March 31, 2011
Mezcal Renaissance by Jack Bettridge for Wine Spectator 3/31/2011

Information on Fidencio Mezcal

I'd say we have a drinks revolution on our hands except that the whole process moves at such a crawl. Deep in Mexico, a small core of liquor iconoclasts is challenging the accepted wisdom that regal tequila is the country's true spirit by rallying round a quaff—mezcal, sometimes spelled mescal—that revels in its primitive traditions, its low-tech methods and even its quirkiness.

Picture a village thousands of feet up in the mountains of Oaxaca, a smoldering wood fire smoking the cores of the spiky agave plant, a horse slowly turning a grinding wheel, and a lone craftsman working at a still made of clay and you see the new face of mezcal. The snail's pace and the centuries of culture are the charms of this alternative to tequila.

Mezcal has long been considered the raw peasant drink of Mexico, the one with the worm in the bottle. (Don't eat it, don't even drink the usually bottom-grade stuff it steeps in.) Meanwhile, tequila was refining itself, becoming an appellation of origin in the image of Burgundy, Bordeaux and Cognac. Now, proponents of artisanal mezcal advance the category by decrying tequila's so-called industrialization, while celebrating the latitude allowed mezcal as a sort of antiappellation.

These spirits spring from a common plant type: agave, or maguey. In a sense, tequila is a subset of mezcal, specifically made from blue agave and produced in the state of Jalisco and in certain other regions. It takes its name from the city of Tequila, near which most of the spirit arises.

Mezcal was originally a generic name for agave spirits made in Mexico. However, Mezcal (capital M and with a z) has recently acquired an appellation, and while the type of plant used is not regulated, its origin is. Mezcal is officially made in Oaxaca (from which the majority comes) as well as in several municipalities of other states. The name derives from the native language Nahuatl's word for maguey, mexcalmetl.

The latitude in choosing maguey can be an asset. Former sommelier Richard Betts, who now makes wine and imports Sombra Mezcal, looks at blue agave as sort of an easy out. The plant used for tequila is larger and yields more spirit. The smaller espadin agave, typically used to make mezcal, has lower yields and is harder to work with.

Ron Cooper, who has a collection of seven single-village mezcals called Del Maguey, refers to espadin agave as the genetic mother of tequila, explaining that there are as many as 30 different types used to make mezcal. "They're not stuck with a monoculture that grows weaker. With tequila, everyone is looking for a flavor profile that is very narrow."

John Rexer, who developed Ilegal Mezcal, points to proper harvesting—at full ripeness—as another plus to mezcal done well. "In el campo, in the countryside, they call it sin prisa, without rush," he says.

The obvious flavor differential is in mezcal's smokiness. This comes from the process used to to extract juice from the agave, and is considered a selling point. It takes days and yields little. Rexer describes the mezcal method as being like a clambake, featuring an oven lined with rock, burning mesquite or wild oak. The hearts of agave are piled in and covered with earth.

The juice is extracted by grinding the hearts in millstones turned by a horse or donkey. The juice is then fermented outdoors, often using airborne microbes as yeast. The stills—copper pot, or clay with bamboo pipes—can also vary, as will the techniques of the particular mezcalero making it. He can distill it once or twice and to varying strengths, and will cut different portions of run to achieve his middle cut.

Betts, Cooper and Rexer all say that altitude is key, or in Betts' words, "The higher you get, the prettier it is." This sort of sense of place is a draw to Betts, who makes connections between wine and mezcal. "I wanted intellectual value, a background. Mezcal is as transparent as wine with its terroir."

These fans of mezcal play up the role of flavors other than smoke. Rexer reels off a litany of tasting notes, including chocolate, earth, mineral, pepper. "It's not one-note, it's very complex." His Mezcal Añejo ($110), while toasty and smoky, pops with sweet fruit, banana, cocoa and even leather. Betts' Sombra ($45), a clear Mezcal, is slightly smoky, but more clearly delivers bright citrus, mint and bread dough flavors. Cooper's Chichicapa ($70) brings mint, citrus, salt and oak as well.

These men wax poetic about the centuries of experience and the culture that goes into producing mezcal. And they have steeped themselves in this culture to develop their liquids. Rexer recalls going from village to village, asking who made the best mezcal, seeking out that person and then hanging around for a couple of days. Cooper describes another kind of transparency between the spirit, the makers and their heritage: "You look in people's eyes and you see back thousands of years."