 Alvin Starkman, M.A., J.D.  Swing open the saloon doors, walk down a few steps, and have a seat at one of the ten or so orange arborite tables. Clint Eastwood might have parked himself on a wooden stool instead of a 1960’s vinyl covered stainless steel padded chair, but you get the idea. And yet somehow, the shiny, brand spanking new digital juke box does not seem particularly incongruous.  El Faro is a small bar in Colonia Reforma, about a ten minute taxi ride from Oaxaca’s zócalo. It serves alcohol, as well as the finest in typical, filling finger foods, as well as other quickly prepared local fare.  Distinctly different from other “authentic” bars, I have never seen a non-Mexican at El Faro over the dozen or more years over which I have been an occasional patron, except for when I have taken Canadian and American friends for the experience.  Now down to indulging. The experience on this afternoon began with the alcohol orders. Drinks arrive promptly, alongside shelled peanuts made on the premises with course salt and spices, a Oaxacan staple. Of course quartered limes, sal de gusano, and other accompaniments arrive depending on choice of beverage. You don’t order a tepeztate or a jabilí, although perhaps mezcales with such agave species are now offered. Blanco or añejo is all I have ever ordered, with a domestic beer chaser or three.  Mezcal is served clearly without any consideration given to portioning, and a couple of drinks will leave you feeling like four, or five. When my wife and I visit, we go in her car, both of us fully understanding that I will be in no condition to drive home. Alternatively, it’s in a taxi. Our friends are equally cognizant of the danger of El Faro.  El Faro cantina is no substitute for any of the dozen or more mezcalerías in Oaxaca. By contrast, it’s the place you want to go to understand what and how Oaxacans have typically been drinking for generations. With the mezcal boom now in full swing, younger Mexicans have also begun to drink as do visitors making a pilgrimage to Oaxaca to experience and learn about production of agave distillates such as the foregoing two varietals, and naturally others. How to order. While of course one can order from what the server says is available, but to our thinking it’s best to say, after the list has been rhymed off, “todo, por favor, poco a poco, y sin prisa” (everything please, little by little, and no rush).  The parade at El Faro then begins, starting with a burst of smoky flavor and spice; that is, exquisitely marinated onion slices. While vinegar is the main ingredient, the unique and appealing flavor of chile pasillo, with a mixture of spices, predominates, creating an appeal hard to beat, and dare I say replicate. Certainly it bears some similarity to piedrasos, often sold on street corners in large glass containers and served with marinated vegetables over giant chunks of toasted bread. So encountering this tart treasure in a sit-down environment is indeed a true find, especially since the street food lacks the smokiness found in this cook’s onion dish.  A tlayuda is set before us in short order, prepared without any excess baggage. The large crunchy oversized baked tortilla is made with requisite asiento (schmaltz, as my grandmother would say, but this fat isn’t from a chicken) and a thin paste of chile de arbol, topped with queso. Forget the vegetables, refried beans and meat typifying most tlayuda toppings. All in due course. Marinated serrano chiles with onion slices (rajas), additional salsas, and guacamole follow, rounding out the sides; that is, if appetizers can be distinguished from mains.  A plate of fast-fried small round potatoes known as bolas de fuego (fire balls) is placed before us. Seasoned with some type of chile, perhaps paprika, and without a doubt garlic, these crisp-on-the-outside golden goodies do not disappoint, being true to their name. Once on my way to inebriation, I’ll usually head to the juke box and play some of my favorite ‘60s and ’70 rock tunes. Sometimes you have to wait until the earlier music aficionado’s tunes have run their course, but it’s typically not more than a few minutes.  Frijoles con pata is next to arrive; black beans served in a bowl with boiled pork foot. It’s a traditional dish, and in fact our Oaxacan friends typically eat the gelatinous vittles with great gusto. But it’s equally both a taste and texture which many North Americans take time to acquire. A couple of decades later we’re still working on it. The salsas do help.  The empanadas de seso (beef brain) are the best we’ve had anywhere, anytime. While fried as is the custom, these little filled turnovers are lacking the customary double dose of oil, making them as close to a baked botana as one can find. Guacamole is the preferred dipping sauce, since there’s already a bit of spice in the stuffing.  As dusk approached, we rounded out our experience with two meat dishes combined on a single platter: costillas enchiladas (spare ribs coated with a chile mixture) which were well cooked as I had requested, and had plenty of meat on and off the bone; and tasajo (a thin filet of lightly seasoned beef) which arrived tender and juicy, and not at all over-cooked (often an issue in Oaxacan eateries), already cut into (large) bite sized pieces.  On some visits we ask for a plate of mixed typical Oaxacan snacks comprising quesillo, cecina, tasajo, chorizo, sometimes queso fresco, and chapulines if available. El Faro isn’t for every traveler. There are many who surely must walk by such establishments, take and quick peek inside, are clearly intrigued, but then say “no, we’d better not.” At El Faro you can, and you should.  A couple of years ago I asked my wife where she wanted to go for her 70th with some invited close friends. Casa Oaxaca? Vieja Lira? Los Danzantes? Origen? You guessed it, she said El Faro. El Faro. Jasminez 222-B, Colonia Reforma. Monday through Saturday.
Alvin Starkman and Randall Stockton operate Mezcal Educational Excursions of Oaxaca (www.mezcaleducationaltours.com).
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Towards Categorizing Mezcal for English Speakers: Mezcal Ancestral, Artesanal, Artisanal, & The Rest9/13/2020 Alvin Starkman, M.A., J.D.
In 2017, the regulatory board for mezcal for the first time delineated three classes of the spirit based upon their different means of production and tools of the trade. After months of hearings, with often heated discussion and objection, Consejo Regulador del Mezcal (CRM) decided upon the descriptive Spanish terms Ancestral and Artesanal, as well as a third category, just plain Mezcal. Mezcal of course it the relatively high alcohol content Mexican agave distillate most of which emanates from the state of Oaxaca. Those of us whose first language is English might understand and interpret the meaning and significance of the two terms differently than our Mexican agave distillate aficionado counterparts, and perhaps more significantly novices to imbibing mezcal. Do the words ancestral and artesanal mean the same to someone born and raised in Mexico, as do the words ancestral and artisanal to for example an English-first-language American, Canadian, Brit or Aussie? Just as importantly, I believe that where a distillery lies in terms of what equipment is used and in what manner to make its mezcal, is somewhere along a continuum. It is perhaps not appropriate to pigeonhole the production in a distillery or palenque as they are sometimes termed (at least small scale facilities), as being of one of three types. A single location can be registered in more than one category. For example Scorpion Mezcal SA de CV is registered as a producer of Mezcal Artesanal and just Mezcal. Indeed since the promulgation of the regulation, numerous producers (or palenqueros) have objected to the categorization of their enterprise, and attempted to have CRM authorize the label they want on their bottles for identification purposes, to be what they want and think it should read. But in some cases, no doubt, their main motivation is marketing, sales and bottom line, as opposed to enlightening the buying public. On the other hand consumers are being educated; it is hoped that we are able to work towards a more informed consumer. There are numerous subtleties to the ultimate delineation for labeling and distinguishing one production method (and equipment used) from the next. While I try to not bastardize and simplify the legitimate and important differences, for present purposes the three types can be summarized as follows. More exacting and perhaps accurate descriptions and differences in Spanish, including in chart form, can be found at https://mezcologia.mx/mezcal-ancestral: Mezcal Ancestral: agave cooked in an oven in the ground over firewood and rocks; crushed by hand or by tahona and beast of burden; fermented with or without agave fiber in a broad range of receptacle types including made of wood, a pit in the ground, animal skin, clay or brick/cement; and distilled over fire in clay, with the fiber included in the first distillation. Mezcal Artesanal: agave cooked as ancestral or in an above-ground manmade chamber fueled by wood or fossil fuel; crushed as above or using a crushing machine; fermented as above; and distilled using wood or fossil fuel, in clay, wood, copper, stainless steel, with or without fiber for the first distillation. Mezcal: agave cooked as above or in an autoclave or diffuser; crushed virtually any way; fermented as artesanal or in stainless steel; and distilled as above or in a continuous column still of copper or stainless steel. The third category, Mezcal, can be described in lay terms as approximating an industrial or perhaps less objectionably stated as a semi-industrial process, in neither case recognized as such by CRM. Once again, it must be emphasized that the foregoing is a rough summary which serves present purposes only. And there are no doubt ongoing arguments being presented dealing with terminology interpretation or oversight. Producers of Mezcal vie to be able to use the word Artesanal, and in fact some have ratcheted up sales by erecting new more “traditional” palenques (that is, approximating what we know of as typical artisanal facilities [at least in the central valleys of Oaxaca]); baking over firewood and rocks, fermenting in wooden vats and distilling in 300 – 400 liter copper alembics. And some Artesanal facilities would prefer being able to use the word Ancestral. There are those which are even trying to learn how to distill in clay, even though their family tradition has always been copper. Finally, many ancestral palenqueros object to not being able to use machinery to crush; doing so would make their lives somewhat easier, a good thing (but perhaps not for the purist imbibers). However the issues run much deeper. What do we think of when we hear or read the word ancestral? Roget’s thesaurus uses words including primitive, primordial, aboriginal and prehistoric. Cambridge dictionary states “relating to members of your family from the past,” and exemplifies with phrases including one’s “ancestral heritage,” a family’s “ancestral homeland,” and children losing their “ancestral tongue and values.” Merrian-Webster lists synonyms and near synonyms including historic, old-world, ancient, authentic, established, ageless, customary and venerable. Its simple definition reads “of, relating to, or inherited from an ancestor.” So we must look to that word; forefather, forerunner, progenitor, that is “one from whom a person is descended and who is usually more remote in the line of descent than a grandparent.” The foregoing, I suggest, is consistent with our more or less lay perception of ancestral. That is, when we think of Mezcal Ancestral, we likely consider it produced within a family tradition, with recipe, means of production and tools of the trade, all dating to pre-Hispanic times. And so herein lie the problems. Is there something misleading if a palenquero whose family has been distilling in only copper alembics for five or more generations, decides to learn how to distill in clay so he can produce an ancestral “style” agave distillate? One might reasonably reply no, because he’s using an ancestral method, and clay pots. According to CRM, he can crush using a tahona dragged by a horse, and call it Ancestral. But the modern horse was brought to the New World by the Spanish, hardly ancestral. Furthermore, in some circles the jury’s still out as to whether or not there was pre-Hispanic distillation, notwithstanding mounting proof of its existence. What if the earliest distillation in this part of North America used copper and not ancient clay pots? Perhaps CRM has it backwards, and Mezcal Ancestral should refer to a family’s continuous distillation of agave since the 1500s using horses and mules to crush and copper to distill; and crushing by hand and distilling in clay were merely subsequent adaptations of rural folk of extremely limited means. And even assuming pre-Hispanic distillation in clay, surely economic considerations came into play. By this it is suggested that only those of significant means could afford copper stills, tahonas and horses, so those of extremely modest resources (i.e. rural indigenous people) were restricted to using clay and wooden mallets. More about historical considerations further along. It is still within the realm of reasonable possibility that the earliest widespread distillation was in copper, which should not be discounted out of hand. Perhaps we should term clay distillation as artisanal. We must then look to the etymology of that word. Cambridge defines artisanal as something “made in a traditional way by someone who is skilled with their hands.” Merrian-Webster writes of producing “in limited quantities by an artisan through the use of traditional methods, artisanal bread/wine/cheese.” As examples of artisans it includes a cooper, carpenter, blacksmith, potter and glassblower. Roget’s lists craftsman as a synonym, and examples include bricklayer, miller, weaver, welder, woodcraftsman and upholsterer. Are artisanal producers any less skilled than ancestral? Quantities are more limited for ancestral. Skilled is relative. What if hands are totally removed from the equation, in favor of skilled workers employing tractors, trucks and front end loaders? The mezcal can still be termed Artesanal, or artisanal for present purposes. Should one be able to term the mezcal distilled as artisanal if the agave is steamed in a sealed brick and cement room, the heat produced from a fossil fuel such as diesel or propane? CRM answers in the positive, but not if the steaming is done in an iron chamber, an autoclave. Many imbibers tend to suggest or outright profess that if the mezcal is not made by baking the agave over firewood and rocks, that is, not artisanal or ancestral, it’s not good or even worthy of sampling. However, a convincing case can be made that by steaming, and thus not altering the flavor by impacting the agave with smoke from baking over wood, one gets a truer understanding and appreciation of the characteristics of the particular species or subspecies of the succulent, the impact of terroir, and the rest. Why does CRM not distinguish in its categorization fermenting with the cooked crushed agave fiber in the receptacle, as opposed to without it? One can term the mezcal as Ancestral or Artesanal even when the fiber has been removed prior to fermentation. It is suggested that as a consequence of its removal, the ultimate agave distillate begins to approximate more of a neutral spirit. We lose a significant amount of the flavor unique to the agave and other factors which determine the character of the end product. It is my understanding that one can distill in stainless steel, and still term the mezcal Artesanal. Mezcal purists would likely reject such a product out of hand as not being a traditionally made agave distillate. But one cannot have Mezcal Artesanal if the fermentation has occurred in stainless steel. Does not the neutrality of the metal enable us to better evaluate the mezcal on its unique merits without having been impacted by a cow hide, a pine tub or a clay pot? True teachers about the spirit should welcome being able to remove different impacts (i.e. fermentation vessel composition) from the equation for purposes of conducting a tasting. Based on the foregoing it is suggested that the current categorization, at least for English speakers, leads to a misperception of the quality of any particular mezcal. For the past decade or perhaps longer, brand owners have been moving towards putting increasing amounts of information on the back label regarding means of production and tools of the trade. Perhaps CRM should dictate the inclusion of certain specifics on the back label. Alternatively, it could consider expanding the categories as a way of better informing the public. Regardless, however the CRM categories are constituted cannot possibly tell the whole story and nor likely truly enlighten. It appears that the historical context of mezcal production will never be captured by whatever designations we read on bottles. Will labeling inevitably always mislead? The development of the spirit over time from the pre-Hispanic era until now is important, but of course cannot be captured on anything pasted on a bottle of mezcal. But the history, what we know and what we surmise, is important in the education of consumers. We should perhaps acknowledge that one can still dispute the roots of agave distillation. If not the decade, century or millennium of its first appearance in what is now Mexico, then its importance in understanding the historical significance of alcohol, be it a fermented drink such as pulque, or a distilled spirit such as mezcal. There is indeed an important story to be told, which CRM appears to either ignore, or simplify through labeling, where simplification is clearly, in my estimation, not appropriate. To provide just a hint, or rather as a precursor to a comprehensive essay on the theme, it can be stated with some degree of confidence that if there was indeed pre-Hispanic distillation, the spirit was consumed in that era ceremonially, and post-Conquest by the Spanish to induce drunkenness and enslave indigenous peoples for working the mines. Anthropological fieldwork, research and writings confirm a clay pot still site dating to about 900 BC, and other literature suggests pre-Hispanic distillation dates to a couple of thousands years earlier. Indeed writings on the history of pulque production and consumption have relevance. This context is beyond the purview of the present article. Perhaps the best and easiest short-term solution is for consumers to do their own due diligence and ask knowledgeable and trustworthy vendors about the specifics of each mezcal on the shelves. But that presupposes a certain level of understanding by and training of the sales force. In general, based on travels throughout Canada and perhaps more importantly the US, and discussions with Brits, Aussies and Europeans over the past decade, that education and knowledge is still by and large lacking. However it is indeed improving as more aficionados in the alcohol industry make a pilgrimage to regions of Mexico known for agave distillation. For consumers, while visiting Oaxaca and other centers of mezcal or other agave distillate production is encouraged, a visit or two can take you only so far in understanding what’s gone into producing that bottle. The label might help, but is of limited assistance. Alvin Starkman operates Mezcal Educational Excursions of Oaxaca (www.mezcaleducationaltours.com). His business associate is Randall Stockton. Valuable collaboration for this article was provided by Douglas French who has been distilling in Oaxaca since the early 1990s and owns Scorpion and Escorpion brands of mezcal, and Sierra Norte Mexican corn whiskey. However any and all errors / omissions are of the author alone.  Alvin Starkman, M.A., J.D. The rug weavers in the town of Teotitlán del Valle have had their heyday. In the 1960s they began to develop a reputation for being the most successful of all the artisans in the villages within the central valleys of the southern Mexico state of Oaxaca. But since then their economic fortunes have been characterized by peaks and valleys. As a consequence of COVID-19, residents of Teotitlán del Valle have found themselves at the bottom of the deepest gorge ever. But one astute local weaver, Rocio Mendoza Bazán, through her own ingenuity is managing to parlay the global mezcal boom for the benefit of her sometimes struggling family.  Rocio Mendoza Bazán at work on a loom. Mezcal of course is the high alcohol content agave distillate which has taken the world by storm, in particular since the second decade of this century. And Oaxaca is the state where over 85% of the nation’s iconic spirit is distilled. Throngs of mezcal enthusiasts were coming to Oaxaca to learn about the intoxicant and the agave succulent from which it is derived (locally referred to as maguey), as well as to imbibe, advance export projects, photograph, and document for print and online publications. But by the end of March, 2020, they had stopped coming. And so did every other traveler. Sales of virtually all Oaxacan crafts dried up, including Rocio’s handmade rugs and tapestries many of which had been dyed using traditional natural colors derived from insects (i.e. the famed cochineal), fruits, mosses, nuts, plants and leaves (i.e. añil, from which indigo is derived) and seed pods.  One of the family's tapetes exhibiting typical pre-Hispanic designs and natural dyes. Agriculture and tourism generate the lion’s share of the state of Oaxaca’s revenue. While the former is still a decent industry for national and international markets, tourism has screeched to a halt, for mezcal aficionados as well as for those who had been drawn to Oaxaca’s pristine beaches, internationally acclaimed cuisine, quaint colonial architecture, archaeological sites, and craft villages boasting pottery, wood carvings, metallurgy, wool and cotton textiles.  Miniature complete 5 liter copper alembic (still) made in Ocotlán de Morelos, Oaxaca. To be fair, a few years earlier Rocio and sister-in-law Malena began exporting handbags to the US with the assistance of a couple of California entrepreneurs. It has helped the family through hard times occasioned by those economic depressions: Oaxaca’s 2006 civil unrest, the (Mexican) swine flu scare, the US economic crisis, media’s incessant fear mongering in the face of warring Mexican drug cartels, and more recently ZIKA. Rocio is one of three daughters-in-law living in the family compound of husband Omar’s parents, Don Porfirio and Doña Gloria. Omar and brothers Tomás and Hugo, with their spouses and children, all live in the homestead along with Porfirio and Gloria. They used to weave for the tourist trade, with a modest amount of export based on custom orders. Working pine looms has by and large been good to the family, which includes four additional progeny and their families, all residing relatively close to Porfirio and Gloria. To different extents each of the seven nuclear families, and their parents, rely on weaving, as did their forebears.
Until 2020, virtually seven days a week Porfirio would be at his loom weaving rugs with traditional designs from memory, with representations of indigenous Zapotec imagery such as rainfall, maize and mountains…just like his father Tomás, grandfather Ildefonso and great grandfather before him. Gloria also weaved on small looms requiring less physical strength, but her expertise now lies in carding raw wool, either dyed, or natural. Hanging over the black wrought iron banister overlooking the sunny open courtyard would be batches of spun wool drying, in muted tones of green, brown, red and blue, as well as more vibrant colors illustrative of the occasional use of synthetic dyes.  Hand woven and dyed bags for carrying mezcal, with suede trim and leather closure. This ritual in Teotitlán del Valle, an ancient tribal town about a half hour’s drive from the city center of Oaxaca, has played out continually since the 16th century, when in 1535 Dominican bishop Juan López de Zárate arrived in the village and introduced sheep and the first “modern” loom, shipped from Spain. The use of natural dyes and weaving predate the conquest, but it was the 16th century which jump-started a cottage industry producing serapes, blankets and tapetes (rugs). Before the Spanish arrived, weaving would be done on the back strap loom, and yarn would be from rabbits and deer, as well as cotton as long as traders arrived from parts of the country conducive to its growth and cultivation.  In Oaxaca mezcal has strong ties to Catholicism as illustrated here, as party favors for confirmations and baptisms. Rocio is part of Artesanías Casa Santiago. It’s comprised of that extended family of four households; Porfirio and Gloria, Omar, Tomás and Hugo and their spouses and children. Its main workshop, modest showroom and homestead have been on the town’s main street since 1966. Back then Porfirio occupied most of his working hours as a campesino in the fields, with rug production a sideline. Over the decades he began spending fewer days working the land and more producing tapetes. As the family grew, tapetes became its mainstay. But Don Porfirio still works the fields, and in fact now rents land to a mezcal producer. He and his family assist the mezcalero with planting agave, and periodic tending while awaiting maturity a decade or so down the road.  Portavasos, or coasters, of course with the agave theme. Despite being one of the most personable families one could ever hope to happen upon in the entire state, the workshop never did get the large tour buses stopping by for exhibitions. Perhaps it’s the personalities of the family members which clearly doesn’t lend to the formality of onlookers seated in a gallery for a demonstration, followed by a hard sell. When tourism was booming, Casa Santiago’s share of the market for Oaxacan wool rugs and handbags would be individuals seeking out the workshop, often repeat business or referrals. Patrons were mainly those who wanted that southwest, Mexican, or Oaxacan flare in their home décor, or in the case of handbags for their fashion. But one must adapt with the times. Rocio joined the family through marriage to Omar. Seizing upon her acumen and resourcefulness she has quietly and without fanfare been able to exploit a new market, custom catering to all that is mezcal, agave and the bar industry.  Doña Gloria now enjoys weaving this type of scenery. It keeps her calm all day long. However somewhat earlier this bright woman with a strong sense of her Zapotec ethnic heritage had begun to show her penchant for thinking just a little outside of the box. In 2008/9, while Oaxacan artisans were still recovering from the economic ravages of the earlier civil unrest, and the US economy was keeping many travelers close to home, Rocio decided to open up her home to tourists, cooking traditional Zapoteco dinners for a modest fee. And then when the opportunity to export handbags subsequently arose, of course she jumped at the idea. And now she makes tapestry designs for mezcal aficionados, including owners of mezcalerías, and bars and restaurants with a healthy complement of the agave distillate.  Don Porfirio enjoys replicating pre-Hispanic Zapotec imagery. A few years ago management of King Bee Lounge, then a trendy bar / restaurant in Austin, Texas, known for live music in a vintage setting, visited Teotitlán del Valle. King Bee likely had the largest selection of Oaxacan mezcal of any bar in the city. Rocio was asked to make a tapestry of the King Bee logo. The result was more exquisite and exacting than anyone could have imagined, of course except for Rocio. That got Rocio thinking. She began making wool coasters with an agave motif, and then bags with similar imagery for holding a bottle of mezcal; suede trim, leather tie and all.  Custom tapestry woven by Rocio for the Austin, Texas, King Bee Lounge. Then came large agave tapestries featuring the tall flowering stalk or quiote. She is currently weaving such a tapestry with the name and city of a Colorado mezcal tasting room woven into the fabric.  Custom agave tapestry made for Sarah. Since textiles do not break as does pottery and those delicate carved wooden figures known as alebrijes, Rocio is able to ship her agave tapestries and related woven artistry economically and securely through the Mexican postal system. When visitors are precluded from coming to Oaxaca, they can nevertheless purchase and receive whatever they want, both stock and custom. This enables the family of Casa Santiago to weather the current and any subsequent storm which comes its way. It’s all thanks to the mezcal boom, and Rocio’s ability weave exquisite designs.  Thinking Outside of The Box: Modernity with a touch of tradition. Artesanías Casa Santiago is located at Av. Juarez 70, Teotitlán del Valle, Oaxaca 70420 [tel: (951) 524-4154]. Alvin Starkman operates Mezcal Educational Excursions of Oaxaca [www.mezcaleducationaltours.com]
In the wake of COVID-19's dramatic adverse impact on craftspeople of Oaxaca, this is one of a few photo essays based on how craftspeople of the state have been adapting by creating art featuring agave and mezcal motifs, so both read the article, and scroll down to see examples of the art of Efraín Fuentes Santiago, which can be custom ordered: https://ezinearticles.com/?Woodcarver-in-Oaxaca-Transitions-to-Mezcal-and-Agave&id=10297582  Carved from an irregular slab of walnut, about 36 X 10 X 2 inches thick, illustrating three stages of mezcal production: jimador cutting agave from the field, horse dragging the tahona to crush the sweet baked maguey, and classic copper distillation scene. Folk art at its best!  Hardwood box with sliding front with agave and its quiote carved into it, suitable for holding most bottles of 750 ml or 1 liter, with handle made of ixtle (agave fiber).  Home bar with back of stool carved from a single piece of walnut.  Final panel of three scene carving, here classic ancestral mezcal distillation using clay pots.  Napkin holder, with agave on both sides.  Content Rural Canadian, May 25, 2020, upon receiving his artwork in less than a week from FEDEX, Oaxaca to Brechin, Ontario.  Proud, talented artist Efraín Fuentes Santiago, photo taken the day after his 40th birthday. If interested in a custom order, email mezcaleducationaltours@hotmail.com.
Every month I receive emails asking where to source small batch, traditionally made high quality mezcal in Huatulco or Puerto Escondido. It’s always surprised me that there could be any corner of Oaxaca in which it could be difficult to find unique, fine sipping agave spirits; after all, this state is Mexico’s ground zero for the production of the maguey distillate. Yes, of late mezcal watering holes have cropped up in both towns, featuring quality hooch. However they typically offer the same brands one can find in major centers throughout the US and to a lesser extent Canada, albeit somewhat less costly. Enter Mezcalería Gota Gorda, located in the still-quaint beach town of Zipolite, between the two burgeoning Oaxacan tourist resorts of Huatulco and Puerto Escondido. It opened its doors in December, 2019, and has quickly found a following of locals, snowbirds and more short-term visitors seeking the real deal at accessible prices. .  Gota Gorda owner Danielle (Dani) Tatarin has been in the cocktail and spirits business for 20 years. And for close to the past decade she has been honing her expertise in the area of mezcal, traveling dirt roads in search of rural makers whose families have been distilling for hundreds of years if not longer. Batch size of what she brings back to Zipolite, produced in both copper alembics and clay pots à la ancestral, ranges from 40 to 300 liters, and not a drop more. Some of the agave is harvested from small plots of land under cultivation, while she also offers mezcal made from species sourced from the wild. But Dani’s pedigree is even more impressive. The transplanted Canadian has:
 But most recently it’s been Dani’s vision which has brought her to the Oaxacan coast. She initially planned to bring small batch high quality agave distillates to parts of the country outside of Oaxaca and into the US and Canada. Hence, with that idea in mind she launched the brand Gota Gorda. Then while living in Baja California, a friend introduced her to Zipolite. When the opportunity arose to open up a mezcalería in a cool, tucked away little hidden spot, in a region surprisingly devoid of what she was interested in personally drinking, a light went off: why not bring fine ultra-premium mezcal to the area, while at the same time use the locale to inaugurate Gota Gorda? Dani was actually shocked at the lack of good small batch mezcal available on the Oaxacan coast. Not to mislead, the type of mezcal offered at her Zipolite mezcalería is indeed available at several small bars and mezcalerías in the city of Oaxaca. But until now spirits aficionados visiting or living on the coast have had to drive about seven hours to the state capital to find this kind of agave distillate within the context of a curated experience; but no longer.  Mezcalería Gota Gorda currently offers eight different mezcal expressions at between 70 and 180 pesos per healthy pour, or a flight of six for 300 pesos, a mere pittance even by Mexican standards. Drawing upon her mixology expertise, she has also developed her own recipe for an additional agave distillate, prepared with a series of herbs and bitters. Clients have been raving about it. And there are apparently more unique offerings in the works. For those who are ready to depart Gota Gorda and lament never again being able to replicate the experience, Dani offers sealed, labeled bottles of your favorites, ready to take home on the plane.  Gota Gorda also gives patrons an opportunity to sample real pulque, the fermented sap or aguamiel (honey water) from certain agave species. In pre-Hispanic times it was reserved for gods and high priests. Pulque available in retail outlets throughout the country is typically adulterated with sweetener, fruit extract, thickener and even milk or cream, creating what’s known as a curado. By contrast, Gota Gorda’s pulque is pure, with several scientifically proven medicinal properties. It’s a product of the natural environment with nothing added. When visiting Dani’s mezcalería you also get a lesson about pulque, and of course about mezcal. Since the locale is small and intimate, you’re able to interact one-on-one with Doña Danielle Tatarin, a treat in and of itself. Gota Gorda is about a 45 minute drive from Huatulco, and 75 minutes from Puerto Escondido. It’s open Tuesday through Sunday 5:30 pm to midnight; Calle Shambala s/n, Frente a Hotel El Noga, Col. Roca Blanca, Playa Zipolite, Pochutla 70904; cel 001 624 166 8730. Alvin Starkman operates Mezcal Educational Excursions of Oaxaca (www.mezcaleducationaltours.com).  Alvin Starkman M.A., J.D. Over the course of about a decade, from time to time a diversity of Oaxacan friends had been asking me for the opportunity to accompany a family of Zapotec tlachiqueros (aguamiel harvesters) into the fields to witness the extraction of aguamiel (honey water) from the majestic Agave americana americana. It’s the particular sub-specie of the succulent most commonly tapped for the production of pulque in this part of the state of Oaxaca. They all knew that I had become friendly with a few different families, and that I would periodically take visitors to Oaxaca, that is clients who were typically mezcal aficionados, into the countryside with a family to view and indeed participate in the aguamiel harvest. How can it be that virtually no urban or even rural Oaxacan folk have ever had the first-hand experience, and would readily and in fact anxiously rely on a Canadian to help them to learn about pulque and aguamiel?  Production of pulque begins with the extraction of aguamiel from the inner piña or heart of particular species of agave while still in the field, at maturity, roughly after twelve to twenty years of growth. The species are generically known as pulqueros. Once the aguamiel has been extracted from the plant, it immediately begins to interact with an environmental bacteria, causing fermentation, and so fermented aguamiel is known as pulque. There is no baking of the agave, no crushing, no leaving it to interact with environmental yeasts so as to cause fermentation, and certainly no distilling. Those steps are within the purview of creating an agave distillate. Pulque, a pre-Hispanic relatively mild intoxicant, has been referred to as Mexican or indigenous beer, and likened to kombucha. It has been produced for literally thousands of years, some of the literature dating its origins to the 3rd century AD. And it has umpteen scientifically accepted medicinal properties known to its local imbibers. It also has ritualisitic, social and religious cultural significance for residents of the towns and villages in which it is produced. This is true in modern times, and naturally dating to the pre-Hispanic era.  On this early evening, an hour or so before dusk, a group of well-known and respected Oaxacans including artisans (i.e. internationally acclaimed ceramicist Angélica Vásquez), academics (i.e. Claudio and Prometeo Sánchez Islas), mezcal producers (i.e. Douglas French of Scorpion and Escorpion brands as well as Sierra Norte Whisky), chefs (i.e. Pilar Cabrera of Casa de los Sabores Cooking School), businesspeople (i.e. Fernando González Kauffman), and others, met at an agreed upon time and place in the town of Santiago Matatlán, purportedly “the world capital of mezcal.” It’s one of the oldest colonial settlements, founded in 1525, only four years after the Spanish made their way to what is now known as the state of Oaxaca. In 1980 the town boasted 360 small family owned and operated factories or palenques as they are locally known. Their numbers have greatly diminished since that time allegedly due to government incursion into the industry. But the number of tlachiqueros in pulque production, I would suggest, has either remained constant, or increased.  The excuse for embarking on this trek with my Zapotec family of friends, and the group, was a seed I had planted in the family’s mind some years earlier. They had never heard of nor eaten smoked turkey, so I had promised them that one day I would bring them a whole, smoked turkey that we would carve up to make tortas (sandwiches). Of course in Oaxaca no meal would ever consist of simply tortas, but rather the whole shebang; appetizers, accompaniments, soft drinks and beer, mezcal of course, along with dessert and hot chocolate.  Our caravan of assorted cars and SUVs converged on the Matatlán home of Juana and Andrés and their children. From there we headed out into the fields, some packed into either the covered rear box or the interior of their gas-guzzling pick-up, the rest following behind in whatever vehicles we thought would make it into the fields without getting stuck. It was chilly out, certainly by Oaxacan standards, late autumn, with the sun quickly setting behind the mountains, yet still light. We filed out of the vehicles and trekked along a narrow pathway between rows of agave, predominantly americana, but also some angustifolia. While not common in the area, I spotted a couple of salmiana as well. Notebooks, cameras and video equipment were in abound.  As we accompanied the family into the fields to the pulqueros yet to be tapped that evening, Juana recalled that she and her brother Isaac learned all about agave and its derivatives from their father and grandfather, who learned from their abuelos y bisabuelos. But Isaac, also along for the event, lamented that it’s not like it used to be: “I remember that years ago the pulqueros grew much bigger around and taller than they are now. We’ve been using the same fields for so long that the land just doesn’t have the nutrients in it like before. We fertilize at least once a year, using only abono de toro y chivo (composted feces from cows and goats). The problem is twofold: chemical fertilizer is very expensive, and besides we want a 100% natural fermented drink; and we don’t have enough abono to fertilize as often as we’d like to, as we should. This year we had a problem with ice during November and December; it affected those small espadín agave over there, but not the large pulqueros. Even though most of the espadín leaves are brown and dead, the plants will survive.”  On the land behind Juana’s house, back at the ranch, there are smaller plots with young agave, both espadín and pulquero. These plants must be watered regularly during the dry season. At between one and two years of growth, they’re transplanted into the fields outside of town, but only during the rainy season. From then on they need not be watered – but they should be fertilized, though not obligatory for their growth. Juana’s homestead includes smaller enclosures where the family raises chickens, ducks and goats, strictly for family consumption; they have a large field of mature nopal cactus as well, available for the family to pick paddle by paddle to make soups and salads, and other dishes which traditionally may call for nopal. These nopal appears very similar to the variety used for growing cochinilla – the tiny insect used to create natural dyes of red, pink, orange and purple – thick and fleshy, essentially without espinas (thorns).  Along our trek over the pathways we passed by a roofed, three-sided hut made of dried carrizo (river reed) and laminated metal, used to provide shade and shelter from inclement weather, and to keep a bit of clothing and tools of the trade. There was a simple wooden bench inside, a few hooks for hanging things on the walls, and no more. Continuing along, we reached 5 - 6 plants which Juana and Andrés had not harvested since the early morning collection. Juana was carrying a large clay pitcher. Daughter Luz Clarita was struggling with a big wicker basket containing a scraper (raspador) used for scraping out the plant’s well, a number of jícaras (half gourds) of different sizes, a plastic sieve, and two plastic jerricans of five and ten liters.  Upon a pulquero reaching maturity, it is readied for the harvest; some of the bottom leaves (pencas) are removed to more easily facilitate access to the middle of the plant, its heart; and others are bent over backwards with the needle-sharp point gingerly inserted into another penca to reduce the likelihood of the tlachiquero being stabbed. A simple prick which breaks the skin and draws even the smallest amount of blood can result in swelling and pain which lasts two or three days.  The initial phase of tapping consists of digging a well into the piña of the plant, optimally before the quiote has appeared. It’s roughly 8” in diameter and 12” deep. Then slowly but continuously aguamiel begins to seep into the well. The first few days only a couple of ounces are extracted twice daily, but at peak production after 3 – 4 weeks, a plant is capable of producing up to five liters twice daily, before slowing down production as the cycle ends. Subject to the particular terroir, microclimate, specie and other factors, as a general rule aguamiel is very sweet as long as it’s extracted at a time of year when there is no rainwater which manages to seep into the well. Juana confirms that business dictates harvesting year round, but that it’s more difficult and time consuming during rainy season, and the aguamiel is inevitably of a lesser quality and requires more work in order to produce pulque of an acceptable standard.  As Juana and Andrés approached a pulquero, they removed pieces of stone, penca and cloth from covering the well. They inhibits insects, possums, etc., from getting at the sweet coconut-water-like liquid which seeps into the orifice. Other tlachiqueros use a piece of wood or large flat river stone about the diameter of the well, with or without anything else. The tools used to extract the aguamiel are varied, depending on family tradition. Sometimes a jícara is used to scoop it out, sometimes a rubber hose employed as a syphon, and sometimes a long gourd known as an acocote is used, with a small hole at each end for sucking the liquid into it. In modern times a two liter Coke bottle with a small hole at the bottom, the top opening affixed to a length of rubber hose, serves the same purpose. In all cases, the aguamiel is then poured from its initial receiving receptacle into a larger container.  On our excursion day the aguamiel was the sweetest and most flavorful honey water I’d ever tasted. It was dry season, almost winter. Juana had brought along five-day fermented pulque in case we wanted to compare, or to prepare a mixture of pulque and aguamiel for a moderately fermented beverage. I like my pulque relatively strong. We then each sampled honey-rich aguamiel. I was in heaven drinking each, separately without “adulteration.” In due course Juana added a little pulque to the aguamiel to give us a taste of what regular pulque should be like. Later on she might add a little to the aguamiel as a starter to the fermentation. Alternatively, tradition dictates adding pieces of tree root known as timbre to the aguamiel which serves the same function. “The doctors confirm that pulque is very healthy for you, especially if consumed every day, first thing in the morning,” Isaac stated convincingly.  Members of our group were given an opportunity to see the aguamiel while still in the well, extract it, then use the scraping tool. Rasping induces more seepage into the well so that at dawn there would be more, hopefully a lot. With each scraping the well becomes at bit deeper and wider, able to produce more and more aguamiel until the maximum amount can be extracted. After removing the aguamiel from the next succulent, Juana strained it through the plastic sieve into another half gourd, and then poured it into the pitcher. We all smiled as we tasted the fruits of our labor, remarking about the quality of the harvest. Then, before moving on to the next plant, Andrés covered the well with a folded agave leaf on top of which he places a broken piece of concrete, to hopefully keep those pesky insects and rodents from gaining access to the honey water as it seeps into the well over the course of the subsequent 10 - 12 hours.  At the next plant, before extracting the aguamiel Isaac had to remove pieces of old cotton shirts from the top of the well: “It doesn’t matter if you use penca with a rock, or whatever kind of material is available, as long as no little creatures can get into the well and drink or contaminate the aguamiel.” The sun set with tones of red, pink and orange stratus cloud hovering over and between the distant mountain tops. We walked by pulqueros which had seen better days; that is, plants which had already been fully harvested. All of their leaves had been cut off and lay strewn about nearby. “That’s it, there’s nothing else you can do with the plant, except chop it up and use it as mulch or compost, or let it dry and use it as firewood, the same as with the pencas on the ground,” states Andrés. I added that the leaves are often grilled and used to add flavor in the highly ritualized process of making barbacoa, most often sheep or goat baked in an in-ground oven.  “Well, you’re right about the use of the discarded pencas, but not entirely when it comes to the piña,” informed Isaac. “As long as it’s still green, you can use it to make mezcal.” When pressed in the course of ensuring discussion, they all admitted that using this already-spent part of the pulquero agave, while capable of producing mezcal, the process requires much more effort and yields much less mezcal per kilo of plant. The resulting mezcal is of a lesser quality than if starting from scratch with mature and untouched agave, unless you go through the effort of distilling a third and perhaps fourth time. It makes sense that there would be some nutrients remaining in the pulquero, after it’s no longer capable of yielding enough honey water to make it worthwhile to continue the harvest. Amongst families which struggle to eke out a subsistence existence, it’s often worth the effort. I use the shaved, spent cylindrical piña shell as a planter. Others have fashioned it into a bongo drum.  The few non-Mexicans in the group were shocked that the pulque they were sampling was nothing like what they had drank in pulquerías in Mexico City, Puebla, Guadalajara and in other major centers in the country. The aguamiel was sweet like honey, and more significantly the pulque was not thick and viscous nor mucous-like. Pulquerías tend to prepare and sell curados, that is, a pulque base with added sweetener, fruit extract or grain, and sometimes a thickener and/or milk or cream. Many of my clients have initially rejected the idea of sampling pulque with me because of their experiences trying what they have mistakenly believed is the real deal, at pulquerías. Some who go out with me still do not find it to their liking, but to a number they prefer it to what they have previously sampled. Most importantly, they have gained a knowledge of both the process, and of what the pure drink can taste like, both as aguamiel and as pulque, without adulteration. And as for aguamiel, it’s almost impossible to sample it if you do not do so in the village where it has been harvested. By the time it’s transported for example from Matatlán to Oaxaca, it´s begun to ferment, unless in a refrigerated vehicle or a cooler; and even then …  On our return to the home of Juana and Andrés, Chef Pilar, Juana and a couple of other invitees began to work feverishly carving the smoked turkey and preparing the rest of the food for our dinner. We sat around the table reflecting on the evening, drinking mezcal, beer and soft drinks. Claudio presented our gracious hosts with a book he had recently published. Douglas French pressed Juana and Andrés regarding attending at one of his fields of Agave americana with a view to investigating the possibility of extracting aguamiel, rather than using them to make mezcal. We sat, ate, imbibed and chatted for a couple of hours. Then came the hour-long ride back home, all the while reflecting on my guests’ learning experience, and just as importantly the total enjoyment of the evening.  As an adjuct to his Mezcal Educational Excursions of Oaxaca (www.mezcaleducationaltours.com), Alvin leads groups of clients into the fields to harvest aguamiel with one of his families of friends such as Juana and Andrés.
Oaxaca's Mezcal Industry & Cultural Appropriation: Initial Thoughts for a Non-academic Readership11/24/2019
 Alvin Starkman, M.A. J.D.
Although its manifestation dates back to Roman times if not earlier, the concept of cultural appropriation began to receive press in the Western World no earlier than about the 1960s. It has more recently received attention in both media reports and in the academic literature. Regarding the former, take for example the recently-pulled Dior ad promoting its Sauvage fragrance, with actor Johnny Depp walking amidst the red rocks of Southwestern Utah, the more striking backdrop being a Sioux warrior performing a ritualistic dance. Or closer to home the criticism levied against French haute couturier Isabel Marant for designing a dress similar to blouses made by and used for generations by the Mixe indigenous peoples of the southern Mexico state of Oaxaca. The explosion in the mezcal industry since the mid 1990s has also witnessed more than its fair share of commentary. It has come predominantly, thankfully, only from trolls who have been critical of Western incursion into several facets of the agave distillate boom emanating predominantly from Oaxaca. As most readers know, Oaxaca is where most of the country’s mezcal has traditionally been distilled and from where it has been distributed both nationally and now globally. And so as a precursor to the academic article upon which I am currently working, I decided to pen some thoughts on the topic while continuing to research the anthropological and legal literature, in which my background lies. So here goes. -------------------------------------------- Cultural appropriation can be defined as the adoption or utilization of elements of one culture, nationality or ethnic group by one or more members of another, the former typically being relatively disadvantaged, the usurper doing so for profit or otherwise personal gain, and/or with a lack of appreciation, understanding and/or respect, and without permission. My working definition is not without flaws, however. It is a starting point, open to discussion. Consider “without permission.” This might not be a valid pre-condition for finding cultural (mis)appropriation. For some, a blessing from one or more members of the culture might be irrelevant. In any event, one might reasonably ask how blanket permission is obtained from the membership, though I suppose a community council might be approached. And is it nevertheless cultural appropriation? Should permission factor into the equation at all, and if so in what context? Take for example the carved painted wooden figures known as alebrijes. What happens when two Americans obtain the right, in writing, to reproduce specific designs in resin, in China. The family in Arrazola, Oaxaca, with its blessing sells the exclusivity to the buyers for a fee. Is that still cultural appropriation? Alebrijes are not a Zapotec invention or tradition (and Arrazola to my recollection is not a Zapotec village, its members having hailed from other parts of the country), and in fact their existence as a folkart form in Oaxaca back no further than to about the 1960s, perhaps later. I have personally not come across a figure dating to earlier than about 1980. Their actual beginnings, typically as brilliantly painted papier maché dragons and such, go back earlier than the Oaxacan wooden figures, to the Linares family of the State of Mexico. Have the Oaxacan families which produce them today, the members of which have varying degrees of indigeneity in their blood, appropriated something not their own? Does that lessen any inappropriateness of the two Americans? What if the personal gain, rather than profit in the usual sense, is “only” obtaining a sense of self-satisfaction, a stroking of the ego, as in giving to charity? What if all the profits are returned to the host culture? Are there circumstances in which a member of the disadvantaged culture can be rightfully accused of cultural appropriation, or does he have an exclusive, inalienable right not subject to criticism, to run roughshod over his own culture for the purpose of profiting? If he has that right, is it dependent on the extent to which he has been an integral part of the culture or how much if any indigenous blood he has running through his veins? Wood carvings, rugs, clothing, cuisine and perhaps additional indicia of current manifestations of culture in Oaxaca, have already received some attention in the academic literature dealing with the theme of appropriation. To my knowledge mezcal has not. ---------------------------------------------- In the state of Oaxaca, my bailiwick, most of the allegations relative to the mezcal industry are subtly advanced, usually not in print and if so anonymously, and typically constituting merely a whisper; that is, an undercurrent. It emerges in this way presumably out of a fear of some sort of recrimination. Those accusers likely fear being called out for their blanket condemnation without a clear understanding of the complexity of the term cultural appropriation and/or not being acquainted with the alleged perpetrator. They may have no idea of his motivation, his impact on the host culture or one or more segments of it, etc. It’s easy to make an anonymous allegation; some have even harkened back to the destructive forces of colonialization without having considered that the Spanish have perhaps had a significant positive impact on palenqueros (with varying degrees of indigeneity) and their communities. Of the three predominant theories of the history of distillation in Mexico, of which I am aware, only one traces the origin to indigenous groups. The other two date its genesis to the Spanish during the conquest, and to Filipinos in the galleon trade who with earlier knowledge of distilling, arrived on the west coast in the region near where Acapulco now stands. I am not suggesting that indigenous populations which distill agave can be deemed guilty of cultural appropriation from others. Rather, even within the context of mezcal, the issue can be more complicated than perhaps may appear at first glance, especially when as in this example the more disadvantaged are the apparent usurpers. Today, the allegations of cultural appropriation are typically levied against non-Mexican-born “whites:” mezcal brand owners and in at least one case a distiller/brand owner; agave spirit websites and their principals; authors writing for print publications such as books and articles as well as online; and even those facilitators/instructors/guides living in Oaxaca who promote the spirit. Some who have felt the brunt of the accusations fall into more than one of the foregoing categories. So within the context of membership in the foregoing groups which have most frequently been accused, let’s examine some of the aspects of cultural appropriation: motivation of the alleged usurper; permission; benefit to the host group; and, its identification as indigenous. Outside of the mezcal frame of reference, motivation would appear to be clear; the French designer, the American purchasers of alebrije rights, and Dior, are all in it for money and little if anything more. You don’t have to be acquainted with them or their representatives, to reasonably understand why they are doing what they are doing. But mezcal is different. Yes, the lion’s share of brand owners do flog their juice in order to make a living. However there is variation within that group. There are some with little or no interest in doing anything but maximizing profit. This might mean squeezing their palenquero distillate suppliers for every peso they can. Or selling for as high a price as posible without consideration given to trying to expand the mezcal-drinking market to those of relatively modest means as a way of more broadly benefiting the industry. But should we put them in the same class of cultural appropriator as the distiller/brand owner who makes it a priority to employ single mothers who otherwise would not have decent paying jobs? Or the American brand owner who sets up a trust fund for each of his palenqueros upon selling the brand to a multi-national alcohol conglomerate? Or brands which pay a mezcal instructor to teach its preferred buyers how those other than their own palenqueros make mezcal, with a view to expanding the knowledge of those who purchase and sell mezcal in their bars, restaurants and mezcalerías? While I cannot confirm with any degree of certainty, I suspect that at least some of the agave spirit website owners who promote predominantly mezcal and/or tequila through posting articles and reviews and the like, have day jobs, and manage their online presence out of a love of and passion for the distillate(s). For certain there are those who reasonably do not rely on any income generated through selling ads or otherwise website space, since they earn much more from stocks, bonds, venture capital, and the rest. Any income earned would be a pittance by comparison. Hence at least in this category it is importance to have an intimate knowledge of the individual(s) before passing judgment. Are they using a mezcal website to earn money through promoting events? Are they giving back to the hardworking community members who distill mezcal traditionally? Is it enough that through their events and websites they are promoting tourism in Oaxaca? How much should we allow them to earn without making accusations of cultural appropriation? Motivation surely must lie along a continuum and we ought not pass judgment without first knowing precisely where along it the company/individual lies. Many who write books and articles about mezcal are motivated by profit rather than anything else. Some sell articles to magazines and newspapers. Others, academics in particular, write books under the “publish or perish” system of maintaining their standing and/or job, some within the context of receiving money by way of grant or scholarship. And others receive advances from publishers. It’s important to consider if the writer simply swoops in to get his job done, then moves on to something else, never to return to Oaxaca, or has an ongoing intimate relationship with the state, returning regularly or living here. When it comes to documentary film makers, it tends to be the former and thus it becomes easier to be critical. But how many of the naysayers and critics even think about the swoopers-in? Perhaps they don’t because they have at least recognized that the end result is promotion for Oaxaca and mezcal, so it really doesn’t matter. And then there are the instructors/facilitators/guides. It is suggested that most but not all in the category earn a living through this kind of work. We should similarly look at each individual on her merits, and examine the principal motivation. The concept of ethical mezcal tourism is relevant. Similar to the motivation of most in this category, are those in the distributor and retailer categories, which seem to not attract the ire of the critics for their motivation, perhaps because it is obvious. But within the latter two categories there is indeed some variation, such as the work if any that those in the sales industry do to promote agave distillates as a concomitant to sales. Naturally they enhance their bottom line by so doing. Let’s now consider permission granted by the host society and/or members of the smaller subset, that being the ethnic group, community or family of distillers. As suggested near the outset it is perhaps imposible to obtain blanket permission, and even if it is granted it typically refers to only the palenquero who provides his blessing to the purchaser (brand owner), writer, guide or webmaster who comes calling. But often there is no quid pro quo. That is, there is no obvious benefit for the family of palenqueros or community, at least not which they perceive. When in 2019, the producers of a documentary about the future impact of the industrialization of mezcal interviewed two palenqueros, there was permission granted, but no direct consequential remuneration aside from purchasing a couple of liters of the maker’s mezcal. However there are communities which do not welcome outsiders, even merely literally stepping into their worlds without first obtaining permission. Securing it often comes with a cost to the photographer, film maker, writer. On the other hand, it is suggested that there is inequality of bargaining power. Paying $50 USD to obtain such permission might seem like an appropriate sum for the village to extract, but for the intruder it is virtually nothing more than petty cash. Would building a library in the only school in the community make it okay, and keep the critics at bay? What about purchasing a computer for use in the village community center? Is there ever enough benefit to the disadvantaged host culture to make cultural appropriation reasonably or somewhat aceptable? I would answer in the positive when it comes to mezcal. But even more so, and it could be argued indispensable for the benefit and amelioration of those relatively disadvantaged communities. The foregoing paragraphs provide examples. But more broadly, just look at the benefit for Mexico, the state of Oaxaca, the largely indigenous communities, and the families of palenqueros. A significant number of foreigners with not a drop of Zapotec or other indigenous blood in them have created and sustained the “mezcal boom.” If we took away Del Maguey, Pierde Almas, Scorpion, Vago and other brands which either currently or for most of their existence have been owned as a result of that colonialism, what would we have? Despite the modus operandi of some in the industry to rape the locals to the extent possible in order to maximize profit, that is still the exception. Thankfully there are few in the industry at that end of our continuum, be they brand owners, writers and such, other media people and their corporate interests, and the mezcal tour operators working out of the city of Oaxaca. Inevitable something filters down to those much more in need than for the unscrupulous. Our final dimension of cultural appropriation is indigeneity. It is perhaps the most difficult of all to get a handle and thus opine upon, yet otherwise likely the easiest to debate and “win” when dealing with antagonists, detractors and bleeding hearts. Let’s say for arguments sake that the origin of mezcal dates back more than 2,000 years, and that indigenous groups have been distilling agave more or less continuously since then. And that, as the academic literature bears out, certainly in rural Oaxaca, most residents have some non-indigenous blood in their makeup. Is a white export brand owner from the USA or the UK any more or less guilty of cultural appropriation than a wealthy white export brand owner from Mexico City who has 98% Spanish blood? Are they both not guilty of cultural appropriation? What if the Mexican had 30% indigenous blood? What if one of the American’s grandparents was Zapoteco? Does class figure into the equation? Consider a Mexican mezcal tour facilitator whose family is from the Mixteca district of Oaxaca, who keeps all the profits from his work for himself and readily accepts commission from palenqueros. How does one reconcile his standing within the cultural appropriation discussion, with his white American counterpart whose grandparents hail from Poland and who donates most of her tour’s net revenue to worthy Oaxacan charitable causes? Which one of the Mexican as compared to the foreigner, is appropriating from a somewhat indigenous culture? To what extent does or should motivation impact one’s answer? Cultural appropriation in the mezcal industry can and does benefit indigenous communities, to varying degrees. Let’s asume that Del Maguey and Pierde Almas were guilty of cultural appropriation because they were (and perhaps to some extent still are) owned by whites with no indigenous blood. Were it not for those two and other “foreign owned” brands, other more recently constituted brands owned by Oaxacans with indigenous blood and from rural communities, perhaps would never have begun. True, inventions can occur independent of one another in the same era and geographical location, based on economic and other global circumstances. But not necessarily so. The issue might then be, are the two foreign owned brands doing more for villagers than those owned by indigenous Mexicans. Whites born and raised outside of Mexico now living in Oaxaca, in the mezcal industry, yes have felt that undercurrent which alleges that they are misappropriating local culture to their own. Is it warranted? Not unless the troll, the accuser, has done his due diligence, knows the purported usurper and his motivation, background, and the implications of the conduct. There are very few in the industry who are capitalists to the nth degree, without a scintila of altruism. Even those who fit into that category, without knowing it are benefiting the mezcal industry, the communities growing it, Oaxaca, and Mexico. Once the foregoing has been carefully weighed, perhaps then, and only then, is it appropriate to opine regarding cultural appropriation in the Oaxaca mezcal industry. And, it should be done so within the context of a continuum. For me, I’ll defer further comment and reaching of conclusións pending completion of my anthropological and legal research. Alvin Starkman operates Mezcal Educational Excursions of Oaxaca (www.mezcaleducationaltours.com).  There are parts of the state of Oaxaca where agave has been distilled for hundreds of years if not longer, in which the populace has not been impacted one scintilla by the mezcal boom. It is so much so that espadín has only been under cultivation since about 2007. And there, still today, in the Mixteca Alta region of the district of Zaachila, the specie is only single distilled. Residents don’t even call their spirit mezcal, but rather recicado. Can its origins date to the pre-Hispanic era?  The hamlet of Pueblo Viejo is a five hour drive from the city of Oaxaca, the last hour of which traversing a seriously potholed dirt road which follows a stream known as Rio Azucena. The Sánchez Cisneros family lives there. They bake the agave (angustifolia) in a traditional in-ground pit over firewood and rocks. Then they pulverize it by hand using a tree burl to mash and a makeshift wooden trough as a receptacle, ferment it in an animal hide hanging between four posts extending to about four feet off the ground, and finally distill, only once, in a most rudimentary mud and stone still. The result is recicado. The name is said to be derived from a Mixteco root.  I had read an article about the region’s recicado in a Oaxacan daily, so decided to go there for an adventure, with a good friend. The fact that the journalist of the piece at no point mentioned the quality of the spirit should have been a hint as to what we would encounter. The gist of the article was that these means of production and tools of the trade perhaps take us back to the origins of agave distillation in Oaxaca. That reason in and of itself made it a worthwhile experience for two mezcal aficionados; just to be able to track down a family of distillers, chat, and ponder; it all appeared much more “primitive” and rustic than what one encounters in Sola de Vega, Santa Catarina Minas, and other towns in the orbit of Oaxaca’s central valleys which are known for clay pot agave distillation.  At the time of the visit, Hilda Sánchez Cisneros was 19 and living with her older sister, Natividad, and four of Natividad’s six children. The other two were living and working in the countryside of North Carolina. Fernando, Natividad’s husband, was away the day we arrived, doing community service (tequio). Their son Esteban, and daughter Dália are fully trilingual, because they and their mother spent several years living in the US and they had an opportunity to attend American public school. But here they were eking out the most modest of existences, producing recicado for Friday sale in the San Juan Mixtepec weekly marketplace.  The family was also subsisting by growing squash, corn and beans. It was clear that fowl and other meats were not staples in their diet, rather typical for many families in the most rural communities in Oaxaca.  Rio Azucena is an occasional provider, supplying local families with small fish at certain times of the year. And then there is rabbit, squirrel, possum, and fox. “I know that city folk won’t eat small animals like squirrel and possum,” Natividad explained, “but we do up here, when we can get it, and it’s actually quite good.” Esteban proudly added that occasionally you can also come across coyote and wolf, but more often than not it’s only found higher up in the mountains.  Hilda and Natividad learned to distill from their parents and grandparents. Neither recalls how or from whom the older generations learned. Until recently the plants used in production were strictly wild varieties of agave, likely tepeztate (Agave marmorata) and tobalá (Agave potatorum) that had to be collected by climbing the hillsides. Then about a dozen years ago Fernando went to Santiago Matatlán, the purported world capital of mezcal, and brought back a number of baby agave espadín (Agave angustifolia Haw). The family was then, for the first time, able to grow its own agave in this fertile yet sparsely populated valley. But the degree of knowledge of family members concerning scientific process and function, seemed to be lacking, or rather basic. Alternatively, economic circumstances and/or acceptance by fellow villagers of the quality of spirit produced, may have been the principal factors dictating how they made their recicado.  The family had never considered leaving their espadín in the field for the quiote to appear, and then either harvesting and germinate the seeds, or letting nature take its course and awaiting crosspollination of the flowers on the stalk and subsequent transformation into baby agaves (maguey de quiote) for planting. Instead, they relied on the pups (hijuelos) which grow from the mother plant, that is, clones with no genetic diversity. Similarly they had never castrated the quiote upon its first appearance so as to let the carbohydrates concentrate in the piñas. None of their practices were optimum for agave reproduction, nor for achieving the best yield (number of kilos of piña required to produce a liter of mezcal).  Distillation takes place in an area sheltered by laminated metal roofing, located 20 yards from the home. The family employs four virtually identical igloo shaped stills, aligned in a straight row. The housings are fashioned from stone and mud. Beginning from the bottom, for each still the opening where firewood is placed contains a tubular stone which supports a clay pot into which the fermented juices and fiber are placed. Vapor rises from it through a somewhat pear-shaped clay cylinder in which a piece of agave leaf rests on a piece of corn stalk. A laminated metal condenser is sealed to the top of the cylinder with mud, waste agave fiber (bagazo) and corn husk.  Water from a halved and hollowed out tree trunk runs above the stills, and fills each of the four condensers through concave pieces of agave leaf leading from four exit holes in the canal above. The boiling “tepache” causes steam to rise through the clay cylinder, condensing as it hits the bottom of the laminate. Liquid drips onto that other piece of agave leaf dangling in the middle of the cylinder and pointing downward, the narrow end inserted into a length of hollowed river reed (carrizo) inserted into the cylinder through a hole in it. The liquid exits the vessel through the carrizo and into an urn.  The process and some of the equipment do mirror, to an extent, what one encounters in villages such as Sola de Vega and Santa Catarina Minas. But key elements are lacking, no doubt reflected in the quality of the spirit:
 The result is a relatively low alcohol content watery distillate, almost sour to the taste. Yet the local populace buys it and drinks it, and pays about double the price it costs to acquire traditional 45 - 50 percent alcohol by volume double distilled mezcal produced in and around the central valleys of the city of Oaxaca. To be sure, I did try the recicado produced by a competitor up the road, and found it to be only marginally less displeasing.  On my return visit to Pueblo Viejo, I intend to bring two or three liters of my favorite mezcales for the Sánchez Cisneros family to sample. The hope is that Fernando, Natividad and Hilda will embrace the opportunity to experiment with production, and conceivably begin to distill a spirit more acceptable to the palate, at least mine. Then who knows, the family may even begin to market it as mezcal, leaving recicado to die a slow, and perhaps even welcomed death.  However it is suggested that care should be taken to not disrupt the basic means and materials currently used in production. Should those of us not Mexican by birth, or even Oaxacans with some degree of indigeneity, impose anything of the sort on the residents of Pueblo Viejo? Or should we be assisting them in improving their economic lot if not the quality of their agave distillate? A visit under current conditions of course holds a strong attraction for the enthusiast willing to make the trek to Pueblo Viejo. But more importantly, it can be argued that the means of production and tools of the trade must remain for time immemorial, to bear witness to the proposition that spirits distillation perhaps developed in the Mixteca Alta region of Oaxaca prior to the Conquest or other foreign influence.
Alvin Starkman operates Mezcal Educational Excursions of Oaxaca (http://www.mezcaleducationaltours.com). He is much more than an aficionado. Inquire about his qualifications and for unsolicited testimonials.  Alvin Starkman, M.A., J.D. About a decade ago, beginning in the wake of the 2008/9 US economic crisis, the pattern of migration between the United States and the state of Oaxaca got turned on its head. To a significant extent it was because of the initial stages of the global mezcal boom. Depending upon which statistic one reads, Oaxaca is either the poorest, or the second poorest state in all Mexico next to Chiapas. We have agriculture, and we have tourism. While export of mangos, black beans, tomatoes and all the rest have been a relative constant over the years, tourism has not; and the state has relied on beach going and culture seeking visitors for much of its economic fortune.  Tourists from diverse corners of the globe would flock to Oaxaca for its Pacific sun and sand, cuisine, craft villages, archaeological sites, colonial architecture and quaintness. But they would stop coming, especially from the US due to State Department warnings and journalistic sensationalism, at the drop of a dime: the (Mexican) swine flu epidemic, the 2006 Oaxacan civil unrest, drug cartel activity no matter where in the country, zika, and the list goes on. Prospective visitors would eventually forget and again select the state for vacationing … until the next scare; tourism’s economic impact was characterized by peaks and valleys.  To address this schizophrenia, Oaxacans, both skilled and otherwise, would leave the state, emigrating in search of the American dream, or simply relocating to Mexico City or other large commercial centers where work was always available. The former is elusive, and it became especially so when a decade ago both Americans and migrants began either losing their jobs or some of their week’s hours. It grew to be much more difficult for Mexicans to get by, let alone remit money home to family in Oaxaca. Enter the bold new era of mezcal. Over the past several years, both its production and the agave spirit’s popularity on the world state, have literally been increasing exponentially. Statistics bear this out.  Reverse migration has addressed the first prong of the phenomenon, in part due to the American economic crisis. That is, Oaxacans who were losing their jobs in the US began returning to their rural homesteads to help their relatives make mezcal. In earlier times they were leaving towns and villages and they headed north, in droves. Now, with no or less work than before, they were coming home, and for good reason given the spike in production and sales of the agave distillate.  I personally know of three cases in the hinterland of Oaxaca where immigration into the US has changed to emigration back to Oaxaca; in Santiago Matalán, in San Dionisio Ocotepec, and in San Pablo Güilá. In two cases the direct motivation was to help the family produce mezcal for both domestic consumption and export since these Oaxacans were in need of good reliable labor. In the third case it involved a construction worker who in his youth learned to make mezcal in Oaxaca. He then lived in California as a laborer for 20 years, and now had an opportunity to return home and build and work at his very own traditional distillery, and construct a home.  Oaxacans in the lower classes and rural areas have always imbibed the spirit. But a new phenomenon began around the beginning of this decade, with middle class urbanites all of a sudden jumping on the bandwagon. It was the early stages of the boom in the US which has given Mexicans a sense of pride in mezcal, as a quality sipping spirit much like a good bourbon or single malt scotch, rather than as a gut wrenching way to get drunk quickly. Remember those college years? Now, mezcal is respected globally, and there is increasing worldwide demand for it. So more mezcal is being distilled for both national and international markets. And, with this popularity has come an influx of visitors; to learn about it either to increase personal knowledge or with a view to opening a mezcalería in their home cities, to film and photograph it for business purposes, to sample and buy it out of pure passion for the spirit, and to begin their own brands for export.  These pilgrims, from as far away as Australia, are not as deterred as the normal tourist by what their governments and media warn. Mezcal tourism is a constant, and growing.  The actual production of mezcal is both causing the return of Oaxacans to their homeland as indicated, and keeping Oaxacans here. However there is more; while the motivation of many travelers for visiting Oaxaca is for mezcal (i.e. learning, documenting and of course buying), the spirit is actually having a much broader positive impact on the state. That is, when visitors come for mezcal, they also buy crafts, take cooking classes, dine in restaurants, stay in hotels, visit archaeological sites, and the list goes on, and on, and on. The dramatic impact is that emigration from the state is either halted, or at minimum significantly curtailed. And this keeps families together, in all walks of life. Alvin Starkman operates Mezcal Educational Excursions of Oaxaca (www.mezcaleducationaltours.com). He has been witnessing the metamorphosis from the beginning.
 The mezcal industry’s upward trajectory appears unstoppable, especially given the global reach of the multi-nationals. Over the past few years they have been buying up quality brands of ancestral and artesanal mezcal. And so the potential is there, for industry growth. But you know what they say about one bad apple. ¨Heroes and Villains, Just see what you’ve done” was the refrain of the 1967 The Beach Boys song. Now while I’m neither, though some might disagree, Mexico’s burgeoning non-tequila agave distillate business contains representatives of both; too many of the latter. But even one person is more than we want, especially since this mezcal industry’s star is still rising, and the rogues and reprobates among us can bring it to a crashing halt.  In May, 2019, I was interviewed by a media type working on a piece about recent changes in the mezcal trade as a consequence of increased commercialization. We spoke about the extent of the likelihood for change in quality and pricing structure; the former going down, and the latter up. It would seem that every step a brand takes towards industrializing the means of production and tools of the trade in the manufacture of its mezcal inevitably reduces quality. I’ve seen it happen. I have tasted the difference in a product distilled by a palenquero 15 years ago, and then today the purportedly same mezcal. He yielded to pressure from the brand owner to produce more, quicker. And over the past five years I have noticed known brands reducing their ABV as a means of lowering cost, and new, start-up brands flogging their juice at 37 – 40 percent --- simply not what traditional mezcal is all about. Fair enough. We do live in a capitalist society, with “let the buyer beware.” But we also have consumer protection laws (though here in Mexico I would suggest their enforcement is questionable). But they are not designed to address the issue about which I am writing. As a general statement there’s nothing wrong with lowering quality and/or ABV, since you get what you pay for. That is, sometimes! And it is the qualifier which brings me back to that interview, and a more pressing reason for this discourse. The interviewer began to relay a story to me, about interaction he had had with a bilingual (Spanish/English) Mexican who regularly flogs mezcal he bottles under his own label, made by traditional distillers, in the US. The carpetbagger, as I would term the interviewee, at one point began to talk about selling a bottle of mezcal for $1,000 USD, presumably premium, and 750 ml. He said something to the effect of “if a dumb American is willing to pay me a thousand dollars for a bottle of mezcal, then I’ll sell it to him.” Can you reasonably call the guy anything other than a carpetbagger, except perhaps a scoundrel? To be clear, he wasn’t referring to a mezcal made with jabalí, aged ten years in a bourbon barrel, then marketed in a hand blown glass bottle with a hand blown glass agave inside. In this early era of mezcal, that is, referencing its modern age which dates to no earlier than the mid 1990s, such an attitude and behavior is wrong. It does harm to the growth of the industry. At this point in time in the meteoric upsurge in the popularity of agave distillates (aside from tequila), should we allow capitalism and entrepreneurialism to be acceptable and just let it run rampant, or should we be doing all we can to stamp out this type of activity, and more importantly attitude? You can take what the market will bear. For example retailing a bottle of specialty pechuga in Washington state for $400 USD. In that case the price eventually came down, likely because the market simply did not support that price. However the particular product did create a buzz, and still does today, so that’s fine. Charging high prices for novelty items like pechugas made with ham, iguana, deer, turkey breast, and yes rabbit, is fine; as long as they are truly unique and exceptional to the palate of the purchase; and the brand owner’s motivation is not simply getting as much as he can for the product. (As an aside, in my humble opinion the protein is quite often used not for imparting a particular aroma, taste and texture, but rather utilized for marketing purposes. If you distil with a chicken breast and a dozen different fruits, spices and herbs, how much is the meat relative to the other ingredients altering the end product?) There is a good chance that the spirits aficionado who buys a $1000 USD bottle of mezcal, will go back to his Talisker 57 or Lagavulin 16 year old single malt scotch, and be done with mezcal. And that’s something we simply don’t want. You can stick it to him once, but no more. We want to continue to grow the mezcal market with at least some semblance of fair trade, for the benefit of us all; at least most of us. Shame on Sr. X … and every person in the mezcal industry anything like him. As Lynyrd Skynyrd sang, “does your conscience bother you?” |
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