<\/p>\n
\u201cThis boom started with the hipsters.\u201d<\/p>\n
Eber Villalobos guides me down an artfully graffitied street in Oaxaca City, talking about mezcal\u2019s current boom.<\/p>\n
\u201cChilangos (people from Mexico City) come to Oaxaca for vacation and try the mezcales here. Bar owners started bringing mezcal back to the D.F. and made it trendy. It\u2019s partly a way to touch a piece of our history, partly to proclaim Mexican identity and it\u2019s partly a badge of honor. If you bring something rare to the wider public, you get to say I explored this place and look at what I found<\/em>.\u201d<\/p>\n A former chilango himself, Eber immigrated to Oaxaca five years ago and founded \u00c1nimas Mezcal<\/a>, a small brand that markets the mezcales made by area distillers, or mezcaleros.<\/p>\n One could hardly find a better place to make mezcal than Oaxaca, nor a better time to do it than now. Oaxaca provides the ideal soil and climate for the agave, known here as mag\u00fcey, from which mezcal is distilled. The various species of mag\u00fcey take years to mature and right now the mezcal business booms from so many mag\u00fceys maturing within a relatively short time of each other. Rarely have so many mezcal varieties been available and never before has so much mezcal crossed the border to the wider world.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Mezcal wraps its history in myth. The word itself comes from Mexico\u2019s indigenous Nahuatl language and translates rather unceremoniously to \u201coven-cooked agave.\u201d In its creation myth, a lightning bolt struck a mag\u00fcey heart, or pi\u00f1a, instantly cooking and releasing the liquor within. Although the mag\u00fcey had been used by Mexicans to make alcoholic beverages such as pulque for millennia, the first recorded distillation occurred during the Spanish conquest.<\/p>\n During their conquest of Mexico, Spaniards introduced the modern distillation techniques and technologies of the day. Later, mezcal underwent periods of prohibition as Spanish wine producers fought against threats to their profits. During each prohibition, defiant Mexicans continued to make mezcal and the drink acquired both revolutionary and indigenous associations. We are Mexican, proclaimed makers and drinkers alike, not Spanish. Your laws will not break us. We are united and we will rise victorious. History has proven the revolutionaries right, and to raise a glass of mezcal is to raise a fist to imperialism in all its forms.<\/p>\n Mezcal still plays the guest of honor in modern of ceremonies, from weddings to business meetings, to the ofrendas erected outside houses and in cemeteries during the Day of the Dead.<\/p>\n The dull grey ribbon of Highway 190 leads us southeast from Oaxaca City and into mag\u00fcey-studded hills in which hide dusty towns and villages that look more at home on the pages of a Cormac McCarthy story than on the surface of the world as I have known it.<\/p>\n Eber pulls off at a red-walled single story building situated on the side of the road. Pieces of farm equipment decorate the yard. A pile of corn husks dry in the sun behind a row of decorative mag\u00fcey plants.<\/p>\n Dainzu, which means \u201cmag\u00fcey hill\u201d in Zapotec, forms part of the collective that \u00c1nimas represents. Leoncio and Octavia Santiago, Dainzu\u2019s mezcaleros, lean on the open-air showroom\u2019s counter and greet us warmly as we enter.<\/p>\n The first taste that Leoncio pours us is an espad\u00edn with a flavor smooth enough to be dangerous.<\/p>\n \u201cThis doesn\u2019t taste anything like the mezcal that I\u2019ve tried before,\u201d I remark. \u201cThe other mezcal tasted either sweet or smoky, a bit like a scotch.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou must have tried it in El Norte,\u201d Leoncio replies. \u201cAmericans like scotch whiskey and have grown accustomed to its flavor. When you try something new, you look for something familiar to hold onto. Most mezcales, though, aren\u2019t smoky and Mexicans don\u2019t really look for that flavor.\u201d<\/p>\n Leoncio\u2019s mezcales embody the idea of terroir, a word usually reserved to describe wine. Small glasses of espad\u00edn, cuixe, madre cuixe, tepeztate and tobal\u00e1 take their turns on the counter. They impart flavors of sun-dried earth, dusty and pollen-laden plants and of hands whose palms will never truly free themselves of soil.<\/p>\n Leoncio and Octavia offer us snacks to accompany our drinks. This being Oaxaca, the snacks are chapulines and gusanos de mag\u00fcey — grasshoppers and tequila worms. Octavia has prepared each dish with her own proprietary techniques and spice mixes. I would have paid handsomely for the recipes, but she says that some things cannot be sold.<\/p>\n \u201cDo you ever put worms in your bottles?\u201d I ask Leoncio.<\/p>\n \u201cNever,\u201d He laughs. \u201cThat was an old thing that became a story before it even had a chance to become a tradition.\u201d<\/p>\n Leoncio explains that the worms, in reality, moth larvae<\/a>, burrow into mag\u00fcey plants and can ruin the harvest. During some long-gone infestation, mag\u00fcey farmers took symbolic revenge on the larvae by drowning them in bottles of mezcal. The act never achieved tradition in Mexico, but the story took root north of the border and savvy salesmen play into it where the demand exists.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n