heated up in a little saucepan right on the grill and used like barbecue sauce. The trick to this dish is to get the meat thoroughly cooked before adding it to the sauce.
6 cups (1½ L) water
Two 2-pound (910-g) bone-in goat shoulders
2 large carrots, cut into hunks
1 large yellow onion, quartered
8 whole cloves
2 whole garlic cloves, peeled
1 cup (225 g) pepitas (green pumpkin seeds)
3 tablespoons goat butter (for a heavier taste) or olive oil (for a lighter one)
12 ounces (340 ml) tomatillos, any papery hulls removed, the flesh chopped
4 ounces (115 g) shallots, chopped
2 fresh jalapeno chiles, stemmed, seeded, and chopped
3 medium garlic cloves, chopped
¼ cup (55 g) stemmed, packed, fresh cilantro leaves
½ teaspoon ground cinnamon
½ teaspoon ground cumin
½ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
¼ teaspoon ground cloves
3 tablespoons lime juice
Cooked white rice
1. First off, you have to cook the meat: Place the water, bone-in goat pieces, carrots, onion, cloves, and whole garlic cloves in a big pot. Bring the water to a boil over high heat. Cover, reduce the heat to low, and cook at a slow simmer until the meat is gorgeously tender, between 2 and 2½ hours, maybe even a little longer. The meat should fall apart. If you pick up a shoulder and it holds together about as it did when you got it out of its packaging a couple of hours ago, you haven’t let it go long enough.
2. Transfer the falling-apart meat to a large cutting board. Remember: Those shoulders are quite hot with melted interstitial fat. Let them cool until you can get your hands on them, shredding the meat and any cartilage off the bones. Keep all this stuff, every last bite; but discard the bones and strain out all the vegetables and spices in the pot, saving back the broth separately. You can make this recipe ahead to this point. Cover and refrigerate the pot with the broth—and cover the meat on its plate and refrigerate it as well, both for up to 3 days.
3. To make the green mole, place the pepitas in a dry skillet set over medium heat and toast them until they begin to pop. And pop they will. Don’t be tempted to cover the skillet to keep them in place. They’ll steam and turn gummy. Instead, be prepared and let them go.
4. Transfer them to a big blender or a food processor fitted with the chopping blade; add 1 cup (240 ml) of strained reserved broth. Puree until fairly smooth. It’ll never be completely so, more like green wet sand—but just don’t let any pepita hunks stay in the mix. Scrape all this into a bowl and clean the blender or food processor.
5. Heat 2 tablespoons of the butter or olive oil in a large skillet over medium heat. Drop in the tomatillos, shallots, jalapeños, and chopped garlic. Cook, stirring often, until the tomatillos have begun to soften, about 5 minutes.
6. Scrape everything in the skillet into the blender or food processor. Add the cilantro, cinnamon, cumin, pepper, and cloves—along with ¾ cup (180 ml) of strained reserved broth. Puree until very smooth.
7. Now bring it all together. Throw out any remaining broth in the pot and wash the pot. Heat the remaining 1 tablespoon fat in that pot over medium heat. Add the pepita paste and fry for 4 minutes, stirring almost constantly. Scrape the tomatillo puree into the pot as well as all the shredded meat. Bring to a full simmer, then continue cooking, stirring often, until the meat is heated through, about 10 minutes. Stir in the lime juice just before serving over bowls of rice.
You can also make this recipe with 5 pounds (2.3 kg) bone-in breast of goat, although the resulting stew will be fattier.
Mole verde is best with flour tortillas. To make about a dozen and a half, put 2½ cups plus 2 tablespoons all-purpose flour, 1 teaspoon baking powder, 1 teaspoon salt, and ½ teaspoon sugar in a food processor. Pulse to combine, then add 3 tablespoons lard. Pulse again until the mixture is grainy and coarse, the lard in little bits throughout. With the machine running, pour 1 cup (240 ml) warm water through the feed tube and process until a soft dough forms. Turn the dough out onto a dry, clean work surface and knead for 30 seconds. Gather into a ball, cover with plastic wrap, and set aside for 15 minutes. Then divide the dough into 16 balls, each about the size of a ping-pong ball. Roll each ball between sheets of plastic wrap to circles about 6 inches (15 cm) in diameter and ⅛ inch (.3 cm) thick. (The thickness is more important than the diameter; they needn’t be perfectly round, just roundish.) Finally, set a nonstick skillet over medium heat until a drop of water skitters across its surface. Reduce the heat to medium-low and add one tortilla; cook until blistered with brown speckles and slightly puffed, about 1 minute. Turn and continue cooking until the other side is speckled, about 1 more minute. Keep the tortillas warm as you make more by wrapping those cooked in a clean kitchen towel or a cloth napkin.
