May 31st, 2007
Mole
First off, let me just say that mole is not 1. those brown raised spots on your face or back 2. an animal. Okay, it’s both of those things, but in this case, it’s a dish that originated in Mexico, and, like all Spanish words, all the vowels are pronounced, which gives mole the dish two syllables. So, no need to be scared. Though it contains ingredients that probably sound like unusual combinations, mole is VERY delicious, and this recipe in particular is not difficult to make. I must also add I had nothing to do with it, save for a few spice adjustments to satisfy my tastes. It’s courtesy of my husband, who pilfered bits and pieces from my father and the Joy of Cooking. I’m indebted to all three.
Ingredients:
1 -1 ½ lbs. cooked shredded chicken (I’ve also used chicken tenders and chopped them with the back of a spoon into small chunks; I’ve also eaten full chicken breasts, with the rib meat and all, topped with mole sauce. Use the version that works best for you. This is the burrito style method.)
4 tbsp. butter
1 small onion, diced
2 cloves garlic, diced
¼ cup tomato paste
½ cup slivered almonds; divided in two batches
¼ cup raisons
¼ cup chili powder, or to taste
1 tbsp. Mexican oregano
3 tbsp. unsweetened cocoa powder
1 tsp. cinnamon
½ tsp. ground cloves
½ tsp. allspice
½ tsp. ginger
1-2 tbsp. cumin
2-3 cups chicken broth
whole wheat tortillas, warmed
1. Cook the meat.
2. In a large pan, sauté onion and garlic in butter.
3. In a blender, add the tomato paste, half of the almonds, raisons, all of the spices, and half of the chicken broth. Blend well. Add to onion and garlic. Add meat. Add remaining almonds.
4. Simmer for 30 minutes, adding chicken broth if it gets dry.
5. Serve with warmed tortillas.
And that’s mole, burrito style.
May 24th, 2007
THE CHERIMOYA
by Mike Young
I’m sure you’ve all heard of the cherimoya, one of the most popular fruits among American motorcycle stunt people, jewelers, and designers of new frisking techniques. Commonly called the “custard apple,” this lovely fruit originated in South America, where the Incas cultivated it on the slopes of the Andes. Now grown in select spots of Southern California, the cherimoya is a fickle fruit that needs hillside soil, ocean moisture, and plenty of time away from the sun.
Cherimoya, actually, means “cold seeds.” The Incas say that the cherimoya doesn’t like snow, but it does like to see the snow off in the distance. Isn’t that cool? Many cherimoya propaganda sites claim that Mark Twain called this custard apple “deliciousness itself.” I am having trouble coming up with synonyms, because both cherimoya and custard apple are very fun to say.
Pick cherimoyas that are hardish, light and without spots. I’ve heard it’s best to let them ripen a few days, but who wants to do that? If you’re fussy, they turn brown when ripe. If you’re really fussy, a drop of lime juice brings out the sweetness.
Really, cherimoyas are best chilled. Cut your cherimoya with a knife. Dig out what seeds you see. Be sure not to eat the seeds: they’re poisonous. Use a spoon to eat the fruit meat. The texture, yes, is like custard, but more melty. I tasted bubblegum on my first try, a less obnoxious bubblegum, with maybe some banana or melon. For “the world’s most exquisite fruit,” the cherimoya has a very fun and unpretentious taste. Like if I cut up pieces and took them out to the monkeybars, no one would throw gravel at me.
When I bought my first cherimoya, I froze a little bit and ate it later, and it really did taste like ice cream. Since I don’t eat ice cream anymore, I am happy to find a fruit that somewhat replaces it. Maybe if I mixed custard apple with caramel and brownie chunks, it would be like old times, before the empty mattress, the burned-up kitchen bulb, the cold razors and the scruff of dawn wind against my sad sad teeth—just kidding. I got a little carried away.
So yes, you should try them. If you see them, buy them quickly, before anyone else, especially before the passive-aggressive yuppies who may try to get there before you. Custard apples have a short growing season. They usually arrive around early May and stay for only a month. Yuppies, unfortunately, live forever. Little known fact.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Mike Young is not lying about the ice cream thing. What a downer, eh? He co-edits NOÖ Journal , a literary/political magazine. His fiction and poetry have appeared widely. Visit his personal site.
