Relationship: Child of im/migrant
My mothers mortar and pestle.
My mothers mortar and pestle.

Of course, I have a lot of memories of molé. It’s only natural with my Mexican culture and heritage. The community of people that I interacted with left me with many faint  memories from the time I lived in a shelter from what I can remember it was a very small community housing 3-4 families of different ethnicities and religious beliefs.I remember always sheltering myself and my feelings from everyone else I imagine these memories of molé with family and friends at parties and birthdays seeing everyone with a smile on their face especially the birthday boy or girl. But the memories that remain most vividly are the ones with my mother and when she was cooking the molé just seeing a plate of molé and seeing a small cake sitting on the table giving me tingles through my body. Just being able to smell the peppers and spices that were being roasted filled me with joy and excitement and I would often try and help cook the meat with the mole while sneaking a couple pieces for myself. These memories of watching my mother making molé have deeper connections to my emotions rather than eating it itself. This is a tradition I won't let fade away even though it's traditionally passed down from mother to daughter.  

In the image above showcases the Mortar and pestle my mother uses to grind up spices and roasted chilies into powder or paste which is used to make molè.

Place(s): Napa

– Lance Thomson

Relationship:  Child of im/migrant Child of im/migrant