Bon Savant » Tequila

La Verdad: Ron Cooper

Wyatt Peabody — Sun, 25 Jul 2010 05:14:17 +0000

With all the depraved Tales madness erupting, as evidenced by erratic, incomprehensible text messages streaming in from New Orleans, around the clock—I wanted to address something. As has been the case for the past few years, now—particularly at events like these—the word of the day is, Mezcal. For those who have been following this spirits category—in terms of explosive growth, from an industry standpoint—or dedicating themselves to the preservation of indigenous culture, one man stands in the middle of both labyrinths. He is the eight-hundred-pound guerilla—this is his wilderness. To ignore him is perilous, to affront him is absurd. He has truth on his side.

Decades ago, Ron Cooper single-handedly architected Mezcal’s revival. His unbending integrity and authenticity drew great people around him, organically; and those people continue to empower him. His supporters—many of them among the most influential in matters of gastronomy—have never been driven by marketing budgets, nor multi-national corporate might but, rather, by the purity of Cooper’s quest. Conversely, he has paid his partners in Oaxaca premium dollars, far above market demand, since the inception of Del Maguey, long before ‘fair-trade’ was a trend. He was pre-green, pre-organic and he has built micro-economies in multiple villages throughout Oaxaca for more than fifteen years. He is the embodiment of truth, la verdad.

As recently as a few months ago, the Bricia-Effect was born—a grassroots movement, resulting from one barman’s love for Del Maguey’s Mezcal Vida. It was widely known that this product, in spite of being the most important addition to the Mezcal category in several years, would have no marketing dollars, ambassadors, nor payola to burn. Thus, a new cocktail revolution was christened in honor of Bricia Lopez, a staunch proponent of Oaxacan culture and an integral figure in the gastronomic culture of Los Angeles. “Bricia” cocktails began popping up all over the country—some are even rumored to have surfaced in London—and its original author was never compensated a dime. When asked, he humbly responded: ‘it was the least that he could do for two people so great.’ How often does that happen?

For some of us, what Del Maguey represents transcends the booze business, entirely—it’s about protecting an ancient ritual that pre-dates the Spanish conquest. Though you’ll hear a distinctly different, and inaccurate, tune up in Jalisco (unless you ask any of the remaining great makers). Mezcal is the sacred physical incarnation of a fragile culture’s soul. A spirit that has yet to be desecrated—in the name of progress and bottom line—as we’ve seen all over the world. Each of Del Maguey’s villages—Chichicapa, San Luis del Rio, Santo Domingo Albarradas, Santa Catarina Minas, and a few others—are making their distillates exactly as they have for generations. In the case of Santa Catarina Minas, it’s with a bamboo and ceramic still that was likely brought over decades before Columbus stomped American soil.

The second word of the day, of late, seems to be pueblo—used interchangeably with ‘village.’ If you have the great fortune of visiting the palenques of Del Maguey, you will experience true Single Village Mezcal production. Santiago Matatlán and Tlacolula are not pueblos, nor villages. Tlacolula is actually the county seat and home to the largest market in the region. ‘Village’ means dirt floors, clean air and the absence of asphalt. Frankly, it is glorious that all of these new brands have flooded the category—some of them well-made distillates—and it’s a sign that our culture is finally evolving. But, it needs to be said here (because you won’t hear it elsewhere) that there is only one product commercially available in the United States which is a genuine, small-village, artisanal, farmer-produced Mezcal. And, it is Del Maguey–and, by extension, Sombra. These distillates are completely organic and unblended—the only yeasts present are those of airborne microbes, there has never been a single additive in any of the villages. Del Maguey represents the mother of all agave-based distillates. Same as it ever was.

Don’t take it from me—do a blind tasting of every artisanal, village Mezcal (and those purporting to be) commercially available in the US. Not only will each Del Maguey Single Village Mezcal distinctly reflect its place of origin—its very dirt, soul and hand of the maker but it will reveal all others to be cheap imitations. The Mezcals of Del Maguey are among the purest, most beautiful distillates on earth and, as of yet, they are entirely incomparable.

Del Maguey is truth. Esto es la verdad.

the Margarita

Wyatt Peabody — Wed, 26 May 2010 23:38:09 +0000

The Margarita, in all of its simplistic glory—with more self-professed originators than the internet, see Ted Haigh interview—is all too often forsaken. In a town like Los Angeles, sadly, one couldn’t find a decent Margarita until a few years ago; nor was there a single place where one could eat great Mexican food while drinking great agave-based spirits. Now, we have Rivera—which has helped redefine Mexican gastronomy—as Angelinos and Americans, in our entirety. Rivera’s Julian Cox, one of the country’s most celebrated young barmen, makes a serious Margarita—and is about as good as it gets when it comes to agave-based spirits, in general. The singular Julio Bermejo has been evangelizing the virtues of agave for decades, converting many a lost soul—at Tommy’s, in San Francisco. And, Jimmy Yeager, tucked up high in the Rockies, has one of the best agave-based bars in the world—in Aspen of all places—and his knowledge is phenomenal.

After a few decades of making Margaritas myself, the recipe is fairly simple and fool-proof. Start with a great base-spirit—I use el Tesoro, Siete Leguas and, over the past few years, Tequila Ocho. Sadly, Herradura and Gran Centenario no longer have a place in my bar (with the exception of a few rogue cases left over from the 70s and 80s, smuggled into the country over the years. The second prerequisite, of course, is fresh squeezed juice (no exceptions).

Margarita

2 oz. Tequila Blanco

½ oz. Cointreau (Controy is also great), Grand-Marnier is chingón-deluxe

½ oz. Agave nectar

1 oz. Fresh-squeezed lime juice

Dash Fresh-squeezed orange juice

Dash Fresh-squeezed lemon juice

Pour first eight ingredients in a tin-on-tin mixing glass with ice, shake and strain into a rocks glass with fresh ice. Garnish with a thin-sliced lime wheel. If you must salt the cocktail, gently roll one side of the lime-juiced glass in salt (make sure none gets in the drink).

Q&A with Ted Haigh: Origins of the Margarita

Wyatt Peabody — Tue, 25 May 2010 20:53:11 +0000

I had the great pleasure of sitting down with LA’s own Ted Haigh–one of the world’s leading cocktail historians. Our topic for the day: the Margarita–one of the most popular cocktails on earth.

Q&A with Ted Haigh
Origins: the Margarita

WP: as we know—the Margarita has more colorful purported originators than perhaps any other cocktail in history? What’s your favorite story as to the true origins of the Margarita?

TH: my favorite story and the one I believe to be true are two entirely different things. My favorite version is probably that of Santos Cruz, the head bartender at the historic Balinese Room in Galveston, Texas—who created the drink for Peggy (Margaret) Lee in 1948. But that’s only because I actually met him—in his nineties at the time—he was very soft-spoken and a perfect gentlemen. I know that a lot of people met Margarita Sames, as well.

WP: Margaret (Margarita) Sames, being the woman who supposedly created the drink at her home in Acapulco, Mexico, 1948.

TH: yes—during a Christmas party for guests, Nick Hilton (founder of the Hilton Hotel chain), Joseph Drown (owner of the Hotel Bel-Air), Shelton McHenry (owner of the Tail O’The Cock, in LA). And, friends who included Lana Turner and John Wayne who, of course went on to help evangelize the drink.

WP: how did the recipes of Cruz and Sames compare?

TH: Cruz called for equal portions tequila blanco, Cointreau and lime juice (modeled after the Sidecar). Sames was one part Cointreau, two parts tequila, one part lime (with a salt rim).

WP: so what do you believe to be true?

TH: that the original drink which would become the Margarita—the Picador—was invented in England around 1936, more than a decade earlier. The book which featured it—WJ Tarling’s the Café Royal Cocktail Book—was actually published in 1937. The Picador calls for ¼ fresh lime (or lemon) juice, ¼ Cointreau, ½ tequila—shaken. This is the basic Margarita recipe.

WP: in other words, the most famous agave-based cocktail in history was actually created in the UK—how were they even getting tequila?

TH: tequila seemed to get a bigger foothold in the UK than it did in the US—faster and earlier, that is. You began seeing tequila cocktails there long before they took hold in America. Hell, there were more than a dozen in Tarling’s 1937 book, alone.

WP: is it any surprise then that the serious bartenders in England, Scotland and Ireland are all going mad over mezcal—and have been for many years?

TH: No—they’re smart. Just as they were in the 1930s.

WP: I’ve heard conflicting stories—does cocktail historian David Wondrich have a different opinion about this?

TD: He wants to trace it back through its whole family line—and I do too. I’m just saying that the Picador is the first appearance of this Mexican drink; and that it’s really the first Margarita. Now, we can mention the Sidecar as being the daddy of the Margarita and, as Wondrich would say, the Brandy Daisy as its granddad, or (as I say) the Brandy Crusta as its granddad. We might actually even be able to come together on the matter if we presume that the Brandy Daisy came out before the Brandy Crusta—then maybe the Brandy Crusta was a variation of the Brandy Daisy. To me, the lineage to the Daisy is a little bit more tenuous; but to the Crusta it’s easy—I mean, you can draw a graph.

WP: is it possible that there was a Margarita zeitgeist? I mean, it’s hard to imagine that people weren’t mixing tequila, lime and Curaçao before and certainly during Prohibition in Tijuana, for example.

TH: ah, here we are in Caesar salad territory. That’s my point exactly—Tarling is among the people who could have afforded to actually fly on airplanes, as were the jet-setters of the day who bounced from LA to TJ to the UK. For all we know, it was an American bartender (living in England) who created the drink. What I find suspect is the people who claim to have invented it; but that might not be accurate either because things tend to happen when they’re ready to happen—technologically, sociologically.

WP: but given tequila (the national spirit of Mexico), lime (their traditional fruit) and the addition of a simple sweetening agent, can’t we assume that said recipe was concocted in or near Mexico?

TH: it’s at the sweetening agent where your argument starts to fall apart. Take, for example, the Daiquiri—every single ingredient was intrinsically Cuban. In the case of the Margarita, rationalizing begins at the Cointreau—sure, there were stars and jet-setters that could’ve brought it, but there is an absence of hard logic.

WP: So, all doubt begins with Cointreau?

TH: well, some used triple sec. It should be noted that Cointreau originally was a triple sec and that all subsequent triple secs were imitations of Cointreau. That is certain. Mexico then created a product called Controy—which tastes less like Cointreau and more like a good orange Curaçao, ironically. But either way, this concoction was sort of a celebration of an American’s nicely filtered version of that culture. Thereafter, the Margarita was a very Anglo drink—hardly indigenous—whether English or southern Californian.

WP: so, who really invented the Margarita?

TH: nobody will ever know.

WP: how do you like yours?

TH: think Santos Cruz: equal parts blanco tequila, Cointreau and fresh lime juice.

*For a similar piece, as featured in an online exclusive for Los Angeles Times Magazine, click here.

Manzanita de Chimayo

Wyatt Peabody — Thu, 04 Mar 2010 06:48:51 +0000

Tonight’s drink was directly stolen from Arturo Jaramillo, owner of the Rancho de Chimayó restaurant in Chimayó, New Mexico (which happens to be close to Ron Cooper’s—founder of Del Maguey and architect of Mezcal’s resurrection—home in Taos). The original recipe from the sixties called for lemon juice and tequila—I opted for lime, along with agave nectar and the Del Maguey Crema de Mezcal. Frankly, I generally lose the Tequila all together—instead opting for Single Village Mezcals like Santo Domingo Albarradas, Chichicapa, San Luis del Rio and Minero, from Del Maguey.

Manzanita de Chimayo
1½ oz   El Tesoro Reposado Tequila
½ oz   Del Maguey Crema de Mezcal
1 oz   Apple juice (fresh pressed)
¾ oz   Lime juice (fresh squeezed)
½ oz   Agave nectar
¼ oz   Crème de cassis
1    Lime-cube (lime wheel frozen inside of two-inch ice cube)

Pour first five ingredients in a mixing glass; add ice, shake for at least one minute, strain into old-fashioned glass, with single two-inch lime-cube. Delicately pour Crème de cassis directly onto ice cube, allowing it to slowly descend, creating contrast.

L.A. Cocktails: Parting Shots

Wyatt Peabody — Tue, 23 Feb 2010 19:36:15 +0000

Next time you’re pouring top-tier tequila, line up a selection of piquant sangritas (literal translation: “little blood”). Each toothsome nonalcoholic companion acts as a palate cleanser between hits of the peppery agave spirit.

by Wyatt Peabody / photographs by Brian Leatart

Sangrita Mandarina

by Jennifer Stockley
24 ounces Page tangerine juice (or Valencia orange juice)
4 ounces Stirrings Authentic Grenadine
3/4 teaspoon Pico Piquin seasoning
1/2 to 1 tablespoon kosher salt

In a blender, mix all ingredients for a full minute, then refrigerate 1 to 2 hours before serving. Makes 7 four-ounce glasses.

Sangrita Verde

by Julian Cox
20 ounces pineapple juice
5 ounces lime juice
1/4 cup fresh mint
1/4 pineapple, cut into chunks
1 tablespoon coriander
1/2 to 1 poblano chile, seeds removed
1 ounce simple syrup
Pinch of sea salt

Mix ingredients in a blender, then force through a chinois, or fine strainer. Refrigerate 2 hours and serve. Makes 8 four-ounce glasses.

Sangrita Anaranjada

by Julian Cox
10 ounces fresh carrot juice
2 orange bell peppers
2 minced garlic cloves
10 ounces orange juice
2 teaspoons smoked salt (to taste)
4 ounces tomato juice
3 ounces lime juice
3 teaspoons freshly cracked pepper
1 habanero pepper, seeds removed
10 dashes habanero salsa (to taste)

Mix ingredients in a blender and force through a chinois. Refrigerate at least 2 hours to bring out full flavor. Makes 7 four-ounce glasses.

Sangrita Tradicional

by Julian Cox
20 ounces 100 percent pomegranate juice
8 ounces orange juice
4 ounces lime juice
6 ounces tomato juice
16 dashes habanero sauce
Salt and pepper (to taste)

Mix ingredients in a blender and refrigerate 2 hours. Makes 10 four-ounce glasses.

Original article published in LA Times Magazine January 2010