By Dia de los Muertos at Rivera's. Year six. Thirty-one photographs from eighteen families. The ofrenda fills the corner completely now — three tiers of marigolds and candles and photographs and pan de muerto and the small framed photo of Spike the goldfish that Diego placed four years ago and which has become a permanent resident of the altar because nobody has the heart to remove a dead fish from a community memorial. Mrs. Gutierrez brought fresh marigolds, as she does every year. Gerald brought flowers for his wife's photograph. A new family — the Okafor family, regulars since the expansion — brought a photograph of their grandmother, who died in Lagos and who loved to cook and who they want honored at the altar of a restaurant that understands that cooking is an act of love that transcends geography and mortality.
I made mole. Year eight. The mole is not described because the mole does not need description. The mole is made. The mole goes on the ofrenda and on the plates. The mole is oxygen. The lungs do not describe breathing. The cook does not describe mole. The mole exists.
Sofia organized the pan de muerto distribution for the third year — forty loaves this year, up from thirty-two. She baked them at the restaurant with the prep crew, distributed them to the families on the ofrenda, and set aside extra loaves for the counter — free, for any customer who wanted bread for their own dead. Eleven customers took loaves. Eleven families in Mesa, Arizona, took bread home for their dead because a twelve-year-old at a BBQ restaurant decided that the dead deserve bread and the living deserve the chance to give it.
Diego placed a new item on the ofrenda: not a photograph, but his first story — "The Man at the Counter," printed and framed, placed on the altar as a tribute to the character who is based on Roberto but who, in the fictional space of the ofrenda, represents all the quiet people who show up and watch and say nothing and hold everything together. The story is fiction. The man at the counter is real. The ofrenda holds both — the real dead and the fictional tributes and the goldfish and the bread and the marigolds. The altar makes no distinction between fact and fiction. The altar honors what is loved. Everything on the altar is loved.
Roberto did not come to Rivera's for Dia de los Muertos. He was at home, in the recliner. I brought him a bowl of mole and a piece of pan de muerto. He ate them slowly. He said, "The mole is proper." Proper. The mole. The word that has graduated from the carne asada to the brisket to the ribs and now to the mole. The mole is proper. The highest honor. The recipe that traveled from Elena to Marcus to the ofrenda to Roberto's recliner is proper. The transfer is complete. The mole is proper. The fire is proper. Everything is proper.
Roberto called the mole proper, and that word — proper — has been sitting with me ever since, because proper means finished, means earned, means the thing finally became what it was always meant to be. Not every dish on the table that night carried that weight, but every dish carried color and intention. This cranberry sauce is the one I reach for when the table is full of people and photographs and bread and memory — it’s bright the way marigolds are bright, a little sharp, a little sweet, and unmistakably festive in the way that a Dia de los Muertos altar is festive: not in spite of grief, but because of love.
Fiesta Style Cranberry Sauce
Prep Time: 5 minutes | Cook Time: 15 minutes | Total Time: 20 minutes | Servings: 10
Ingredients
- 12 oz fresh or frozen cranberries
- 3/4 cup granulated sugar
- 1/2 cup fresh orange juice
- 1 teaspoon orange zest
- 1/2 teaspoon ground cumin
- 1/4 teaspoon chili powder
- 1/4 teaspoon ground cinnamon
- 1 small jalapeño, seeded and finely minced
- 2 tablespoons fresh cilantro, chopped
- Pinch of salt
Instructions
- Combine base ingredients. In a medium saucepan over medium heat, stir together the cranberries, sugar, orange juice, and orange zest until the sugar begins to dissolve, about 2 minutes.
- Add the spices. Stir in the cumin, chili powder, cinnamon, jalapeño, and a pinch of salt. Raise the heat slightly and bring the mixture to a gentle boil.
- Cook until cranberries burst. Reduce heat to medium-low and cook, stirring occasionally, for 10–12 minutes, until the cranberries have burst and the sauce has thickened to a jammy consistency.
- Finish and cool. Remove from heat and stir in the fresh cilantro. Taste and adjust salt or sugar as needed. Transfer to a serving bowl and allow to cool to room temperature; the sauce will continue to thicken as it cools.
- Serve. Serve at room temperature alongside grilled meats, roasted poultry, or as a bright condiment on a holiday table. Refrigerate leftovers in a covered container for up to one week.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 72 | Protein: 0g | Fat: 0g | Carbs: 19g | Fiber: 1g | Sodium: 18mg