A Brief History of Tequila

There exists a better quality Mezcal produced near Guadalajara that carries the name of the town where it is made, “Tequila.” This drink costs more and is considered a good gift for a friend.

— Albert Evans, 1869

The precursor to Tequila was pulque (pull-kay) an alcoholic beverage of around 4 to 6 percent ABV. It is made from fermenting the juice of certain varieties of agave and is a cheap alcoholic drink that needs very little know-how to make. It requires just enough patience to let the agaves reach their maturity, though traditionally there would have been so many of those hearty plants growing wild that it wouldn’t have required much waiting on the part of the indigenous tribes— the supply would have been plentiful.

Pulque and agave spirits are not to be confused with one another as they are made with very different procedures. To drink pulque is a unique experience. The texture is sappy, sticky, and viscous like the juice of the succulent from which it comes. The taste is like slightly acidic aloe vera juice. Sometimes there is a mild petulance to it caused by the fermentation. It is not a taste sensation that is easy on the palate, which is why it is commonly infused with fruit flavorings that cover and disguise the natural taste—these are known as curado.

Demand for pulque would have been high at certain times in the indigenous culture. Pulque was used in ceremonies for human sacrifices and was allowed for consumption on just two or three other religious days during the year—too much wildness and the tortillas would not get made.

The arrival of Mexico’s foreign invaders saw pulque encounter a new audience who found the strength of the native drink lacking. The Spanish were not a meek, dainty bunch. They were out for fame and fortune through the thrill of hard and dangerous adventure. They were rough and tough, though not necessarily any more so than the locals. The indigenous people outnumbered the invaders and could have successfully held off the Spanish had they had their hearts in the resistance.

According to one flavor of history, the Aztecs led by Moctezuma believed that the gods had given up on them and it was this that effectively ended the Aztec Empire. In his book The Labyrinth of Solitude, the Mexican poet Octavio Paz called it the suicide of the Aztec people:

…the arrival of the Spaniards was interpreted by Moctezuma, at least at the beginning, not so much as a threat from outside than as the internal conclusion of one cosmic period and the commencement of another. The gods departed because their period of time was at an end, but another period returned and with it, other gods and another era.

The conquistadors and their invasion would impact Mesoamerica in significant ways. The Mestizo, the Mexican people we know today, were created through the resulting mix of Spanish and indigenous blood. “Mexico is a nation between two civilizations and two pasts,” writes Paz. With the Spaniards came knowledge of distillation from the “old world.” Applying these techniques to fermented agave juice would lead to the creation of a spirit which has evolved over many years into what we now call Tequila.

The Spanish had learned the art of distillation during the lengthy period of time they were hosting the Moors in the Iberian Peninsula. The Moors, being Muslim, did not use their science of distillation to make their alkhol for consumption, instead using it to make ink, perfume, and medicine. At first, this distillate was called Vino de Mezcal (Mezcal wine), after the plant from which it was made. There were two names then for the plant from which the pulque was made: Mezcal and maguey. These names, along with the name agave, are still used currently in different parts of Mexico. The name Vino de Mezcal is misleading however, since the drink is a distilled spirit and not a wine at all.

A variety of credible sources have suggested that the art of distillation may have been present in what is now Mexico prior to the arrival of the Spanish. In the cocktail that is history, this is an example of how the recipe is different depending on where you choose to look. Following this theory, certain relics and similarities in still designs found in Mexico suggest distillation may have arrived from Asia via the Philippines or China, brought in on the west coast of Mesoamerica. This is a fascinating possibility, though it does not seem to alter much of what eventually happened.

Under Spanish rule, Mezcal wine was restricted intermittently. One reason for this early prohibition was that Spain wanted its own domestic spirits to be sold more easily in its colonies. It’s also suggested that Mezcal wine and pulque may have been restricted due to the abuse by the locals and their susceptibility to the effects of alcohol. In 1755, the Bishop of Guadalajara noted:

although the Mezcal from which it is made provided many benefits, they [the natives] commonly use it in excess and discredit the wine and even the plant ... they all are, in general, great drunks, and they wait to avenge their injuries until they are drunk. And it is hard to count their drunken times ... our Catholic Kings of a long time have had notice that this vice of drunkenness had taken over these parts ... well this cursed vice is the root of perdition of the souls ... we prohibit said drinks and order that they not be made or used in virtue of holy obedience, penalty of excommunication to the transgressors that we will pass before the formidable sentence of Anathema (or exile)...

Though we might presume the bishop’s staunch Catholic origins may be the cause of certain bias, these records are still preserved in Tequila town today.

Whatever the rationale for the prohibition, colonial production of Mezcal wine continued secretly anyway. Evidently, there was a big enough demand for it, and just like prohibition in twentieth century United States, the populace risked capture and punishment to provide Mezcal wine to the thirsty. I guess human behavior doesn’t change much.

A common saying during these colonial times appeared: “Mezcal wine is an aperitif before eating, a digestive after eating, and a good narcotic at night.” Apparently, its appeal was hard to resist.

The region now referred to as the Tequila Valley began to be noticed for the quality of its Mezcal wine. Even at that time, it was said that this was due to the superior quality of the agaves used. The blue agave variety growing in that area had a higher sugar content, which made a better tasting Mezcal wine. By the end of the eighteenth century there were vast fields of cultivated agave in the Tequila Valley.

The early production occurred on haciendas, though later this was relocated to the town of Tequila as the process of making Tequila became more industrialized. Santiago Tequila was founded in 1530, and the birthplace of this town would eventually give the drink its name today. For a while, the spirit from this region went by the name of Vino de Mezcal de Tequila. As its distinction for drinkability and reputation for quality grew, it came to be known simply as Tequila. Historically, Mezcal would have referred to both the name of the plant as well as the name of the beverage it produced.

By 1887, Tequila production had become established. Widespread agave growing and production was being carried out in the general region to the west of Guadalajara, around the town of Tequila. There were reported to be more than sixty million agave growing in the area and production of Vino de Mezcal was more than one hundred thousand barrels—a sizable volume.

The California gold rush in the mid 1800s gave Tequila a new market. Those mad adventurers out to get their fortunes in gold were following the example of the Spanish invaders before them. They all wanted a good strong drink and to raise some high hell. Imagine those mining camps and towns that grew up around “gold fever” then add Tequila to fuel their passion and depravity. It was an unpredictable and dangerous time, especially considering that most of the populace was armed and the law was not yet established.

Some of Tequila’s growth was helped by regional fairs held as part of religious celebrations. No organized human sacrifices this time—Tequila was transported in wooden barrels or clay containers (botijas) by wagon and mule train. When the Mexican Central Railway was finished in the 1890s, Tequila distribution was greatly increased both domestically and, eventually, abroad.

In those days Tequila drinking was identified with the lower classes. By contrast, French spirits prevailed as examples of what the higher echelons of society wanted to be seen drinking. This stigma was to remain in effect in a general sense until rather recent history—until about 1990, in fact. It is noted that the native population quenched their thirst with Mezcal wine as did the working class in general, such as hacienda peons and field workers. Tequila at this early time “began to give shape to nationalistic identification” because it was a drink quite different from “the wine imported from Europe that high society consumed,” said the CRT.

Of all the events that have shook and tilted the world, the Mexican revolution is one that has captured the imagination and seeped into the subconscious of many. Its association with Tequila meant the spirit rapidly became synonymous with Mexico and “Mexicanidad.” This was part of an emotionally and spiritually charged Mexican epoch, as different mixes of indigenous and European blood fought each other and helped define what their existence and identity was all about. On those often-cruel campaigns of fighting and battles, of killing and facing death, of valor and bravery, of sweat, tears, and dirt, Tequila was the spirit those revolutionary fighters reached for.

The destiny of this nation of people was being shaped and inspired by what was fast becoming their national drink. For those fighting for a new life, Tequila was the perfect fuel. Tequila would warm, give courage, take away pain, and stimulate dreams. I can well imagine a revolutionary soldier’s dark, watery eyes at night in the shadows, taking refuge and solace in his Tequila. His eyes show his vision, his emotions both light and dark, both of which he is made. He is downtrodden, he’s got nothing to lose. He drinks his Tequila, the very essence of his motherland. With his Mestizo blood racing and his breath quickening, he marches chest forward, heart beating wildly, into battle and wins. With Tequila, the common man wins for Mexico: Mexico and Tequila became inseparable.

Somewhere around the late 1800s, Los Altos (the highlands of Jalisco) was discovered as a valuable place to grow agave for Tequila production. Even though the giants of the Tequila industry (like Cuervo, Sauza, Herradura, and Orendain) are situated in the Tequila Valley, the majority of Tequila production has now shifted to the Highlands. These two regions, both of which are in the state of Jalisco, make up more than 95 percent of all agave growing and Tequila production.

During Prohibition in the United States, sales of Mexican alcohol increased. Gringos who could get across the border (or buy smuggled alcohol) stimulated a new demand for “Mexican brandy,” as Tequila was sometimes called. A similar effect happened during World War II when the United States’ domestic alcohol production was interrupted to help the war effort and the drinking market again looked south of the border.

As for pulque, the drink of the common man, it thrived too for a time because it was so inexpensive. During the nineteenth century and the beginning of the twentieth, there were many pulquerías in Mexico, especially Mexico City. These were places where weary souls sought solace and where the action could take a violent turn. Often these bars were forbidden to minors, women, and uniformed personnel.

The popularization of beer and the promotion of other alcoholic drinks resulted in the gradual decline of pulque drinking, making it rather challenging to find. Pulque is seldom drunk or even seen outside of Mexico because of its short shelf life, though in recent years it has been pasteurized and tinned, making it possible to be kept and transported. You could stop along the old road from Guadalajara to Tequila town and still buy homemade pulque from roadside stands, sold from plastic jugs, either “natural” or “curado.”

The last time I stopped there for a fresh pulque I found agua miel, the unfermented sap of the agave—it was sweet and is meant to be very nutritious. These pulque stands have become harder and harder to find as demand for pulque diminished, and it seemed for a while as though the tradition may die out. However, as with the tides of all trends, pulque is now making a resurgence and there are now trendy pulquerías to be found in Mexico.

Sometime after World War II—no one knows for sure exactly when—an event happened that changed the destiny of Tequila. This spirit that until then had been largely the drink of the adventurer, the wild man, and the revolutionary, was brought into semi-respectability by the introduction of the cocktail named Margarita. The origin of this world- famous drink is open to speculation and a good many claims; whether it was below, above, or on the Mexican border no one knows for sure. What is agreed is that it found its early popularity in bars and restaurants in 1950s Los Angeles.

L.A. was a place for dreamers, scammers, and hipsters of both Mexican and Anglo cultures. Movie stars such as John Wayne and Bing Crosby were known for their love of Mexico and Tequila. In this cultural molcajete, the world’s most famous cocktail took root and flourished. At that time there were more than a million people in L.A. of Mexican heritage and there are many more today, making it the second largest settlement of Mexicans after Mexico City itself.

The Margarita—with its upscale louche image and taste appeal—brought Tequila in from the badlands and semi-legitimized Mexico’s national drink. Tequila’s appeal to the American masses began to change. The Margarita elevated this exotic spirit into an acceptable and fashionable cocktail, bringing Tequila from the alleyway to the front door on Main Street.

With the growing popularity of the Margarita, Tequila sales soared. However, up until the 1980s Tequila remained an untamed, rough spirit both in Mexico and abroad—with some exceptions. There were a few well-made Tequilas sold internationally which were referred to as “top shelf.” These included Tres Generaciones and Conmemorativo (both by Sauza), Cuervo 1800, Sauza Hornitos, and Herradura—the last two being 100 percent Agave Tequilas even in those days.

In Mexico there was also Orendain Ollitas, Tapatío, and Siete Leguas, all 100 percent Agave Tequilas of high quality which were virtually unknown abroad back then. Tequila in that era was commonly drunk in the “traditional” way, with salt licked off the back of the hand, a shot taken of the Tequila, followed by a bite of citrus. Back in 2005 I visited Guadalajara, the administrative center of the Tequila heartland. My cohorts and I were in the historical center of the city on foot, and we took a horse-drawn carriage to a well-known ancient cantina called Los Equipales. The kind old gentleman driver asked us about what we were doing. Tequila came up and he mentioned this ritual of the salt and lemon. Playing devil’s advocate, I asked if he meant that this was the proper way to enjoy a Tequila. He said yes, as far as he knew. Tradition takes a life of its own, and old beliefs die hard.

In 1983 a product was launched in the U.S. which was to change the entire dynamic of how people would see Tequila. Chinaco 100 percent Agave Tequila was released, and those that tried it were shocked awake—it was that different to what had been on the market. Chinaco was extra smooth and flavorsome, refined and complex. This was Tequila with its spiky edges polished off and its essence deepened. It was revolutionary and sent shock waves through the inner Tequila world. The liquid doors to Tequila reality had been pushed wide open.

Designer or boutique Tequilas took hold in the market in the late 1980s and early 1990s, probably as a reaction to the success of Chinaco. This was when brands such as Don Julio, Porfidio, El Tesoro de Don Felipe, Selección Suprema, and Patrón showed up. They share certain distinguishing qualities about them. They were finely crafted, using care and high standards of production.

They were 100 percent Agave, sporting designer affectations on their labels, and often produced in relatively limited runs—making them expensive. These products began changing people’s impressions of what Tequila was and could be.

Consider Cuervo’s famous 1800 Colección as an example. This was an expensive Tequila made in limited quantities, around $1,600 a bottle when I could find it. The Tequila itself was rich and profound, showing the heritage and craftsmanship put into it. The broad effect of this trend was that Tequila companies started paying extra attention to their products to see how they could improve standards, innovate, and therefore increase sales. The public showed its appreciation by buying more and paying more attention to the whole category of Tequila.

As producers and consumers awakened to the fact that Tequila was being refined and redefined, a new dynamic crawled into the heart of the Mexican soul. Mexicans speak of the period of the 1990s as the time when Tequila went from being a drink for the under-class, the poor, and for the drunkard, to being a drink to be proud of—a drink with which to enjoy and celebrate every occasion with Mexican satisfaction and pride. At this time Tequila was saying more than romance, more than wild fun, it was now showing that it could also be classy and unclassifiable, refined and smooth. It was expanding the boundaries of its identity.

This modern trend in the Tequila category continues today with new Tequila brands and innovations showing up practically daily in the market. Currently, there are Tequilas aged imaginatively in barrels such as those from Jerez (sherry), Bordeaux, Sauternes wine, and Cognac. There are Tequilas that rival the quality of single malt Scotch whiskies, Cognacs, and Armagnacs.

“Mexicans traveling abroad began to notice appreciation and taste for the drink, mainly in Europe” reported the CRT in its book, Introduction to Tequila, A Refinated Tradition. Antonio Garcia, a liquor store owner, articulated the phenomenon in Tequila, A Natural and Cultural History:

...the boom began in Europe, when the high society of Paris discovered this drink that was so maltreated all over the world, and realized that in addition to it being an exquisite beverage, it had an impressive history with roots tracing back before the conquest. And so, Tequila began to captivate the European palate, which was when Mexicans going to Europe discovered that their national drink was famous there, and returning to Mexico, they began to drink it and promote it in their social circles.

A similar story was told to me by Don Francisco Hajnal, master Tequilero and founder of the Mexican Tequila Academy. In a presentation in Tequila town, Francisco said that the change for Mexicans in the image of Tequila came significantly from the positive image emanating from abroad. Helping change the way that Tequila is perceived in Europe is something that I’m proud to have personally played a part in.

A final note on these historical references— some years ago in Tequila town, I went to see the archives that were recently found hidden in the cellars of one of the municipal buildings. Academics are continually researching and studying the numerous documents discovered there, which appear to shed new light on the history of the Tequila Valley and its famous drink. In time these sources might demonstrate that what we have accepted as historical Tequila truths may no longer be valid. Napoleon said, “History is the version of past events that people have decided to agree on.” Consider this foregoing history only in those terms.