One of my favorite food-themed movies is Chocolat. All those sexy close-ups of thick and glossy ribbons of deep dark chocolate. The dustings of cinnamon you could almost taste. And the revelation of chile-spiked cocoa! It's enough to make any chocolate and spice lover swoon. So when I learned I was allergic to chicken, Dear Reader, you can bet one of my first laments was, No more mole! [I loved me some chicken mole.]
Flash forward.
Winter day. Steve is turning, smiling- devilish- in the late afternoon sun that slants through the square kitchen window, unwrapping (vegans please skip ahead now to when I acknowledge your goddess-given right for a substitute) a gorgeous ribeye steak from Whole Foods and ponders, aloud, Should we make some kind of stew tonight- something Sicilian, maybe? And suddenly- feverishly- I am possessed with the idea of mole- a lip smacking, foodgasm-inducing Mexican sauce, decadently rich and redolent with unsweetened chocolate and spices.
You know what happened next.
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