Ever find yourself standin’ in the kitchen, wooden spoon in hand, wonderin’ why some dishes just speak to your soul while others fall flat? That’s the thing about a proper Chicken with Rich and Spicy Mole Sauce Recipe—it whispers secrets of generations past through cinnamon-laced breath. I first attempted mole during a thunderstorm in 2017, when the power kept flickiing on and off, and I somehow managed to burn chocolate (yes, in a LIQUID) while simultaneously undercooking chicken. What a disaster! My kitchen looked like a bomb of cocoa powder had exploded. I’ve spent nearly 11 years perfecting what I now call my “soul-sauce technique,” which involves the crucial steps of pepper-charring and chocolate-swirling that most recipes completely ignore. This whole mole journey has honestly been one long, delicious mistake after another—but that’s cooking for ya!
Look, just throw this together tonight. Trust me.
My Twisted Path to Mole Enlightenment
So I’m sittin’ here thinking about cilantro (which tastes like soap to 14% of people, but like heaven to me), when it hits me that I should probably explain how this Chicken with Rich and Spicy Mole Sauce Recipe came to be my signature dish.
It started when Greg (my former neighbor’s cousin who spent a year cooking in Oaxaca) insulted my first attempt back in 2012—or was it 2013? Honestly could’ve been 2011. He called it “chocolate gravy” and I nearly tossed the entire pot at his smug face. The next seven attempts weren’t much better. I tried making it in Denver once and the altitude made everything taste like wet cardboard wrapped in sadness. (Ever try toasting spices in 87% humidity? Don’t.)
My breakthrough came during an accidental three-day pantry cleanout when I discovered that pre-toasting the dried chilies separately—what I eventually dubbed “the awakening method”—creates this incredible depth that makes you want to drown in the sauce. I keep a Post-it note with my mole failures stuck inside my spice cabinet as a reminder that sometimes culinary disasters birth the most magical creations.
Ingredients for Mole Magic
For the sauce that’ll haunt your dreams:
- 5 ancho chilies, stems and seeds removed (the wrinklier they are, the more they’ve been impatiently waiting for your mole)
- 3 guajillo chilies, similarly prepped (if you can only find 2, throw in a chipotle and call it a Thompson variation)
- 2 chipotles in adobo, plus 1½ tsps of their clingy sauce (more if you enjoy occasional pain)
- ½ cup raw almonds—the kind with skin, not those naked pretenders
- ⅓ cup raisins (the dark ones that look like tiny meteorites)
- 1 corn tortilla, torn into sad little pieces
- 3 tablespoons sesame seeds (I measure these with my grandmother’s old thimble—approximately 3 overflowing thimbles equals a tablespoon in my kitchen)
- 2.5 ounces of dark chocolate (72% minimum—anything less is just brown sugar pretending to be sophisticated)
- 1 cinnamon stick, preferably Mexican canela that you forget to fish out until someone almost chokes
- A pinch of ground cloves (seriously A PINCH—I ruined a batch with a heavy hand once)
- 7-8 black peppercorns, slightly crushed with the bottom of a coffee mug
- 1 medium yellow onion, roughlt chopped by an amateur samurai
- 4 garlic cloves, smashed with unrestrained aggression
- 1 roma tomato, cored and quartered (grocery store tomatoes are fine here since they’ll be cooked to submission)
- 2ish cups chicken broth (homemade is glorious but who has time for that on a Tuesday?)
For the chicken component:
- 8 bone-in, skin-on chicken thighs (boneless works but lacks the religious experience of bone-in)
- Salt and freshly ground black pepper (pre-ground pepper is just gray dust, don’t @ me)
- 2 tbsps of vegetable oil for initial searing (olive oil will smoke and make your kitchen smell like a tire fire)
The Chaotic Road to Mole Perfection
1️⃣ First things first—heat a large, dry skillet (not non-stick, for crying out loud) over medium heat until you can feel the warmth by hovering your hand 2 inches above. Add the dried chilies and toast—AND I MEAN WATCH THEM LIKE A HAWK—for about 30 seconds per side. The second they start to smell like heaven, yank them off the heat. Set aside in a bowl, cover with hot water, and let them soak until they’re pliable as wet leather (20 mins minimum).
2️⃣ In the same skillet (why dirty another?), toast the almonds, sesame seeds, and tortilla pieces one after another—not together because they brown at different rates, a mistake I’ve made seventeen times. The almonds take about 4 minutes, the sesame seeds need about 90 seconds (they’ll jump around the pan like tiny popcorn), and the tortilla pieces need just long enough to turn golden but not long enough to become Archaeological Artifacts™. Transfer everything to a plate as they finish.
3️⃣-ish Using that same pan (still no washing!), add a splash of oil and soften the onion and garlic until they’re translucent and fragrant—about 5-6 minutes. Your kitchen should smell like the entrance to heaven. Add the tomato and cook until it starts to break down and release its juices, maybe another 5 minutes.
4️⃣ Now for the trickiest part that nobody tells you about—drain those soaked chilies but SAVE THE SOAKING LIQUID! I once dumped this precious flavor elixir down the drain and nearly had an existential breakdown. Transfer the chilies, onion mixture, toasted almonds, sesame seeds, tortilla pieces, raisins, spices, and about 1 cup of the chile soaking liquid to a blender. Blend until smooth-ish, though I actually prefer what I call “texture with secrets”—tiny bits that surprise your tongue later.
5️⃣ Here comes what I call the “commitment phase.” Heat 2 tablespoons of oil in a large, deep pot over medium heat. When hot, pour in the sauce—BUT STEP BACK IMMEDIATELY. It will splatter like an angry cat in a bathtub. Cook, stirring frequently (I use my great-aunt’s wooden spoon with the crack in it for good luck), until the sauce darkens and thickens slightly, about 10 minutes.
6️⃣ Add the chicken broth, a cup at a time, stirring after each addition. Break the chocolate into pieces and drop them in, watching them slowly melt into the sauce like dreams dissolving in morning light. Bring to a simmer, then reduce heat to maintain a gentle bubble. Let it cook 30 minutes—actually, make that 25 if you’re impatient like me. The sauce should coat the back of a spoon but still flow, like a slow-motion waterfall.
7️⃣ Meanwhile, season those chicken thighs with salt and pepper—be generous!—and sear them skin-side down in a separate pan until golden brown, about 7 minutes per side. You’re not cooking them through, just developing flavor and rendering some fat. Transfer the seared chicken to the mole sauce, submerge as much as possible, cover and simmer until the chicken is fall-off-the-bone tender, about 45 minutes. If the sauce gets too thick, thin it with more broth or water. If it’s too thin… well, just call it “elegant” and no one will question you.
Mole Mastery Notes & Tips
• NEVER refrigerate mole immediately after cooking. I made this mistake after my second attempt and the flavor locked up tighter than Fort Knox. Let it cool at room temperature for at least an hour, allowing the flavors to continue developing in what my grandmother called the “afterglow period.”
• The proper mole consistency should slowly drip from a spoon—if it pours like water, simmer it longer; if it clings like peanut butter, add broth until it loosens. There’s no shame in adjustments.
• My signature “chocolate blooming” technique involves adding the chocolate off-heat and letting it melt gradually rather than over direct heat. This prevents the chocolate from separating and gives the sauce a silkier finish that my ex-boyfriend Steven (a pastry chef with anger issues) finally admitted was superior to the traditional method.
• Contrary to most recipes, I actually recommend making this a day ahead. Store in the refrigerator, then reheat slowly with additional broth to loosen. The flavor complexity increases exponentially with time—what I call the “mole maturation miracle.”
• For a deeper resource on traditional Mexican sauces, I highly recommend Authentic Mexican by Rick Bayless, who despite being a gringo, knows his stuff.
• If you’re struggling with chile selection, Chile Pepper Madness provides an excellent visual guide to identifying different varieties.
The Only Tools You Really Need
OLD-SCHOOL BLENDER WITH QUESTIONABLE SAFETY FEATURES ★★★★★
Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08DD7XS4P
Mine sounds like a motorcycle during operation but pulverizes dried chilies better than any food processor
I’ve had the same one since college—they just don’t make blenders with this kind of violent determination anymore
HEAVY-BOTTOM DUTCH OVEN FROM YOUR GRANDMA ★★★★★
Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B000N501BK
The microscopic scratches and stains from decades of use add flavor molecules science can’t explain
I treat mine like a family member and have been known to apologize to it when I accidentally bang it against the stove
WOODEN SPOON WITH CHARACTER ISSUES ★★★★★
Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07K1HF8GM
Never run it through the dishwasher—the trapped flavors of past meals contribute to what I call “ancestral seasoning”
The best ones have a slight bend from that time you left it in the pot too long—it’s not damaged, it’s personalized
Variations That’ll Make You Question Everything
For a green mole variation (what I call “Jealous Mole”), substitute tomatillos for tomatoes, pepitas for almonds, and add a handful of cilantro at the end. The first time I made this, my neighbor’s dog sat outside my kitchen window for three hours.
Try using duck instead of chicken for what I call “Fancy Pants Mole.” The rich duck fat merges with the sauce in a way that’s almost inappropriate for family dinner. I served this to my mother-in-law once, and she stopped criticizing my career choices for a full week.
For vegetarians, roasted cauliflower or portobello mushrooms work surprisingly well. The earthiness plays against the chocolate notes in a completely different but equally satisfying way. I discovered this accident when I forgot to defrost chicken and had a dinner party starting in two hours.
The One Question Everyone Always Asks
Why does my mole sauce taste bitter?
Listen closely, because this saved my sanity: You’re probably burning either the chilies or the chocolate. Most recipes don’t warn you that chilies go from perfectly toasted to incinerated in literally 3 seconds. My Uncle Victor (who isn’t actually my uncle but married my mom’s best friend from college) taught me the “nose timer” technique—the moment you smell the chilies’ aroma intensify, they’re done. With chocolate, never add it over high heat, and for the love of all things holy, use actual chocolate, not cocoa powder. I once substituted hot chocolate mix in desperation, and my Chicken with Rich and Spicy Mole Sauce Recipe tasted like a campfire marshmallow gone horribly wrong.
Final Thoughts on Mole Magic
This Chicken with Rich and Spicy Mole Sauce Recipe represents everything I love about cooking—chaos, tradition, and flavors that make you close your eyes when you taste them. Some nights I serve it over rice, sometimes with warm tortillas, occasionally just with a spoon directly from the pot while standing in my kitchen at midnight (don’t judge).
The beauty of mole is that it’s never the same twice. Mine has evolved from the terrible chocolate gravy Greg insulted years ago to something I’d proudly serve to visiting dignitaries—if any ever showed up at my door. Maybe one day.
Will you add more chocolate? Less cinnamon? What childhood memory will your first bite resurrect? The possibilities are endless.
Until next time, may your sauces be rich and your chicken tender.
~Chef Morgan “Mole Mistress” Jensen, Finalist, 2019 Springfield Community College Culinary Showdown
