I started cooking for Día de Muertos after my grandfather Heriberto González Sánchez died in 2011. I made my first pan de muerto bread leavened with pulque, the pre-Hispanic beverage made from the fermented sap known as aguamiel, extracted from the maguey (agave) plant. The sour elixir came in a milk jug I purchased from a street vendor in the piñata district in downtown L.
A. I set up a small altar on the kitchen table of our studio in Angeleno Heights. In observance of the holiday when souls return to their families to feast and celebrate (which traditionally falls on the first two days of November), I embrace the opportunity to sit with the memories of loved ones.
It’s a chance to cook and gather their favorite foods: mole Poblano, corundas (triangular tamales wrapped in fresh corn husks from Michoacán), “sopa Maruchan” (Instant Top Ramen), chocolate, camote enmielado con leche (candied sweet potato with cold milk). It is believed that the souls partake in the feast before returning to the underworld, taking with them provisions for the entire year so they can return the next. I make my tropical mole with guavas , inspired by my abuelo’s garden in Puerto Vallarta, Mexico.
I close my eyes when I take the first spoonful of the aromatic, golden-like-the-sun yellow sauce. I can see his smile. I can almost hear his voice.
This is just one of the dishes I prepare leading up to the sacred holiday, which is marked by the completion of the harvest for corn , Mexico.
