“Garlic, check. Onion, check. Pasillas… are there no pasillas?â€
The question was not directed to anyone specifically. Mateo’s eyes darted across the counter already crowded with an abundance of ingredients, narrowing as they continued to scan for the missing chiles. Absentmindedly, he began tapping his quill against his checklist, blotting the parchment with random spots of ink, failing to notice the stray drops that fell onto his sneakers. Mateo did not consider himself much of a chef, but he was confident that the Gutiérrez family mole poblano recipe would be a hit for the Cinco de Mayo cuisine competition. He was certain he had included them on his ingredient list when he signed up and getting his sauce right would be impossible without them.
Tossing his parchment onto a cutting board, he set off through the kitchen to search the other students’ stations for his missing ingredient. The savory, slightly spicy aromas that filled the room made him momentarily regret not waking up early enough to get an earlier start like some of the other students; hopefully, no one had taken his chiles before he got to them. He was looking forward to showing off the family recipe for his friends. Cinco de Mayo was mostly uneventful at home. Every year his mom would say she wanted to take the family to Puebla for the major festivities, but that never happened. He enjoyed the appreciation that his classmates had for the holiday, sometimes more so than his own, so the stakes felt high for his performance in the competition.
Of course, he took the opportunity to investigate the other dishes being prepared around him. His competitive drive had kicked in, and he was curious to know what he was up against. After several minutes of perusing, he came to a station that had been left while the contents of the saucepot simmered. Just beside it, along with some scraps of used ingredients, were the pasilla chiles he searched for. He did not bother to look around or ask for permission before he started placing them into an empty bag that he found on the counter. It was not as many as he had asked for, but the other student had probably assumed they were all theirs. He quickly bagged the chiles, but not before lifting the pot's lid to peek at its contents. The scent was immediately recognizable - another mole sauce was being prepared. Before he knew it, Mateo had located a small spoon and had dipped it into the sauce, sneaking a taste.
The familiar heat hit his tongue and his eyes widened. The sauce was delicious, and it was only going to get better the longer it cooked. His eyebrow furrowed in irritation. In hindsight, he probably should have expected another mole to be entered, but he did not know how to cook many other dishes without either of his parents' help. He dipped a new spoon into the sauce to get another taste, allowing it to sit on his tongue a bit longer this time. As he mulled over the flavors of the mole, he could not stop himself from wondering how his would hold up in comparison. He had been bragging to his friends, and anyone else within earshot of their lunch table, about his recipe for a week. His memory was failing him, and he could not recall the flavors of his own mole poblano to compare. What if this mystery mole was better?
For the first time since he stopped at the mystery student's station, he glanced around the room. Everyone seemed to be working intently on their own creations and had not registered he was not at his own station. He picked up a third spoon, as if to taste the sauce a third time, but this time his hand had also wandered to the scrap ingredients left behind with the unused chiles. He opened the lid a last time to dip a spoon in, this time dropping in some extra cinnamon sticks and Mexican chocolate into the mixture. Looking around once more, he quietly closed the lid. Without bothering to even feign a tasting of the sauce for a third time, Mateo spun on his heels to head back to his station, confident his sabotage had gone off without a hitch.
@Paige Hext 
