Mole Amarillo – Oaxacan Yellow Mole With Chicken And Vegetables.
My primo Roberto? He tried to make mole. ¡Ay Dios mío! It was… a situation.
Mole. It’s not just salsa, you know? It's history in a pot, a story. Mole comes from pre-Hispanic times. The Aztecs, they made sauces with chiles, spices, and chocolate—but not like our Abuela’s mole, that's for sure. When the Spanish came, they brought nuts, seeds, fruits... everything got mixed up. Centuries of blending cultures, all simmering down to a delicious, complex sauce. Now, Oaxaca? They have seven official moles. Seven! Amarillo is one of them – the bright yellow color comes from yellow chiles and spices. It's a little less intense than the black mole, a bit more sunshine, if you will.
Oaxaca is where my family traces its roots. My great-great grandmother, Doña Elena, she had a molino (a grinding stone) and sold her mole at the market. Word is, she could tell what kind of day someone was having just by looking at how they ate her mole. If you took tiny bites, things were sad. Big, messy spoonfuls? Everything was good. She even had a secret ingredient, which I’ll never reveal, but it involved a specific type of flower only found on a certain mountainside. (Don’t ask.)
My mother learned from her mother, who learned from Doña Elena. So, basically, I’m mole royalty. But Roberto? Roberto thought he could watch a YouTube video and become a mole master. He thought.
He invited everyone over, bragging about his “authentic” recipe. (Authentic, please. He used pre-made chile paste!) My mother, she just raised an eyebrow, but I knew she was already bracing herself. The first sign of trouble was the smell. Not bad, exactly, but… off. Like someone accidentally added cinnamon instead of cumin.
Then came the tasting. My Tío Mateo, he’s the most dramatic in the family. One bite, and he started fanning his mouth. "¡Fuego! ¡Fuego!" he yelled, grabbing for the horchata like it was water in the desert. Roberto tried to defend his creation, saying it was supposed to be spicy. Spicy? It tasted like sadness and regret mixed with chili powder.
Tía Mildred arrived late, as usual, wearing a hat shaped like a pineapple. (Don't even get me started on Tía Mildred). She tasted the mole, closed her eyes, and said, very slowly, “This tastes like… yellow.” My mother almost choked on her agua fresca. That's when the chancla came out. No, not at Tía Mildred—she's immune. At Roberto.
It didn’t actually hit him, but the threat was enough. He started apologizing profusely, blaming the chiles, the spices, the altitude. Abuela would have been rolling in her grave. My cousin Esmeralda? She tried to fix it, adding a little chocolate, some more garlic, a dash of secret spice – anything. It helped, a little.
The chaos continued for hours. Spilled salsa on my aunt's new dress, a debate over whether epazote really belongs in mole amarillo (it does), and my uncle flirting with the mariachi singer we hired last minute. (Always flirting.) Finally, exhausted and covered in sauce, we ordered pizza.
Roberto swore off mole forever. And I, well, I decided it was time to take matters into my own hands. I needed to restore the family honor, to show everyone what REAL mole amarillo is all about. This recipe? It’s Doña Elena, passed down through generations, tweaked just a little bit by my abuela, and now, finally, entrusted to you. ¡Ándale! Let's do this right.
Recipe
Ingredients 🌽🥘
- 2 lbs bone-in, skin-on chicken pieces (thighs & drumsticks)
- 1 tbsp olive oil
- 1 onion, chopped
- 4 cloves garlic, minced
- 4 guajillo chiles, stemmed & seeded
- 4 amarillo chiles, stemmed & seeded
- 2 ancho chiles, stemmed & seeded
- 1/4 cup pepitas (pumpkin seeds)
- 1/4 cup almonds
- 1/4 cup raisins
- 1 small bolillo roll (or similar crusty bread), torn into pieces
- 1/4 cup sesame seeds
- 1 tsp ground cumin
- 1 tsp ground coriander
- 1/2 tsp ground cloves
- 1/4 tsp ground cinnamon
- 1/4 tsp black peppercorns
- 1 tomatillo, husked and quartered
- 1 green apple, peeled, cored and chopped
- 1 banana, sliced
- 4 cups chicken broth
- Salt to taste
- 1/2 cup vegetable oil
- Vegetables for serving (zucchini, carrots, potatoes, green beans)
Tools 🔪🥄
- Large pot or Dutch oven
- Blender
- Skillet
- Strainer
Steps
- In a large pot, heat olive oil over medium-high heat. Brown the chicken pieces in batches and set aside. Don't crowd the pot! You want color, not steam.
- In the same pot, sauté the onion and garlic until softened – about 5 minutes. Add the dried chiles and cook for another 2 minutes, stirring constantly, until fragrant. Watch they don't burn! ¡Cuidado!
- Transfer the chiles and onion mixture to a blender. Add the pepitas, almonds, raisins, bread, sesame seeds, cumin, coriander, cloves, cinnamon, peppercorns, tomatillo, apple, and banana. Cover with enough chicken broth to blend smoothly.
- Blend until completely smooth – this might take a few minutes. You might need to add more broth if it’s too thick. It should be like a creamy paste.
- Strain the mole sauce through a fine-mesh strainer into a clean bowl. Discard the solids. This is important. We want silky smooth mole, not gritty.
- Heat vegetable oil in the large pot over medium heat. Pour in the strained mole sauce and cook for about 20-25 minutes, stirring frequently, until it darkens slightly and thickens. (It will splatter. Be careful!)
- Return the browned chicken to the pot. Add the remaining chicken broth. Bring to a simmer, cover, and cook for 1 hour, or until the chicken is tender and falling off the bone.
- Add your chosen vegetables during the last 30 minutes of cooking – potatoes and carrots first, then zucchini and green beans towards the end. Don't overcook them; you want some bite.
- Season with salt to taste. ¡Ajústalo! Make it your own. This is where you can add a tiny pinch of sugar if you want a little sweetness.
- Serve hot with a sprinkle of sesame seeds and a side of something bright and fresh.
Make-Ahead / Storage
- The mole sauce can be made ahead of time and stored in an airtight container in the refrigerator for up to 3 days.
- Leftover mole amarillo can be refrigerated for up to 4 days.
- Mole freezes well. Store in airtight containers for up to 2 months. Thaw overnight in the refrigerator before reheating.
- Reheat gently over low heat, adding a little chicken broth if needed.
Side Dish Pairing
- A vibrant papaya salad with lime and chile flakes cuts through the richness beautifully.
- Or, try a simple grilled pineapple salsa for a sweet and smoky contrast.
Tía Mildred always decía, “Roberto should stick to opening coconuts.”
