Enchiladas De Mole Poblano – Chicken Enchiladas Covered In Dark, Chocolate-Infused Mole Sauce.
My mother always said making mole poblano was like conducting an orchestra of chaos. And she wasn’t wrong.
Mole poblano, that dark, complex sauce that feels like a hug from your ancestors, comes straight from Puebla, Mexico. Stories say nuns in the convents first concocted it back in the 18th century—trying to impress a visiting archbishop, ¡ándale! They combined indigenous ingredients like chiles, spices, and chocolate with European additions. Pretty fancy for a convent kitchen. It took years to perfect, becoming a symbol of Puebla’s culinary artistry. It isn’t just a sauce, mija, it’s history in every bite.
But honestly? It’s a lot. Like, a whole production. My abuela, bless her heart, treated mole as a family event. Forget Thanksgiving. Mole Sundays were serious business. Every cousin, every neighbor, all clamoring for a taste, offering “helpful” advice. Chaos, I tell you. Beautiful, delicious chaos.
The worst part? Tía Mildred. Oh, Tía Mildred. She meant well, really. But she had a "special" touch. Everything she cooked needed extra garlic. Extra everything, actually. Abuela would try to steer her gently ("Ay, Mildred, maybe just a little less chile this time?"), but Tía Mildred was a force of nature. A garlic-loving force of nature.
I remember one year, everyone was prepping, chopping, grinding seeds—a real assembly line. I was maybe ten, trying to grind sesame seeds (a thankless job) when Tía Mildred swooped in, grabbed my molcajete, and started adding… cloves. An entire head of cloves. Into my sesame seeds. “It needs more flavor, querida!” she declared, beaming. I burst into tears. My abuela sighed. That’s when the ‘Mildred Intervention’ protocol began: someone had to discreetly remove her from the kitchen before she ruined the whole batch.
Then there was the year my older cousin Ricardo tried to be clever. He thought he could sneak in some habaneros, claiming it would “elevate” the mole. Abuela caught him red-handed (or should I say, chile-handed). Let's just say Ricardo spent the rest of the day drinking horchata and apologizing profusely. ¡Ay Dios mío! The drama.
And don’t even get me started on the chocolate. Abuela insisted on using Mexican chocolate, the kind with cinnamon and sugar. Not that fancy European stuff. My cousins and I would secretly steal chunks of it when no one was looking. It was the best part. Well, almost. The smell of the roasting chiles, that's pretty amazing too. It gets everywhere. Like, you smell like mole for days. Worth it.
Once, Husband Carlos (he tries) volunteered to help. Bless his heart. He was assigned to toast the tortillas for the enchiladas. Five minutes later, the kitchen smelled like burnt rubber. Apparently, "toasting" to him meant "incinerating." Abuela just shook her head and took over. He was relegated to washing dishes. A much safer task.
Last year, I finally took on the full responsibility of making the mole. It was terrifying. All those ingredients, all those steps…I kept waiting for Tía Mildred to appear with a bag of garlic. She didn't. But she did sit at the kitchen table, offering commentary. Constant commentary. “You’re stirring too fast!” “Not enough cinnamon!” “Are you sure about those almonds?” It felt like an exam. A very spicy, chocolatey exam.
But it worked! It actually turned out delicious. Abuela smiled. It wasn’t quite her mole—nothing ever will be—but it was close. And more importantly, nobody needed an intervention this year. Progress. I think. Even Tía Mildred gave me a grudging nod of approval. Which, from her, is high praise. I swear I saw her sneak a few extra enchiladas when everyone wasn't looking.
This year? We're doing it again. And I have a feeling, despite my best efforts, there will still be a little bit of chaos. It wouldn't be Mole Sunday without it.
Recipe
Ingredients 🌽🥘
- 2 lbs boneless, skinless chicken thighs
- 2 tbsp vegetable oil
- 1 onion, chopped
- 4 cloves garlic, minced
- 4 ancho chiles, stemmed and seeded
- 2 pasilla chiles, stemmed and seeded
- 2 mulato chiles, stemmed and seeded
- 1/4 cup almonds
- 1/4 cup raisins
- 1 corn tortilla, torn into pieces
- 1 slice of bolillo or French roll, torn into pieces
- 1/4 cup sesame seeds
- 1 tbsp pumpkin seeds (pepitas)
- 1 tsp ground cinnamon
- 1/2 tsp ground cloves
- 1/4 tsp ground cumin
- 1/4 tsp black pepper
- 1 oz Mexican chocolate, chopped
- 4 cups chicken broth
- Salt to taste
- 12 corn tortillas, for assembling enchiladas
- 1 cup shredded Oaxaca cheese (or Monterey Jack)
Tools 🔪🥄
- Large pot or Dutch oven
- Blender or food processor
- Skillet
- Baking dish (9x13 inch)
- Tongs
Steps
- Boil the chicken thighs in water until cooked through, about 20-25 minutes. Shred the chicken and set aside. Don’t skip this step—you need good stock too!
- Heat the oil in a large pot over medium heat. Sauté the onion and garlic until softened, around 5 minutes. It's all about building those layers of flavor.
- Add the dried chiles to the pot and cook for 2-3 minutes, until fragrant. Be careful not to burn them! Burnt chiles = bitter mole. Trust me.
- In a dry skillet, toast the almonds, raisins, tortilla pieces, bread pieces, sesame seeds, and pumpkin seeds separately until lightly browned. Keep a close eye on them – they burn fast!
- Combine the toasted ingredients with the sautéed onions and chiles in the blender. Add the cinnamon, cloves, cumin, and pepper. Blend until smooth, adding chicken broth as needed to create a paste.
- Pour the blended mixture back into the pot. Add the remaining chicken broth and bring to a simmer. Cook for 30-40 minutes, stirring occasionally, until the sauce has thickened slightly. This is where patience comes in handy.
- Stir in the chopped chocolate and continue cooking for another 5-10 minutes, until the chocolate is melted and fully incorporated. Taste and adjust seasoning with salt. Now it smells like Abuela's kitchen.
- Preheat oven to 350°F (175°C). Dip each corn tortilla briefly in the warm mole sauce.
- Fill each tortilla with shredded chicken and a sprinkle of cheese. Roll up tightly and place seam-side down in the baking dish.
- Pour the remaining mole sauce over the enchiladas, ensuring they are well coated. Sprinkle with more cheese.
- Bake for 20-25 minutes, or until bubbly and heated through. The cheese should be golden brown and melty— perfection.
- Let cool slightly before serving. Garnish with sesame seeds, if desired. ¡Buen provecho!
Make-Ahead / Storage
- You can make the mole sauce up to 3 days in advance and store it in an airtight container in the refrigerator.
- Assembled enchiladas can be refrigerated for up to 24 hours before baking. Add a few extra minutes to the baking time if starting from cold.
- Leftover enchiladas can
be stored in the refrigerator for up to 3 days. Reheat in the oven or microwave.
Side Dish Pairing
This dish pairs wonderfully with Mexican rice and refried beans. A fresh avocado salad with a lime vinaigrette provides a lovely contrast to the richness of the mole. Don't forget a dollop of sour cream or Mexican crema for coolness.
Remember, mole is a labor of love. Don’t be intimidated by the ingredient list. The result is truly worth the effort; a taste of history, family, and tradition in every bite.
¡Buen provecho!
