Red Iguana: Holy Mole
In 1847, Brigham Young led a team of pioneers from Illinois on a westward path to what later became the territory of Utah. Upon seeing the Great Salt Lake, Young, known to his faithful to be inspired by the prophecies of Mormon godfather Joseph Smith, declared "[i]t is enough, this is the right place, drive on."
Last week Counterpoise contributor Alternacat and I made our own pilgrimage to Salt Lake City, but while Brigham sought the freedom for his peeps to worship Latter-Day Saints and bed a harem of Mor-women, we pursued a different goal: deep, white, untracked Wasatch powder to rip into like Tony Montana's last stand.
While we did find our cocaine snow stashed at Brighton, The Canyons, and Snowbird, we also discovered some delectable Mexican food at Red Iguana, a place that boasts serving "killer" cocina, and it delivers as well. Red Iguana's specialty is mole, a pungent blend of spices used to create a rich, often nut-based sauce for meats. During an impressionable mental state a few years ago, I had seen a fascinating documentary on the making of mole in the traditional style, a rustic ritual that transcended many outdoor hours of cooking dried guajillo chiles, cocoa, and cinnamon, and because my romantic conception of the dish had been since disappointed by the bitter chocolate flavors that predominated the shortcut mole I had tried, I was initially skeptical of the Iguana's hubris.
Red Iguana is owned by the Cardenas family, which first opened a Mexican restaurant in Salt Lake in 1965, relying heavily on recipes Mrs. Cardenas had developed as a caterer in Chihuahua. Today, the Iguana offers seven different moles, including a Oaxacan mole verde, incorporating pumpkin seeds and green vegetables with turkey, and a mole poblano, with chocolate, peanuts, walnuts and almonds. Our crew tried the mole amarillo, a fiery concoction of almond with chiles guajillo and habernero (reputed to be world's hottest pepper). One friend related a story of being paid $10 to eat whole one of these incendiary fruits, only to suffer 4 hours of agony. The yellow mixture we sampled did provide the heat, but the milder nut and spice flavors created a pleasant balance. We also had the mole colaradito, a rather oily amalgamation of pine nuts and pasilla chiles served over grilled pork loins. It was somewhat greasy, but imparted a smoky aroma that was superb when wrapped inside the house-made tortillas served along with it. The highlight of the mole menu was the lomo de puerco en mole de almendras. This consisted of pork chops stuffed with dried fruits and bathed in a creamy mole of almonds, guajillos and poblanos. Dope.
Although the moles are featured here, the Iguana also makes excellent work of salsa ranchera, beans, and the other requisite Mexican accoutrements. A good selection of cerveza mexicana is served, without reduced alcohol levels as indicated on the bottle by a government sticker that prohibits selling them outside the premises. Apparently the Utah legislature has created an agency that regulates the amount of alcohol allowed in various locales, as it has commanded that no buildings within the city limits rise higher than the spires of the Morman Temple. Full-strength margaritas and mojitos slip through the red tape as well.
If there comes a day in which you find yourself entranced by a vision of the Prophet calling you to the Land of Mormon, make sure to come through Red Iguana on the way to enlightenment.
706 W North Temple, Salt Lake City, UT 84116; (801) 322-1478
Last week Counterpoise contributor Alternacat and I made our own pilgrimage to Salt Lake City, but while Brigham sought the freedom for his peeps to worship Latter-Day Saints and bed a harem of Mor-women, we pursued a different goal: deep, white, untracked Wasatch powder to rip into like Tony Montana's last stand.
While we did find our cocaine snow stashed at Brighton, The Canyons, and Snowbird, we also discovered some delectable Mexican food at Red Iguana, a place that boasts serving "killer" cocina, and it delivers as well. Red Iguana's specialty is mole, a pungent blend of spices used to create a rich, often nut-based sauce for meats. During an impressionable mental state a few years ago, I had seen a fascinating documentary on the making of mole in the traditional style, a rustic ritual that transcended many outdoor hours of cooking dried guajillo chiles, cocoa, and cinnamon, and because my romantic conception of the dish had been since disappointed by the bitter chocolate flavors that predominated the shortcut mole I had tried, I was initially skeptical of the Iguana's hubris.
Red Iguana is owned by the Cardenas family, which first opened a Mexican restaurant in Salt Lake in 1965, relying heavily on recipes Mrs. Cardenas had developed as a caterer in Chihuahua. Today, the Iguana offers seven different moles, including a Oaxacan mole verde, incorporating pumpkin seeds and green vegetables with turkey, and a mole poblano, with chocolate, peanuts, walnuts and almonds. Our crew tried the mole amarillo, a fiery concoction of almond with chiles guajillo and habernero (reputed to be world's hottest pepper). One friend related a story of being paid $10 to eat whole one of these incendiary fruits, only to suffer 4 hours of agony. The yellow mixture we sampled did provide the heat, but the milder nut and spice flavors created a pleasant balance. We also had the mole colaradito, a rather oily amalgamation of pine nuts and pasilla chiles served over grilled pork loins. It was somewhat greasy, but imparted a smoky aroma that was superb when wrapped inside the house-made tortillas served along with it. The highlight of the mole menu was the lomo de puerco en mole de almendras. This consisted of pork chops stuffed with dried fruits and bathed in a creamy mole of almonds, guajillos and poblanos. Dope.
Although the moles are featured here, the Iguana also makes excellent work of salsa ranchera, beans, and the other requisite Mexican accoutrements. A good selection of cerveza mexicana is served, without reduced alcohol levels as indicated on the bottle by a government sticker that prohibits selling them outside the premises. Apparently the Utah legislature has created an agency that regulates the amount of alcohol allowed in various locales, as it has commanded that no buildings within the city limits rise higher than the spires of the Morman Temple. Full-strength margaritas and mojitos slip through the red tape as well.
If there comes a day in which you find yourself entranced by a vision of the Prophet calling you to the Land of Mormon, make sure to come through Red Iguana on the way to enlightenment.
706 W North Temple, Salt Lake City, UT 84116; (801) 322-1478
posted by Benjamin Justus at 11:42 AM
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