This past Saturday I went to El Rancho Grande, a small family owned restaurant in Providence, RI. I have been there several times, each time trying something new. This time I shared mole and enchiladas rancheras with my friend JC, who first told me about the restaurant.
Mole
It was my first time trying mole. JC had told me about it and suggested that El Rancho Grande would be a good place to try it since the owner is from Puebla, where mole originated.
The dish looked very appetizing from the get go. We got tender chicken breasts covered with the spicy chocolate sauce and a sprinkle of sesame seeds served in a white dish. The strong color contrast was enhanced by the great sunshine bathing our table.
I was not sure what to expect, as chocolate is not something that I would normally associate with chicken, but was immediately impressed by the flavor of the spices and the chocolate, which was rich and bitter. I commented that I could almost taste Indian in the sauce, which was probably from the cinnamon and cloves.
From what I have read, the mole sauce takes many ingredients, besides the chocolate. The end product is unique and quite a pleasant experience, although I am not sure that I could eat the whole portion served, so I was glad to have shared it.
I will try it again. I think mole is one of those dishes that will reveal new nuances each time you try it.
There is a growing awareness that people are becoming unaware of what exactly they are eating. I personally have come across people (college students) who did not know that shrimp have heads, not to mention the fact that heads are actually the tastier part of the shrimp. One difference that I find when I travel outside the USA is the contrast between supermarkets here and those in other places. Odors are almost completely absent from USA supermarkets in marked contrast to supermarkets and open air markets in Europe and Asia. Especially in Asia, where food is often bought still alive, be it at the market or in restaurants. I remember the first time I traveled to Macau, when one day my father wanted to eat fish, so the waiter brought him a fish, taken from a fish tank located in the middle of the restaurant, for his approval. As my sister an I looked at the fish flapping inside a bucket, another waiter from the table next to us lost control of an eel and then had to chase it on the restaurant floor as the eel tried to make a dash to the door. I also clearly remember the chicken they served us that day. The entire chicken was cut into bite size portions, but was laid out on the plate in front of us still retaining its whole body shape, including its head, which stared at us no matter how hard we tried not to look.
Anyway, these memories came to me after reading this piece yesterday so I thought I would write about them.
