Latest news with #Pujol
Yahoo
18-05-2025
- Politics
- Yahoo
Contributor: When it comes to mole, it's personal and political
For me, mole has always been personal. It's a bridge to my family, my memories and to Mexico itself. But lately, it's become political too. In these past months, as Trump's administration has run roughshod over any pretense of humanity in the way America treats immigrants, I've been thinking about how culture itself can be criminalized, policed, restricted and erased. So when I heard that Pujol, Enrique Olvera's Michelin-starred Mexico City restaurant, was bringing a pop-up, and his famous mole, to Los Angeles, I knew I had to go. I wasn't hungry just for mole but for my people, our culture, to be seen, even celebrated. Ten kitchen and wait staff traveled to Olvera's L.A. restaurant Damian for the event. That detail hit me hard because of the risks in crossing borders at a time when every Latino entering the U.S., no matter how or why or with what legal status, is suspect. Even inside the U.S. the border follows you. The message is clear: Perceived outsiders are untrustworthy by default. Read more: Contributor: My grandmother opened a restaurant in Echo Park in 1951. The rest is history Still the Pujol chefs and servers came, and brought with them Olvera's mole madre — a constantly aged, evolving mole that has been developing (almost like a sourdough starter) for a full 10 years. Some call it iconic. But as Olvera says, 'We're not trying to make the best mole — just our own.' That's the heart of it. Mole is memory, place, family, self. At the pop-up, I expected to be served one mole, the mole, the mole madre. Instead, we were served three. The first was a mole de olla — meaning, cooked in a clay pot. (I'm used to the term 'de la olla' referring to beans — frijoles de la olla, soupy and whole, not mashed or refried.) I was surprised to find that this mole wasn't traditional, that is, it wasn't a sauce poured over meat. Instead, it coated a tender short rib, more like a basting than a pour. And the flavor went deep: dark, smoky, with a chocolatey-coffee undertone — not sweet, but rich and complex. If I hadn't known it was mole, I might've mistaken it for a sophisticated barbecue glaze. The short rib itself was fatty, fork-tender and indulgent. Read more: Making tamales brings my family together. But can we keep the tradition going? The next mole arrived like a tribute to artist Josef Albers' 'Homage to the Square' — except this was a composition of nested circles on a round, white ceramic plate. At the center was an adobe-red mole nuevo, alive with brightness and vibrancy. The mole madre encircled it, just as its name suggested, like a mother cradling her child, a culinary pietà. Hand-written in pen, the menu noted the mole madre had now been aged for 3,676 days. The color was a deep, dark brown — like the bark of an ancient oak tree after a rainstorm, earthy and noble. The colors reflected not only the dish's depth but also the palette of Los Angeles, its temporary home. And it was served sans protein. Suddenly, the richness of the short rib in the previous course made sense — it had fulfilled the need for heartiness, allowing this dish to stand on its own. I scooped a tortilla outward toward the plate's edge — from the younger mole to the madre mole. The first bite was lively, spiced and bright — already better than almost any mole I'd ever had. Then the mole madre : thicker, more like pudding than sauce, reminiscent of the dense Spanish hot chocolate served with churros. It had the presence and gravitas of the San Gabriel Mountains — rising sharply from sea level to 10,000 feet. Just like those mountains catch the light — pink, orange, purple — this mole revealed layers of spice and complexity. It didn't just have depth; it had archaeological, geological depth. And yet, I had to laugh. It was a good thing I hadn't brought my mom or my tias to the pop-up. As transcendent as the dish was, they would've said: ¿Y la carne? When we asked how the mole evolves, our waiter explained that the ingredients change with the seasons. Before coming to Los Angeles, the chefs had added guava, apples and pears. Excited, I asked, 'What will you add while you're in L.A.?' The waiter smiled. 'We don't have plans to add anything.' But I wanted them to. I wanted Los Angeles to give the mole something in return — a gesture of reciprocity. When my family visits from Mexico, they bring raw cheeses, dried shrimp, artesenal pan dulces, beaded art made by the Huichol. We reciprocate with See's candies boxes, Dodger gear, knock-off designer purses from Los Callejones. Couldn't the chefs take something back? A flavor? A symbol? Something to mark that they weren't just visitors, but familia returning to ancestral soil here in Los Angeles, a city that was once itself part of Mexico? I thought of the loquats in season, sweet and floral, growing in backyards across L.A., so delicate they cannot be sold in markets. They'd make the perfect local accent. I thought of the sour cherry juice from a Georgian dumpling house in Glendale, its tartness would add a contrast to the mole's depth. I thought of David Mas Masumoto, the Japanese American farmer in the Central Valley whose family was imprisoned during World War II but whose peaches still flourish. Then I remembered the orange blossoms, blooming at the Huntington in San Marino. I'm writing a book about the Huntington gardens, and I know those trees once bore fruit picked and packed by Mexican laborers, 100 years ago. The Pujol mole, I realized, could hold a memory, just as those trees do. L.A. oranges and mole madre — they'd form a kind of culinary Latinidad, a genealogical and territorial fusion through food. I turned to the waiter and said, 'Please, take our oranges back with you. They're a link — across miles, generations. They belong with your mole.' He promised to pass the message on to the chefs. I had come to taste a legendary dish, to be sure. But in the savoring, I was struck by how precarious everything feels in this moment. I found myself yearning to convey how deeply what's Mexican and what's American are still connected, people to people, gente to gente, no matter what the government in Washington says. Every mole carries a story, even if it doesn't earn Michelin stars. The story tastes of a living, evolving history. And I want that story to shine. Natalia Molina is a professor of American studies and ethnicity at USC. Her latest book is "A Place at the Nayarit: How a Mexican Restaurant Nourished a Community." If it's in the news right now, the L.A. Times' Opinion section covers it. Sign up for our weekly opinion newsletter. This story originally appeared in Los Angeles Times.
Los Angeles Times
18-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Los Angeles Times
When it comes to mole, it's personal and political
For me, mole has always been personal. It's a bridge to my family, my memories and to Mexico itself. But lately, it's become political too. In these past months, as Trump's administration has run roughshod over any pretense of humanity in the way America treats immigrants, I've been thinking about how culture itself can be criminalized, policed, restricted and erased. So when I heard that Pujol, Enrique Olvera's Michelin-starred Mexico City restaurant, was bringing a pop-up, and his famous mole, to Los Angeles, I knew I had to go. I wasn't hungry just for mole but for my people, our culture, to be seen, even celebrated. Ten kitchen and wait staff traveled to Olvera's L.A. restaurant Damian for the event. That detail hit me hard because of the risks in crossing borders at a time when every Latino entering the U.S., no matter how or why or with what legal status, is suspect. Even inside the U.S. the border follows you. The message is clear: Perceived outsiders are untrustworthy by default. Still the Pujol chefs and servers came, and brought with them Olvera's mole madre — a constantly aged, evolving mole that has been developing (almost like a sourdough starter) for a full 10 years. Some call it iconic. But as Olvera says, 'We're not trying to make the best mole — just our own.' That's the heart of it. Mole is memory, place, family, self. At the pop-up, I expected to be served one mole, the mole, the mole madre. Instead, we were served three. The first was a mole de olla — meaning, cooked in a clay pot. (I'm used to the term 'de la olla' referring to beans — frijoles de la olla, soupy and whole, not mashed or refried.) I was surprised to find that this mole wasn't traditional, that is, it wasn't a sauce poured over meat. Instead, it coated a tender short rib, more like a basting than a pour. And the flavor went deep: dark, smoky, with a chocolatey-coffee undertone — not sweet, but rich and complex. If I hadn't known it was mole, I might've mistaken it for a sophisticated barbecue glaze. The short rib itself was fatty, fork-tender and indulgent. The next mole arrived like a tribute to artist Josef Albers' 'Homage to the Square' — except this was a composition of nested circles on a round, white ceramic plate. At the center was an adobe-red mole nuevo, alive with brightness and vibrancy. The mole madre encircled it, just as its name suggested, like a mother cradling her child, a culinary pietà. Hand-written in pen, the menu noted the mole madre had now been aged for 3,676 days. The color was a deep, dark brown — like the bark of an ancient oak tree after a rainstorm, earthy and noble. The colors reflected not only the dish's depth but also the palette of Los Angeles, its temporary home. And it was served sans protein. Suddenly, the richness of the short rib in the previous course made sense — it had fulfilled the need for heartiness, allowing this dish to stand on its own. I scooped a tortilla outward toward the plate's edge — from the younger mole to the madre mole. The first bite was lively, spiced and bright — already better than almost any mole I'd ever had. Then the mole madre : thicker, more like pudding than sauce, reminiscent of the dense Spanish hot chocolate served with churros. It had the presence and gravitas of the San Gabriel Mountains — rising sharply from sea level to 10,000 feet. Just like those mountains catch the light — pink, orange, purple — this mole revealed layers of spice and complexity. It didn't just have depth; it had archaeological, geological depth. And yet, I had to laugh. It was a good thing I hadn't brought my mom or my tias to the pop-up. As transcendent as the dish was, they would've said: ¿Y la carne? When we asked how the mole evolves, our waiter explained that the ingredients change with the seasons. Before coming to Los Angeles, the chefs had added guava, apples and pears. Excited, I asked, 'What will you add while you're in L.A.?' The waiter smiled. 'We don't have plans to add anything.' But I wanted them to. I wanted Los Angeles to give the mole something in return — a gesture of reciprocity. When my family visits from Mexico, they bring raw cheeses, dried shrimp, artesenal pan dulces, beaded art made by the Huichol. We reciprocate with See's candies boxes, Dodger gear, knock-off designer purses from Los Callejones. Couldn't the chefs take something back? A flavor? A symbol? Something to mark that they weren't just visitors, but familia returning to ancestral soil here in Los Angeles, a city that was once itself part of Mexico? I thought of the loquats in season, sweet and floral, growing in backyards across L.A., so delicate they cannot be sold in markets. They'd make the perfect local accent. I thought of the sour cherry juice from a Georgian dumpling house in Glendale, its tartness would add a contrast to the mole's depth. I thought of David Mas Masumoto, the Japanese American farmer in the Central Valley whose family was imprisoned during World War II but whose peaches still flourish. Then I remembered the orange blossoms, blooming at the Huntington in San Marino. I'm writing a book about the Huntington gardens, and I know those trees once bore fruit picked and packed by Mexican laborers, 100 years ago. The Pujol mole, I realized, could hold a memory, just as those trees do. L.A. oranges and mole madre — they'd form a kind of culinary Latinidad, a genealogical and territorial fusion through food. I turned to the waiter and said, 'Please, take our oranges back with you. They're a link — across miles, generations. They belong with your mole.' He promised to pass the message on to the chefs. I had come to taste a legendary dish, to be sure. But in the savoring, I was struck by how precarious everything feels in this moment. I found myself yearning to convey how deeply what's Mexican and what's American are still connected, people to people, gente to gente, no matter what the government in Washington says. Every mole carries a story, even if it doesn't earn Michelin stars. The story tastes of a living, evolving history. And I want that story to shine. Natalia Molina is a professor of American studies and ethnicity at USC. Her latest book is 'A Place at the Nayarit: How a Mexican Restaurant Nourished a Community.'
9 News
23-04-2025
- General
- 9 News
Today in History - April 24: Germany believed they had a widespread spy network all over the UK. It was just this guy
2 of 8 Attribution: The National Archives But the Germans did not realise Pujol was concocting complete fictions to undermine the Nazis. The Spaniard had offered himself as a double-agent to the British at the start of 1941, but was rejected. Still wanting to help, he signed up to help the Germans and was given espionage training.
Local France
12-04-2025
- Entertainment
- Local France
Paris theatre soul-searching after allegations of sexual abuse
The Theatre du Soleil, a collective based since 1970 in a disused munitions factory in the Bois de Vincennes park east of the capital, is famed for its critically acclaimed plays. It is also known for paying all its members the same salary, and until recently demanded that even lead actors help out in the kitchen. But the troupe says it has been in shock since a former volunteer last month alleged "attempted rape" at the theatre in 2010 as part of a parliamentary inquiry examining sexual abuse in the arts. The probe's final report -- a major achievement in France's #Metoo movement -- on Wednesday called on the creative industry to stamp out what it called "endemic" mistreatment of performers. As part of the probe, actress Agathe Pujol, in her early thirties, told a parliamentary inquiry that a 39-year-old actor attempted to rape her in front of "several witnesses" at a party at the Theatre du Soleil in December 2010. Pujol said she had discovered the experimental theatre in March that same year, as a shy 16-year-old with dreams of becoming a stage actor. Speaking to a parliamentary panel, she described a tense atmosphere in which teenagers were allowed to drink alcohol and "sexual misconduct" was often swept under the carpet. "It always had to be hushed up," she said. Pujol also described working for free in the theatre's kitchens, where the unnamed 39-year-old actor would seek to "charm" her and at least four other underage volunteers. Advertisement 'Such a shock' A source inside the theatre, speaking anonymously because not allowed to speak to the press, said Pujol's allegations against it had been a bombshell. "It was such a shock," the source said. "Some actors may have been a bit heavy handed but there wasn't a constant sexual atmosphere." The theatre has said in two public statements it was "stunned" and was launching an internal inquiry to "determine possible neglect, errors, mistakes, misdemeanours or crimes that might have been committed within its walls 15 years ago, before then or since". Ariane Mnouchkine, the theatre's 86-year-old co-founder, immediately called a meeting after Pujol's accusations. "This meeting is one of the most serious in the history of the Theatre du Soleil," the half-English, half-Russian director told attendees, according to a reporter from the Le Monde newspaper who was present. In a separate case, Pujol has also accused another actor, whose career started out at the Theatre du Soleil in the 1970s, of sexual abuse. She told French left-wing newspaper Liberation in January that Philippe Caubere, now 74, repeatedly raped her and recruited dozens of strangers to abuse her during a toxic decade-long relationship that started when she was a vulnerable 17-year-old. Caubere has denied "imposing any sexual relations" on her, and the Theatre du Soleil has said he left it in 1978. Advertisement 'Tough job' Other members of the company did not wish to speak publicly. But the source at the theatre told AFP that after someone was accused of "inappropriate behaviour" last year, the company hired an adviser to avoid situations of sexual misconduct. Mnouchkine confirmed this, but did not provide additional details. The source said two members had been fired in recent months, but the theatre director told AFP that the "painful" incident was "unrelated" to Pujol's accusations. Clemence Massart, an 80-year-old actress who was part of the troupe in the 1970s, said she had never experienced sexual pressure. "I never felt any pressure other than that of work," she told AFP. "It's a tough job and it's a place where you have to be good. You need good mental and physical health, and you have to accept to ask yourself questions," she said. French actress Judith Godreche, 53, called for the parliamentary inquiry last year after accusing two French directors of sexually abusing her when she was a teenager.
Yahoo
12-04-2025
- Entertainment
- Yahoo
Paris theatre soul-searching after allegations of sexual abuse
A feted left-wing French theatre company based in a park outside Paris is soul-searching after accusations it has left underage volunteers vulnerable to sexual abuse. The Theatre du Soleil, a collective based since 1970 in a disused munitions factory in the Bois de Vincennes park east of the capital, is famed for its critically acclaimed plays. It is also known for paying all its members the same salary, and until recently demanded that even lead actors help out in the kitchen. But the troupe says it has been in shock since a former volunteer last month alleged "attempted rape" at the theatre in 2010 as part of a parliamentary inquiry examining sexual abuse in the arts. The probe's final report -- a major achievement in France's #Metoo movement -- on Wednesday called on the creative industry to stamp out what it called "endemic" mistreatment of performers. As part of the probe, actress Agathe Pujol, in her early thirties, told a parliamentary inquiry that a 39-year-old actor attempted to rape her in front of "several witnesses" at a party at the Theatre du Soleil in December 2010. Pujol said she had discovered the experimental theatre in March that same year, as a shy 16-year-old with dreams of becoming a stage actor. Speaking to a parliamentary panel, she described a tense atmosphere in which teenagers were allowed to drink alcohol and "sexual misconduct" was often swept under the carpet. "It always had to be hushed up," she said. Pujol also described working for free in the theatre's kitchens, where the unnamed 39-year-old actor would seek to "charm" her and at least four other underage volunteers. - 'Such a shock' - A source inside the theatre, speaking anonymously because not allowed to speak to the press, said Pujol's allegations against it had been a bombshell. "It was such a shock," the source said. "Some actors may have been a bit heavy handed but there wasn't a constant sexual atmosphere." The theatre has said in two public statements it was "stunned" and was launching an internal inquiry to "determine possible neglect, errors, mistakes, misdemeanours or crimes that might have been committed within its walls 15 years ago, before then or since". Ariane Mnouchkine, the theatre's 86-year-old co-founder, immediately called a meeting after Pujol's accusations. "This meeting is one of the most serious in the history of the Theatre du Soleil," the half-English, half-Russian director told attendees, according to a reporter from the Le Monde newspaper who was present. In a separate case, Pujol has also accused another actor, whose career started out at the Theatre du Soleil in the 1970s, of sexual abuse. She told French left-wing newspaper Liberation in January that Philippe Caubere, now 74, repeatedly raped her and recruited dozens of strangers to abuse her during a toxic decade-long relationship that started when she was a vulnerable 17-year-old. Caubere has denied "imposing any sexual relations" on her, and the Theatre du Soleil has said he left it in 1978. - 'Tough job' - Other members of the company did not wish to speak publicly. But the source at the theatre told AFP that after someone was accused of "inappropriate behaviour" last year, the company hired an adviser to avoid situations of sexual misconduct. Mnouchkine confirmed this, but did not provide additional details. The source said two members had been fired in recent months, but the theatre director told AFP that the "painful" incident was "unrelated" to Pujol's accusations. Clemence Massart, an 80-year-old actress who was part of the troupe in the 1970s, said she had never experienced sexual pressure. "I never felt any pressure other than that of work," she told AFP. "It's a tough job and it's a place where you have to be good. You need good mental and physical health, and you have to accept to ask yourself questions," she said. French actress Judith Godreche, 53, called for the parliamentary inquiry last year after accusing two French directors of sexually abusing her when she was a teenager. jt-kp-ah/js
