A Filipino still at work in Oaxaca
When whiskey fever first took over the industry, a secondary fever for barrel aging came with it. It was determined that we all loved whiskey because it was aged in oak. The longer it was aged in oak, the more we liked it. Hence, why not start aging other things in oak in order to capitalize on the fad? Bourbon barrel-aged beer! Bourbon-barrel aged maple syrup! Even Bourbon barrel-aged gin!
During those initial years of the whiskey craze, gin was making a comeback. But the best way to sell more gin at that point was to pretend it was whiskey. Put it in a cask for a few months, let it get dark, bottle it at cask strength, and let the whiskey geeks have something new to salivate over. If you could find a tequila that had been aged for an extra-long period of time, you could definitely move some cases.
But mezcal? It’s always been a clear spirit, which often doesn’t translate for whiskey drinkers.
“How long was it aged for?” It wasn’t.
“What type of wood did they use?” None.
“Why is it so expensive if it wasn’t aged?” Because of what it took to make it.
Our desire to equate quality and price to time in a barrel is directly related to the whiskey revolution and how it rewired our brains. Because many wild agaves need 10-20 years in the ground to fully mature, I’ve seen a number of new mezcal brands with age statements on their labels, trying to use the number of years the piña spent in the dirt as a way to correlate maturity to whiskey drinkers.
But the entire reason for loving agave spirits, to me, stems from the agricultural and culinary philosophies of each producer, rather than any length of maturation. I spent over an hour on Zoom last night with Ben Scott and Anthony Silas from Mezcal Mal Bien, tasting through their incredible portfolio, and I was overjoyed to hear them mention what is, again to me, the most important thing to know about rustic agave spirits: “The type of agave is only the third most important aspect of the spirit. The producer and the location are far more important when determining the flavor and the quality of an agave spirit.”
Hallelujah!
If you click on the link above and take a look at one of the Mal Bien labels, you’ll see it looks very much like the water bottles in the photo above. It was Ben and Anthony’s intent to replicate the rustic and unpretentious manner in which these spirits are enjoyed in Mexico. In the case of agave, the specs are indeed important, but only in how they help consumers understand the producer, then ultimately the spirit.
If I were to put twenty glasses of various agave spirits on the table, I’d give a million bucks (if I had it) to the person who could correctly pick out which were Madrecuixe and which were Tobalá. Despite the fact our industry has tried to create wine varietals out of agave, it’s not quite the same thing. There’s too much variation in how these piñas are grown, cooked, fermented, and distilled to find varietal commonalities that are completely distinct and uniform. Contrast that with Cabernet Sauvignon and Pinot Noir. Put twenty glasses of wine on the table, and I’ll tell you with high accuracy which are Cab and which are Pinot.
When you look at an agave label, one of the most important details you’ll want to know is the type of still. Copper? Clay? Alembic? Filipino? That little detail right there can completely change the flavor of what you’re sipping on. Most of us are familiar with copper alembic pot stills, but what about hallowed-out tree trunks with a pot of water on top and a bamboo stick for condensation? Filipino stills are a traditional method of distillation that are named as such because the Spanish brought the practice over to Mexico from the Philippines as part of their colonial route across the Pacific.
You’re also going to want to know where the producer is located, where the agave is coming from, and the process by which the agave is cooked and milled. Terroir is incredibly important as the same species of agave from one side of Oaxaca will have a completely different flavor (and often a completely different name) from the other side. That being said, even if two producers harvest the exact same agave from the exact same location, if one of them roasts it in a pit and the other in an oven, the resulting spirits are going to taste different.
Even if they’re both roasted in the same pit, the spirits also going to taste different if one producer mills the piñas with a stone tahona, and the other uses wooden mallets. The oxidation rates will affect the ultimate flavor. Ditto for the type of native yeast used for fermentation and the vessel used. If one is fermented in a concrete vat and the other in animal skins, or in a volcanic stone pit, or in a wooden canoe, it’s going to affect the flavor. Hence, the producer and the methods of production are all far more important than the type of agave.
So why don’t they put these wild agave spirits in wood? Because, like a fine Sancerre or Chablis, it’s not about the oak maturation, dude! There is so much inherent flavor in these spirits from the earth and the process. That’s the point. You don’t want anything else getting in the way.
So how do you know if you’ll like it? You won’t. Not until you try it. But I can tell you from experience—even just last night’s tasting—that finding a producer you like is more important than anything. One of the Mal Bien expressions is made by a producer who only distills once, using a refrescador or refractor in the still to boost the proof. As a result, there’s more methanol in the spirit as it’s less refined. But that methanol gives the spirit a vanilla bean or crème brûlée flavor that is simply incredible. It’s one of the creamiest agave spirits I’ve ever tasted.
And it had nothing to do with oak maturation.
-David Driscoll