Mole Poblano

Legend puts the invention in the kitchen of Puebla's Santa Rosa convent, where a nun - flustered by a visiting viceroy or bishop, the story varies - swept the pantry into one pot: chiles mulato, ancho and pasilla, tomato, almonds, raisins, sesame, tortilla and stale bread for body, spices from two continents, and the scandalous genius of a little chocolate. Whatever the truth, mole poblano became the sauce by which Mexico explains itself: twenty-odd ingredients toasted, ground and simmered for hours into a dark, brick-red velvet that is neither sweet nor hot but endlessly deep, classically ladled over turkey or chicken and signed with sesame seeds. Puebla treats it as patrimony - the tiled kitchen of Santa Rosa is a museum stop, restaurant dynasties guard grandmother recipes, mills in the markets grind house pastes to order, and family versions surface at every baptism and wedding. Tasting it in its birthplace, with rice and thick tortillas, is one of Mexican travel's fundamental acts.

What you actually see

• The plate itself - dark velvet over turkey or chicken, sesame-signed.
• The Santa Rosa kitchen - the tiled convent room of the legend.
• The market mills - mole pastes ground and sold by the kilo.
• The variations - family and restaurant recipes argued table by table.

When to go

Year-round at any hour Puebla eats; June's mole festivals and fiesta seasons multiply the versions. Sunday family lunches see the great rooms at full voice.

Honest expectations

First-timers expecting "chocolate sauce" meet something far more complex and savory - approach it as you would a great curry. Quality varies enormously; convent-recipe houses and busy fondas beat tourist zocalo tables. It is rich - the long lunch format exists for a reason.

Nearby

Puebla's sweets street, the Rosario chapel and the Talavera workshops complete the city's edible-and-gilded circuit.