<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8" standalone="yes"?><rss version="2.0" xmlns:atom="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom"><channel><title>Chiles on Sunday Evening Review</title><link>https://sundayeveningreview.com/tags/chiles/</link><description>Recent content in Chiles on Sunday Evening Review</description><generator>Hugo</generator><language>en-us</language><lastBuildDate>Sat, 06 Jun 2026 06:00:00 -0500</lastBuildDate><atom:link href="https://sundayeveningreview.com/tags/chiles/index.xml" rel="self" type="application/rss+xml"/><item><title>What Is Mole Sauce (And Why the Real Thing Takes All Day)</title><link>https://sundayeveningreview.com/living/what-is-mole-sauce/</link><pubDate>Sat, 06 Jun 2026 06:00:00 -0500</pubDate><guid>https://sundayeveningreview.com/living/what-is-mole-sauce/</guid><description>&lt;p>The first time I had real mole, I was in Oaxaca in 1987. Elena and I had gone there specifically to eat, which we called a research trip so it sounded like there was a professional justification. A woman in the central market was making mole negro for her daughter&amp;rsquo;s quinceañera, and her neighbor, who sold pottery at a stall near the zócalo, invited us to sit with the family. I had been eating mole for fifteen years by then. The jarred kind. The restaurant kind that comes from jarred paste. The kind you order because you know what it is and don&amp;rsquo;t need to translate anything on the menu.&lt;/p></description></item></channel></rss>