In his inaugural address, Barack Obama told the American people, “We gather because we have chosen hope over fear, unity of purpose over conflict and discord.” The same could be said of the Second Annual Tequila and Mezcal Festival currently going on at the Oyamel Cocina Mexicana in Washington, D.C., which unites participants in the hope of conquering the fear of tequila, a beverage whose consumption can lead to conflict and discord.
Kingsley Amis once wrote: “About the commonest causes of death in Mexico are murder and heart disease. . . . Although no figures are available, I can’t help thinking that tequila makes a contribution in both departments.” Though that’s an exaggeration, many of us do have our reasons for avoiding tequila.
Asking friends if any of them ever had a bad experience with the drink, I discovered one commonality: memory loss. As in, “I vaguely recollect being involved with the consumption of an entire bottle of tequila with some friends during a swim relay race. Needless to say, I woke up in my car parked in the garage the next morning.” (This woman is now a practicing attorney.) Another friend (in the health care industry, no less) remembers “sweating tequila from my pores the day after some very bad peer influence–the only thing I remember about the night before is sitting in the grass outside of a Denny’s restaurant.”
Unlike vodka or whiskey, tequila comes complete with a whole ritual for its consumption. According to Amis, “Pour some table salt onto the back of your left hand round about the base of your thumb. Grip a slice of lime in your right hand. Have a tot of neat tequila standing by. As fast as possible, lick the salt, suck the lime, shut your eyes and drink up.”
Why subject yourself to this? Because the inebriation (as noted above) is unusual: subtle at first, then hitting you massively like a freight train moments later. Oftentimes, when you realize you should stop with the tequila shooters, it is too late. (So, no, I don’t know why you would subject yourself to this.)
For myself, the most lingering effect is an aversion to the smell, akin to the smell of shellac. So I try to abstain from tequila at all costs. The last two times I did a shot were at a friend’s bachelor party last summer and a colleague’s wedding a few years ago. On both occasions, up to that point, I was fairly sober. But as I put my lips to the shot glass and caught that unmistakable whiff, all the traumatic memories came flooding back, in a kind of bizarro reprise of Proust’s madeleine.
I told Oyamel’s general manager, Steve Fowler, about my predicament, prompting him to devise a plan: He started me with a couple of innocuous libations infused with tequila and mezcal (the latter having a smoky flavor and deriving from the agave plant; tequila comes strictly from the blue agave). Both were highly agreeable. Then we transitioned to an aged tequila (Siembra Azul anejo), sipping it as if it were a fine single malt Scotch. So far so good. Finally we took on the Siembra Azul blanco–clear tequila. At no time did we shoot it or use salt and lime. (In fact, printed on the side of a bottle of Del Maguey pechuga mezcal are the words “Sip it. Don’t shoot it.”)
Admittedly, the smell of the blanco still got to me, as if it were sending my brain signals to turn around and flee. But I was determined to follow through and developed a respect and appreciation for the drink, finding myself in control of my wits, albeit a little happier. Of course there are other brands of lesser quality that Fowler warned me against (for instance, tequilas made in Baltimore or from the country that grows the second largest crop of agave after Mexico: China). Sadly, I am sure I will meet these brands, no doubt in shots with lime and salt, at the next bachelor party.
According to Fowler, “tequila is one of the most misunderstood spirits in America.” His job is to change this mistaken notion through a process of awareness and education. (It sounds like one of the toughest jobs ever.) I imagine that were he alive today, Kingsley Amis would have benefited from such “awareness.” Unfortunately, the writer seems to have stuck to the bad stuff:
“Unlike other spirits, it’s never advisedly drunk on its own,” he warned. Amis much preferred the margarita, though even in this form he cautioned us about quantity: “After three of the same I once had the most violent quarrel I have ever had with a female, and in Mexico City too–but luckily we were both unarmed at the time.”
VICTORINO MATUS
