Mole

       My great grandma knew how to make it. My grandma knew how to make it. My mom knows how to make it. Throughout many generations the mole recipe has been passed on to the younger ones so it can live forever. People have told my mom her mole is magical. Some people say it’s the best mole in El Paso and I believe it. Every time people tell my mom her mole is the best mole she replies with “It is not my mole, it’s my mami’s mami’s mole” and laughs.
Every summer since I can remember, we have a family reunion at one of my aunt’s house and mole, rice and beans is always the menu. The first reunion after grandma passed away was a very emotional one. Since she was the one who always prepared the mole for the party, somebody else had to make it. My mom volunteered to do it, but everyone was a little unsure. What if the mole doesn’t taste the same? was the question in everyone’s mind. The day of the party my mom and I spent the whole morning in the kitchen cooking. She showed me every step of the process with such dedication and passion that I regret forgetting most of it. “I used to cook with mi mami all the time like this” she said, with a sad smile growing on her face. I silently stirred the thick, brown sauce.
When we got to the party and dinner time arrived, my uncle was the first one on the table. He got the first plate and everyone stood around him to see his reaction. As he took his first spoonful, he looked at my mom surprised, a tear rolling down his face. “It is the same one!” he said and kept stuffing his face while everybody else got their plates ready.
To this day, the tradition is alive and I fear the moment when they ask me to prepare the mole, because I will probably burn the water and the rice and the sauce and the chicken and the whole house. I feel incapable of passing on the sacred recipe, and the fear of dishonor and disappointment is always present. I can already not hear the words “Le quedo muy bueno, ya se puede casar” (It was very good, you can get married already). My family can already taste my cooking incompetence.