Another Jewish holiday, another chicken mole. Why not?
This one was like bringing coals to Newcastle, though, and kind of risky as Paul, Ari (a real Mexicana and no slouch in the kitchen, especially with mole), and Isabel came over for dinner.
I attempted to reprise my earlier success with the Mexican mole rojo. This one, on Erev Yom Kippur no less, was not so successful. Emboldened by the last variation, I started more from scratch this time and didn't get the balance of spices right. The clove "note," as the wine people might say, was too dominant and there weren't enough of the chili, chocolate, and other ingredients in evidence.
L's salad of greens, mango, and blood orange was stupendous.
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