A Sigh of Relief

Like many newlyweds entertaining their inlaws for the holidays, I was feeling a bit anxious about hosting Thanksgiving dinner. And though my nerves could have related to the turkey and the trimmings (otherwise known as Things I've Never Made), my jitters had nothing to do with my lack of knowledge.

I was worried because we'd decided to swap pork for turkey, tortillas for rolls and ceviche, chips and salsa and rice for the traditional sides. I think you can see where we headed, south of the border to Mexico.

We came up with the idea to throw a Mexican Thanksgiving years ago, when Jake and I discovered that neither of us was particularly fond of Thanksgiving food. Sure, I like cranberry sauce and my Grandma's famous carrot pudding (which is a recipe for another time), and Jake can be talked into eating a dozen buttery rolls or so. But we both disliked the star of the spread, that dull old bird, and the parade of pies that typically follows the main course. So, we decided that when we were old and settled enough to play holiday host, we would start our own tradition surrounding Jake's favorite food group: Mexican food.

This year seemed like the right time to introduce our alternative Thanksgiving but as we inched closer and closer to the date, I decided we were doomed to dissapoint. I figured the traditionalists were already mourning the death of T-Day and scheming up ways to politely decline our invitation in the name of pumpkin pie. I was also sure that the people who did come would merely pick at the food we served - you know, doing that thing were you push the food around on the plate to make it look like you ate something - then quickly flee home to devour a perfectly roasted turkey and platters of stuffing like volutres.

I can now breath a sigh of relief; none of these things happened because my inlaws were adventerous and gracious guests, and because we served a main course that's hard not to like: pork mole.

Though I'm sure you've heard otherwise about making mole from scratch, our low maintance version is just a touch more difficult than making pot roast. In fact, it's a lot like making pot roast. You simply throw a hunk of meat on the stove to stew and bubble away in a spice and chile-spiked broth until the meat pulls apart with the twin tines of two forks. Then, you bake the meat a bit to crisp up its edges and boil the brick red sauce down until it is smooth and earthy tasting. This all gets tossed together and folded in tortillas, preferrably the homemade, barely blistered, still-warm-from-the-stove sort.

Before you read the recipe and point out the obvious, yes, our so-called mole lacks a key component, chocolate. That's not us trying to buck another tradition. It's just that the recipe we fell in love with didn't call for chocolate. This probably means that this dish is something else masquarading as a mole but we're ok with that. This so-called mole was the star of our new tradition this year and, in our eyes, so much better than turkey.

Pork Mole

I'm fortunate enough to work from home so I can keep an eye on the pork while it cooks in the afternoon. For those of you chained to your cubicles somewhere other than home, I imagine you could make this in a slow cooker. Or, save it for a rainy Sunday when the smell alone will keep you hovering in the kitchen in anticipation all afternoon.

Serves 6

1 medium white or red onion, chopped

2 cloves garlic, peeled

1 ripe tomato, chopped

1 28-ounce can crushed tomatos

1 cup chicken broth

2 tablespoons brown sugar

3 tablespoons distilled white vinegar

1 tablespoon chopped canned chipotle chiles in adobo sauce

1 dried ancho or pasilla chile, stemmed, seeded, deveined, torn in pieces

½ teaspoon ground coriander

¼ teaspoon ground cloves

¼ teaspoon ground cinnamon

1 boneless pork butt roast (about 3 pounds), trimmed of visible fat

Salt and freshly ground black pepper

Cilantro sprigs for garnish

Combine the onion, garlic, tomato, crushed tomatos, broth, brown sugar vinegar, chipotle, dried chile, coriander, cloves and cinnamon in a large, heavy-bottomed soup pot with a tight-fitting lid. Put the pork in the pot, half submerged in the liquid.

Place the pot over medium-high heat and bring to a boil. Reduce the heat to low, cover, and simmer gently until the meat is tender when pierced with a fork, 3 to 3 ½ hours. Stir the sauce and turn the meat occasionally while it is cooking.

Adjust the oven rack to the center position and preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Carefully transfer the meat in one piece to a roasting pan, leaving the sauce in the pan. Bake the meat until it is well browned, about 30 minutes.

Meanwhile, skim and discard the fat from the reserved sauce. Boil the sauce over high heat until it is reduced to 2½ cups, 10 to 20 minutes. Puree the sauce in a blender or food processor until it is smooth; return it to the pot and keep warm. The sauce should have a thick consistency. If it is thin and watery, continue to reduce it over medium-high heat. Season the sauce with salt and pepper to taste.

Remove the pork from the oven. Using 2 forks, tear the meat into large chunks. Place the pork in a serving bowl and ladle the sauce over it. Garnish with cilantro sprigs. Serve with warmed tortillas, beans, and Mexican rice.