Oaxaca: Mole 1 – Amarillo & My Favorite Restaurant

June 13, 2019 by sleepyfreak 1 Comment

For the uninitiated, “mole” has two syllables.

I grew up with one type of mole, the kind most people know about in the US – a sauce made of chocolate and chili (and tbh like 25 other ingredients) usually served over chicken. It’s delicious and I thought it was all I needed, but I was proven wrong when I came to Oaxaca and learned there are not 1, not 2, not 5, but 7 (SEVEN) different types of mole for which this state is known for.

S I E T E.

As if my life was designed by an amateur television writer, I am in Oaxaca for exactly seven weeks. One type of mole a week? I think I can handle that.

Not Pictured: The refreshingly delicious cucumber water this meal included

Astute readers have figured out that the first type of mole I tried is mole amarillo. They also have a question: are all Mexicans colorblind or are they well aware that this mole is not amarillo? Indeed, mole amarillo (oftentimes just called ‘amarillo’) has the same red-orange tint of many sauces in Mexican food, but interestingly, it is not named for its color. While it contains many of the same ingredients common to the different types of mole here (which I am realizing more and more is just the Mexican version of the concept of a curry), amarillo is unique in its inclusion of saffron, which gives a distinctive yellow tint to foods that are less pigmented.

Now, did I taste this and think ‘oh wow, what a robust saffron flavor’? Obviously not, I have the tongue of a boxed-wine-drinking plebeian. Was it flavorful and delicious nonetheless? It absolutely was. This meal was in what is now my favorite restaurant in Oaxaca, just two blocks away from where I live, and cost a total of 40 pesos.

40 pesos is just under $2.25. For a little more than two bucks, I had a bowl of nourishing vegetable soup, some spanish rice, chicken mole amarillo, warm handmade tortillas, and a small pitcher of lightly sweetened cucumber water. Unlike many of the small hole-in-the-wall eateries here, the atmosphere was a little less “plastic dishes and homey” and a little more “place mats and square plates”. With the exception of the smooth jazz covers of American music (hearing “Let It Go” on a melancholy saxophone is a confusing experience in any context), the atmosphere was warm but somewhat sophisticated, kind of like a hipster coffee shop but without the irritating pretentiousness. I ate the comida corrida (more on this later) peacefully, reading on my kindle and generally feeling comfortable and content.

In a place that is far from home, where there are definite hints of foreign-ness, finding such comfort and joy is a treasure.