mole

Dear mole recipe,

After many months, I found you again. Full of pumpkin seeds and almonds and spices and Mexican ingredients I’ll have to look up later. You’ve been sitting in my inbox, bruised grey by the click of my cursor that marked you as “read.” I haven’t tested you out yet, and in the time that I’ve had you, I felt guilty knowing you were waiting for me behind that Google Doc invitation, ready whenever I was.

Until recently, I might have forgotten about you entirely. I don’t know why. For a while I had a huge fascination with mole. The decadent idea of chocolate as a savory food rather than a sweet indulgence intrigued me so much that I immediately went and Youtubed a bunch of mole recipes while I was in England. For a while you were intriguing, but you escaped my mind. And here you are again.

I was remembering the person who wrote you, who scripted each step, each ingredient. You were the reason we started talking again, actually, while I was on my study abroad. I asked him about whether his family had mole before, and when he said yes, I wanted to know if he could tell me how to make it (he later told me that when he asked his family, they warned, “no es fácil”). But after he practiced it in the kitchen with his grandma, you were born.

I didn’t read you in your entirety until now. There’s this one part in you that is quoted, yet with no one documented as saying it. I won’t find out who said it now, though. And that’s okay.

The more I read you, the more I’m not sure if I can actually follow you, at least in your original state. I feel like some steps are missing, or some things are confusing. I kind of wish I could get some clarification for these, but I can look them up on YouTube. Before, I felt sad about it—that I’ll never ask—but now I’ve realized how good it feels to figure things out on my own.

It’s funny looking at your previous edits, how he spelled “seseme” instead of “sesame,” “cinimon” instead of “cinnamon.” I wonder how much work he put into making you for me. Maybe not much, or if he did, it’s probably not for me. He must have also written this to share with other people.

It wasn’t just for me, right?

You came before your other friend, “Orange Rice.” Your writer asked me if I wanted that one, “too.” Which makes me think he was writing the recipes for someone else, because Orange Rice wasn’t intended for me to begin with. I don’t know. I had a hard time knowing anything when it came to your author.

I didn’t know recipes could be bittersweet, but somehow they can be. Whatever intent was behind giving you to me, you’re still mine, and I’m glad I have you. And there’s an exciting new journey up ahead. I’ll be making the rough draft he gave me into a final draft that I can call my own.

I might try you out some day. I don’t know when. I don’t know where. Maybe it’ll be two years or ten, in my mom’s house or in my own. But I know you’re a definite that I can always go back to. One day, I’ll be able to say I finally made you into a delicious mole. I’ll try my best, and I’ll see you in the future, okay?

Love,

Elaine