In the ‘Land of Seven Moles,’ food unites everyone

Zulia Reyes Diaz was 8 years old when her grandmother finally let her wash the dishes.

That was what Diaz had been waiting for. Rather than a chore to rush through, washing dishes was for her an opportunity, an initiation of sorts. It opened a window onto the family’s culinary secrets.

“It allowed me to be in the kitchen, so I could watch my grandmother prepare the meals,” said Diaz, a Zapotec Indian and instructor at the Instituto Cultural Oaxaca language school in Oaxaca, Mexico.

Diaz is a diminutive woman with a brilliant smile and easy laugh. Her face lights up as she talks about her grandmother.

The roles for men and women were very clear when she was growing up, she said. Men worked in the fields, and women ruled the home. Meals were typically made from scratch, so the kitchen was a constant hive of activity with baking, boiling, frying and, most of all, grinding the various ingredients that went into the different recipes.

“That was the picture of my childhood,” Diaz said. “There would be up to 10 women in the kitchen cooking. And this wasn’t a once- or twice-a-year thing; it was a daily event. Preparing breakfast and lunch all blended together. Cooking united us. It’s a special memory.”


Food remains a unifying experience in Oaxaca (pronounced wah-HA-ka).

Located in southern Mexico, adjacent to the Pacific Ocean, Oaxaca has extremely varied landscapes, featuring everything from tropical jungles to deserts, high mountain pine forests, beaches and coastal plains.

Oaxaca de Juarez, the capital and largest city in the state, is often cited as one of the top foodie destinations in Mexico, and perhaps in all the world. Street vendors and restaurants abound, along with grand “mercados” or marketplaces that offer everything from fresh fruits and vegetables to eggs, meat, dairy products, breads and pastries.

“Food is very important for us,” Diaz said. “It’s part of our identity.”

And if there’s one dish that best reflects Oaxaca’s diversity, it’s mole.

Pronounced MOH-lay, the iconic sauce combines pre-Hispanic ingredients with post-Hispanic nuts, herbs and spices that were introduced following the Spanish conquest. Some versions have as many as 60 ingredients, leading celebrity chef Gordon Ramsey to describe it as “one of the world’s most complex cuisines.”


An old tourism ad campaign designated Oaxaca as the “Land of Seven Moles,” but in reality there’s an almost infinite variety. They differ by region or even from village to village, and it seems every family has a recipe that’s been handed down through the ages — one that doesn’t get shared, even with friends.

“In my family, mole was very, very important,” Diaz said.

Simpler varieties, like mole rojo or mole verde, were prepared on a regular basis, but the most complex version, the “black mole” or mole negro, was typically only made for special occasions.

The process began with a visit to the market, where her grandmother would hand-pick all the ingredients. That was followed by days sitting around the kitchen table, when the whole family would split open the dried chilis to remove the seeds and veins.

“I remember having these huge bags of chilis,” Diaz said. “Sometimes it would take three or four days to get through them all.”

The work was anything but dull, though, since it gave everyone a chance to visit and catch up on the latest gossip. In a culture that places a premium on family, mole is far more than just a food. It’s an opportunity to strengthen social bonds.

It is, Diaz said, “una experiencia muy bonita” — a very beautiful experience.


Her grandmother’s recipe has about 30 ingredients. That includes several varieties of fresh and dried peppers, tomatoes, bread, cinnamon, almonds, raisins, sesame seeds, ginger and a little bit of chocolate.

Americans often think mole is primarily a spicy chocolate sauce, but that’s rarely a key ingredient. The real secret to making mole, Diaz said, is “getting the color just right.”

That means roasting the peppers until they’re not just well-charred, but blackened almost to the point of charcoal. And the sesame seeds should be fried to a perfect golden color.

It’s all a judgment call, which is why making mole negro almost requires an apprenticeship: The recipe is far more complex than simply “roast the peppers on medium heat for five minutes.”


“My grandmother had a lot of people helping her in the kitchen, while she supervised,” Diaz said. “The hardest part was getting everything the way she wanted. The colors had to be at the perfect point. She was very strict.”

After her grandmother died, Diaz became the family’s “molinera” or mole maker. She has hundreds of photos showing the various steps in the process.

Looking at them, she gets pensive about the future.

Like Mexico itself, mole negro is a fascinating blend of the old and the new, a complex cultural stew unlike anything else. Because it takes as long as a week to prepare, it isn’t a dish made from scratch for casual, weekend get-togethers. It’s made for 50 or 60 or 100 guests, with enough left over so everyone can have some to take home.

In these busy modern times, there’s less time to keep up with such traditions. More and more, the process is being outsourced to commercial entities.

“I believe there won’t be another generation of molineras,” Diaz said. “Once we all pass, there won’t be any more. It makes me sad, but my cousins and daughters don’t like to cook. They didn’t have the connection I had with my grandmother.”

Once that connection is gone, the magic will be lost. Washing dishes will be nothing but a chore.

Spence covered government and politics for the Lewiston Tribune for 14 years before retiring at the end of 2022. He recently spent two months in Oaxaca. The interview with Diaz was conducted in Spanish with assistance from Daniel Valdez, a translator with Parlante Internacional.